by Mary Stewart
Our caique drew ahead of the rest, and slid alongside the rockridge. Colin shot out the boat-hook, and held us fast. Mark hailed her, cheerfully.
‘Ahoy, there, Andromeda! Perseus here, with apologies, but there was a little matter of a dragon.’
I ran to the side. ‘Frances! Are you all right? I’m most dreadfully sorry—’
‘Well,’ said Frances, ‘I can see you’re all right, which is all that matters, though I did have information to that effect. How nice to be rescued in style! I’m glad to see you, Perseus. You’re a little late for the other dragon but, as you see, he did me no harm.’
Mark’s brows knitted. ‘The other dragon?’
I put my hand to my mouth. ‘Tony? You mean Tony? Here?’
‘As ever was.’
‘What happened?’
‘He came to collect the remainder of the jewels. The Camford House robbery, I understand.’ Frances was bland. ‘How well I remember the fuss when it happened.’
‘But he didn’t know where they were,’ I said blankly. ‘I know he didn’t. Colin said—’
‘Yes, he did.’ Mark’s voice was grim. ‘Fool that I am, I heard Stratos tell him tonight. He shouted out something about the scháros pots, when we were crashing around in the hotel garden like demented buffaloes. I don’t know whether he was just cursing me, or whether he was letting Tony know, so that he could pick them up. But Tony heard, and it seems he didn’t waste any time.’ He looked at Frances. ‘Do you mean to tell me that while we’ve been sitting jabbering like monkeys in Agios Georgios, he’s just calmly walked away with the rest of the jewels?’
‘Not all of them; only one pot-full. I don’t know how many there are, and neither did he. He didn’t even know where the pots were laid, and of course, even with the lights, it wasn’t easy to find them. He hauled up four in turn, and only one of them had what he was looking for. The rest were fish pots, quite genuine. He was quite – er – picturesque about them. Then we heard the flotilla coming, and he cut his losses, and went. He said he’d got quite enough to make the whole thing worth while.’
‘“He said”? You mean he saw you?’
‘He could hardly avoid it, could he? At least one of the pots was almost at my feet. Don’t look so horrified, my dear, he was very polite, and quite amusing. He simply kept nicely out of range – not that I could even have begun to try to stop him – and told me all about it. He really did seem pleased that Colin had got safe away.’
‘Small thanks to him,’ I said tartly.
‘So I told him. But I gather you’ve quite a lot to thank Sofia for. Apparently she refused from first to last to take anything from Stratos, because she thought it was all the proceeds of crime. She wouldn’t have given him away, but it seems she did threaten to turn the lot of them in, Josef and herself included, if they hurt Colin. Master Tony passed that on to me, so that I could put in a word for her. And he sent you his love, Nicola; he was sorry to have to pass out of your life, but you’ll get a picture postcard from the Kara Bugaz.’
‘From the what? Where on earth’s that?’
‘I doubt if it need worry you. I’ve a strong feeling that we’ll never hear of Little Lord Fauntleroy again, from the Kara Bugaz or anywhere else. Oh yes, and I was to tell you how much he approves of your trousers.’
‘Well,’ said Mark, ‘that’s one thing over which he and I see eye to eye. Aren’t you coming off your rock? I know we’re pretty crowded, but I can guarantee Lambis to get you back without foundering, and Colin makes a smashing cup of cocoa.’
Frances smiled at the three of them. ‘So that’s Lambis . . . and this is Colin. I can hardly believe we’ve never met till now, I seem to know you so well.’ She put out a hand, and Mark jumped to the ridge, and helped her to her feet. ‘Thank you, Perseus. Well, Nicola, so this is your Mark?’
‘Why, yes,’ I said.
About the Author
Mary Stewart, one of the most popular novelists, was born in Sunderland, County Durham and lives in the West Highlands. Her first novel, Madam, Will You Talk? was published in 1955 and marked the beginning of a long and acclaimed writing career. All her novels have been bestsellers on both sides of the Atlantic. She was made a Doctor of Literature by Durham University in 2009.
Also by Mary Stewart
Madam, Will You Talk?
Wildfire at Midnight
Thunder on the Right
Nine Coaches Waiting
My Brother Michael
The Ivy Tree
This Rough Magic
Airs Above the Ground
The Gabriel Hounds
Touch Not the Cat
Thornyhold
Stormy Petrel
Rose Cottage
THE ARTHURIAN NOVELS
The Crystal Cave
The Hollow Hills
The Last Enchantment
The Wicked Day
The Prince and the Pilgrim
POEMS
Frost on the Window
FOR CHILDREN
The Little Broomstick
Ludo and the Star Horse
A Walk in Wolf Wood