‘But we didn’t lunch here,’ Robbie interrupted. ‘We picnicked among the ruins of the new city.’
‘Yes, of course we did. Being so worried about you has driven out of my mind exactly what he said. Perhaps it was yesterday he saw us lunching at one of the tables outside, or having drinks there earlier this evening. What does it matter? Anyhow, he recognised you at once when they were picking you up, because you are such a big man. Then, as he was passing here on his way home, it occurred to him that, as you were unconscious, you might be at the hospital all night, while I worried myself silly wondering where you had got to; so it would be a kindness to come in and let me know what had happened,’
Robbie considered this for a moment, then he said: ‘By the time he did his friendly act with you, he obviously counted on his thugs having done their stuff on me. But what I don’t understand is why he should have gone out of his way to bring you to my bedside.’
‘Surely that was part of a plan to cover up the attack on you?’ Stephanie suggested. ‘Evidently it was intended that, after knocking you out, the thugs should dump you at the hospital and say that they had seen you run over by a hit-and-run driver. When you recovered consciousness, you would have said that you had been beaten up; but the fact that I had been brought to your bedside by someone who had witnessed the accident would have led the authorities to believe that you were imagining things—that your brain had been slightly affected—then the police would probably not have bothered to start an investigation that might have led to Barak’s people.’
‘That certainly sounds plausible,’ Robbie agreed. ‘Anyway, I’m fortunate not to be lying in the hospital now with a broken head and ribs.’ He went on to give Stephanie a full account of his visit to the Villa Dione, and how a lucky break had enabled him to escape from his attackers. Then he said:
‘I’m puzzled, though, about how they got on to me. Of course, it may have been pure chance that one of them happened to be standing just inside the postern gate; but the fact that all the others were in a downstairs room at the back of the house, ready to dash out at a moment’s notice, seems to make that unlikely. I’m pretty sure they were lying in wait for me.’
‘It could have been the gardener.’ Stephanie suggested. ‘He must have missed the key that you made off with and, in mentioning that to the tenants, he probably told them about your visit to the villa yesterday evening. You say that this Sudetenlander, Stoll, already knew you; so he could have recognised you from the gardener’s description. Stoll would have jumped to it then that it was you who had stolen the key, and that you meant to pay the villa another visit.’
‘By jove, you’re right!’ Robbie gave her a glance of admiration. ‘That never occurred to me, but it’s odds-on that it explains the ambush I ran into.’
There was a moment’s silence, then Stephanie said in a low voice: ‘You haven’t told me yet what happened when you ran off after Barak. Did he get away?’
‘No,’ Robbie replied grimly. ‘I caught up with him in a cul-de-sac and he won’t worry us again.’
She stiffened suddenly and gave a cry of apprehension. ‘Good God! You didn’t kill him, did you?’
‘Good Lord, no! I’m much too fond of my own life to risk being charged with murder. I just gave him a darn’ good pasting and left him to crawl home.’
Again they fell silent for a minute or more, until Stephanie gave a slight shiver and said: ‘Well, now we know where we are. But it’s getting awfully cold; let’s go in.’
‘Let’s,’ Robbie agreed. ‘I could do with a drink.’
She backed the car round into the garage and they walked back to the front entrance of the hotel. As they were about to go in, her glance fell on his right hand. It was dark red with congealed blood. Her eyes distended, she grasped his arm, pulled him to a halt and cried:
‘Look at your hand. What have you done? I believe you did kill him.’
‘I didn’t,’ he assured her. ‘Most of that is from the broken skin of my knuckles. I admit, though, that I lammed into him quite a bit. Something came over me, a sort of vicious feeling. I’ve never felt like that about anyone before, but I couldn’t stop myself. I kept on hitting him until I’d made a horrid mess of his face.’
‘You … you. Oh well, I suppose he deserved it. But Robbie,’ she drew a sharp breath before going on, ‘he was a very good-looking man and … and I should think rather vain. If you have permanently spoiled his face he’ll never forgive you. And he has all those thugs under his orders. It’s certain he’ll do his utmost to be revenged on you. We mustn’t stay here. If we do you’ll be in real danger. I’m sure of it. Please let’s get away from Corinth.’
Robbie nodded. ‘I think you’re right again. In any case, I wouldn’t risk another visit to the Villa Dione; so there is not much point in staying on here. But Barak won’t be up to planning any further mischief tonight. It will be time enough if we leave in the morning.’
Stuffing his bloody hands into his trouser pockets, Robbie followed Stephanie into the hotel. She ordered drinks for them and went into the lounge, while he went up to his room and cleaned himself up. When he came down and joined her he found that the couple she said had been reading there had gone up to bed, so they had the room to themselves.
She asked him where he intended that they should go on leaving Corinth, and he replied: ‘I haven’t had time to think yet. I reckon that I’ve rendered Barak hors de combat for the best part of a week, and after his fall Stoll must be in pretty bad shape, too. Of their three top chaps, that leaves only Cepicka, and all the odds are that he is either at Pirgos or has gone down to Kalamai to superintend the arrangements for other groups of Czechs who are to land at those ports. If so, that would leave me a free field at Patras, and by this time the group there must be getting busy; so we might go back there and I could try to find out what they are up to.’
‘No, Robbie; no.’ Stephanie gave a quick shake of her chestnut curls. ‘You seem to have forgotten that you stood drinks to the whole party there and that you were denounced as a spy in front of them. One or more of them would be certain to recognise you.’
‘That’s true, but I had forgotten it. Although I got the best of things, I’ve been through a rather rough time this evening, and I’m afraid all the excitement has put my mind a bit out of gear for making new plans. But I’ll be all right in the morning. Let’s leave it till then.’
Leaning forward, she laid a hand gently on his knee. ‘Robbie, let’s face it. You’ve got lots of splendid qualities, but you weren’t cut out to be either a spy or a planner. Why your firm should ever have picked you for this job, I can’t think. Won’t you please telephone them tomorrow; tell them that tonight you narrowly escaped having to spend three months in hospital, and that a man you have beaten up may try to revenge himself on you at any time? Then ask them to release you from this dangerous work. They, can’t possibly refuse.’
He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t want to do that.’
‘Why not? If you have to take me back to Athens, I’ll manage somehow. But you’ve earned a holiday for the risks you have already taken. Why not claim it? Then we could go on in the car to other interesting places. You would be able to concentrate entirely on your book, and in between driving from place to place, I would type it for you.’
Robbie smiled. ‘That would be lovely. I can’t think of anything I’d like more. Perhaps after I have found out what these chaps are up to, we might do that; but not until I have.’
‘But you do know what they are up to,’ she said with a puzzled frown. ‘They are establishing a chain of depots in opposition to your firm. At least, that’s what you gave me to understand.’
‘Well, yes. That, more or less, describes what I believe them to be doing. But I want to find out details: particularly about the type of machinery they mean to employ. And until I’ve done that, I can’t do as you wish. Really I can’t.’
Finishing her drink, she stood up. ‘All right, then, since you insist on
being pig-headed. But you’ll have only yourself to blame if that man Barak sticks a knife into you, or something frightful. I’m going up to bed.’
Overnight, Robbie’s mind had been so full of his adventure that he had given little thought to its physical consequences, but in the morning they were brought home to him in no uncertain manner. His fall, although broken by Stoll’s body, and the many blows he had received on his own, resulted in his waking stiff and aching. As he turned from side to side in bed, the pain from his bruises caused him to take fresh stock of the situation. Those pains, he reflected, might easily have been instead the real agony of broken bones and torn ligaments. There was much to be said for Stephanie’s gloomy forebodings that, if he courted the further attentions of the Czechs, they might be luckier next time and give him real cause to regret it. Moreover, her view that Barak would seek revenge for his smashed-in face could not be lightly disregarded.
Barak might be out of the game temporarily, but it was certain that he would regard his English bugbear as still in it; so it seemed highly probable that he would send a detailed description of Robbie to all his groups, with orders to watch out for him. That meant that a certain degree of risk would now be entailed by snooping in the vicinity of any of them.
The very fact that the Czechs had reacted so forcibly to Robbie’s initial snooping could be taken as definite confirmation that they were not, against all probability, prospecting for oil, but had some nefarious design to hide. Realising that, nothing could now have dissuaded Robbie from continuing his investigations. But the more he thought of the matter, the more convinced he became that his future activities ought to be conducted with extreme caution.
It occurred to him then that he might fox the enemy by giving them the impression that he had come out of last night’s encounters far worse than he had; and by going to earth for a while lead them to suppose that he had thrown in his hand.
This idea greatly tickled his sense of humour and, again temporarily forgetting his bruises, he spent the time until the chambermaid brought his breakfast planning this new move. When the woman arrived with his tray, he told her that the previous night he had had a bit too much to drink and had become involved in a quarrel in which he had got the worst of it. He then asked her to send out for some healing ointment, bandages, a packet of large safety pins and a stout walking stick, and to take a note from him down to Miss Stephano-poulos. In the note he had written in English the single line: Don’t show surprise at my appearance.
Three-quarters of an hour later the chambermaid came to collect his tray, and brought him the things for which he had asked. Getting up, he went along the corridor and had a bath, but he did not shave; and in the mirror he was pleased to see that the blow which he had received on the cheek had coloured up into a fine red bruise with a purple edge near the outer corner of his left eye. Returning to his room, he treated his bruises with the ointment then, with some difficulty, bandaged his head, but left the bruise on his cheek exposed. After packing his suitcase, he made another bandage into a sling for his left arm and, taking the stout stick, hobbled downstairs.
Stephanie, with her suitcase beside her, was waiting for him in the narrow hall. At the sight of his unshaven face and bandaged head, her dark eyebrows lifted and her mouth opened slightly. But she swiftly controlled her features, stood up and asked him how he was feeling.
‘Not too good,’ he replied. ‘I behaved very stupidly last night, and I’ve had enough of it.’ Then he hobbled over to the desk behind which the manageress was sitting, paid the bill and said: ‘If any letters should come for me, please direct them care of the British Embassy, Athens.’ Five minutes later their bags had been carried out to the car and Stephanie was driving it out of the garage yard.
‘What is all this?’ she asked with sharp displeasure. ‘If you meant to play some trick why couldn’t you have told me? And what road am I to take? Do you really mean that we should go back to Athens?’
He gave a low chuckle. ‘This is an idea I had this morning for fooling the enemy. Turn into the main road, King Constantine Avenue, and keep going over the level crossings. It’s pretty certain that Barak will send his pals to enquire at the hotel about us. I’m hoping that he’ll assume from what the manageress tells them that I’ve thrown in my hand and have gone back to Athens. But you were right last night that they will be on the look-out for me, so I’ve decided that our best plan will be to lie doggo for a while. If I don’t show up for a week or so they’ll probably think that they have got rid of me for good. Then, when their suspicions have been lulled, I intend to have another crack at them. In the meantime, I think it would be a good idea for us to go down to Navplion. We’ll be hundreds of miles from any of the places where they are putting groups to work, and within easy reach of the ruins of Mycenae and Tiryns which are probably the most interesting anywhere in Greece.’
‘Thank goodness you’ve shown some sense,’ she replied. ‘But get out the map and tell me which way to go.’
After studying the map for a few moments, he said: ‘It’s not far: only about sixty kilometres. Most of it is through the mountains, but even so, it shouldn’t be much more than an hour and a half’s run. About half-way we’ll pass through the village of Nemea. It was round about there that Hercules performed his first labour of slaying the terrible Nemean Lion. Mycenae lies on the foothills at the far side of the pass, then we’ll come down into the plain of Argos.’
As soon as they were outside the town, he got rid of his arm sling and removed the bandage from round his head, then settled down to enjoy the drive. For some miles they climbed steadily along the twisting way between the two-thousand-foot-high crests of the Onia and Palukoraki mountains, then round bend after bend along a road cut out of the steep hillsides, until at about eleven o’clock they emerged, still several hundred feet above sea level, to see a marvellous prospect below them. It was the fertile plain of Argos, and beyond it the forty-mile-long gulf surrounded, for all but a tenth of its circumference, by mountains.
Robbie leaned forward eagerly and exclaimed: ‘Look, look! For years I’ve longed to set eyes on this. In all history there is no more romantic spot. It was from the bay below us that the Argonauts set sail to seize the Golden Fleece.’ Pointing to their left front, he went on: ‘And down there on that hillock is Mycenae. It was there, a few years later, after Helen had run away with Paris, that Agamemnon vowed he would get her back and organized a muster of the thousand ships that carried the Greeks to the siege of Troy.’
With an indulgent smile, Stephanie remarked: ‘I suppose it is the world’s greatest romance. There certainly is no other story in which a whole country went to war for ten years to get back a runaway wife. But, after all, we’ve only Homer’s account of it, so I don’t suppose it really happened.’
‘How can you think that?’ Robbie stared at her in amazement. ‘Of course, all the bits Homer put in about the gods and goddesses having taken sides and helped or hindered the Heroes is poetic licence. But the siege of Troy is an historic fact. Schliemann proved that beyond question.’
‘Schliemann?’ she repeated doubtfully.
‘Yes; surely you’ve heard of him?’
‘Was he the German archaeologist who discovered Mycenae?’
‘That’s right. He was a most extraordinary chap, and his own story was the all-time-high of poor boy making good. From his earliest childhood, he was fascinated by stories of the ancient Greeks; but for years he had to work on a pittance as a grocer’s errand boy, a cabin boy and a junior clerk. At night, though, by candle-light in an attic, he taught himself half a dozen languages. At last, he got a job with the great banking firm of Schroder and they recognised his abilities. They sent him to St. Petersburg as their representative, and while there he managed to save enough to set up in business on his own as an indigo merchant. From then on, everything he touched turned to gold. As a contractor, he made a fortune out of the Crimean War; then he went to America, got in on the Californian gold rush and m
ade another fortune. After travelling the world for a while, he came to Greece and in the seventies settled down to his life-long ambition of becoming an archaeologist. He had been disappointed in his early love, so he had never married. However, by then he was getting on for fifty, and he decided he would like to marry; so he wrote to his friend the Archbishop of Athens and asked him to find him a suitable wife.’
‘What an extraordinary thing to do.’
‘Yes. Still, it turned out all right. She was only eighteen and a lovely girl, but she became devoted to him and was an enormous help in all his undertakings. His first great success was the rediscovery of Troy. As you must know, it is on the other side of the Aegean, in Turkey, not far from the Asiatic side of the Dardanelles; but he disagreed with the professional archaeologists about the actual site. He received a concession from the Turks to dig and put scores of men to work for months, driving a great trench right through a lofty hill. They found the remains of nine cities buried one on top of another, and it turned out that Homer’s Troy was the third one down. It was later definitely identified by the remains of great gates and palaces that Homer had described. But Schliemann couldn’t find any treasure and everyone was still saying that he was wasting his time, so he decided to throw in his hand. Then, on the very last day, his luck turned. Near what was called the Scaean Gate, he came upon a gold pin; so he sent all his workmen away and that night he and his wife went back there. They unearthed a marvellous treasure—diadems, bracelets, necklaces and over eight thousand rings, all of solid gold.’
‘Eight thousand!—’
‘Yes. But he was in a spot, because to get his concession to dig he had agreed to hand over to the Turkish Government the bulk of any treasure he found. The stuff he had found was absolutely priceless; and it wasn’t that he needed the money, but he felt sure that the Turks would melt it down just for its value in gold. As luck would have it, in those days women wore enormous skirts; so his wife was able to smuggle the whole lot out of Turkey and back to Greece under her petticoats.’
Mayhem in Greece Page 28