The Schirmer Inheritance

“We have few tourists here,” he remarked; “I have often said that it is a pity.”

“The scenery is certainly very fine.”

“If you have time while you are here you should take a drive. I shall be happy to arrange a car for you.”

“Very kind of him. Say that we heard in Salonika that there was excellent hunting to be had near the lakes to the west.”

“The gentleman is intending to go hunting?”

“Not this time, unfortunately. We are on business. But we were told that there was plenty of game up there.”

The little man smiled. “There is game of all sorts in the neighbourhood. There are also eagles in the hills,” he added slyly.

“Eagles who do a little hunting themselves, perhaps?”

“The gentleman learned that in Salonika, too, no doubt.”

“I have always understood that this is a most romantic part of the country.”

“Yes, the eagle is a bird of romance to some,” the proprietor said archly. Obviously, he was the kind of person who could not let the smallest joke go, once he had got his teeth into it.

“It’s a bird of prey, too.”

“Ah, yes indeed! When armies disintegrate, there are always a few who prefer to stay together and fight a private war against society. But here in Florina the gentleman need have no fear. The eagles are safe in the hills.”

“That’s a pity. We were hoping you might be able to help us to find one.”

“To find an eagle? The gentleman deals in fine feathers?”

But George was getting bored. “All right,” he said, “we’ll cut the double-talk. Tell him I’m a lawyer and that we want, if possible, to talk to someone who was in the ELAS band led by Phengaros in 1944. Explain that it’s nothing political, that we just want to check up on the grave of a German Sergeant who was killed near Vodena. Say I’m acting for the man’s relatives in America.”

He watched the little man’s face as Miss Kolin translated. For a moment or two a quite extraordinary expression came over its loose grey folds, an expression compounded of equal parts of interest, amazement, indignation, and fear. Then a curtain came down and the face went blank. Its owner picked up his drink and drained the glass.

“I regret,” he said precisely, “that that is not a matter in which I can be of any assistance to you at all.”

He rose to his feet.

“Wait a minute,” said George. “If he can’t help me, ask him if he knows of anyone here who can.”

The proprietor hesitated, then glanced across at the officer sitting at the table by the bar. “One moment,” he said curtly. He went over to the officer, and bending over the table, began talking in a rapid undertone.

After a moment or two, George saw the officer look across quickly at him, then say something sharply to the proprietor. The little man shrugged. The officer stood up and came over to them.

He was a lean, dark young man with lustrous eyes, very wide riding-breeches, and a waist like a girl’s. He wore the badges of a captain. He bowed to Miss Kolin and smiled pleasantly at George.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said in English. “The patron tells me that you are here making inquiries.”

“That’s right.”

He clicked his heels. “Streftaris, Captain,” he said. “You are an American, Mr.-?”

“Carey’s my name. Yes, I’m an American.”

“And this lady?”

“Miss Kolin is French. She is my interpreter.”

“Thank you. Perhaps I can be of assistance to you, Mr. Carey.”

“That’s very kind of you, Captain. Sit down, won’t you?”

“Thank you.” The Captain spun the chair round, swung the seat between his legs, and sat down with his elbows resting on the back. There was something curiously insolent about the gesture. He smiled less pleasantly. “You have made the patron feel very uneasy, Mr. Carey.”

“I’m sorry about that. All I asked him was to put me in touch with someone who was in the Phengaros band in 1944. I told him there was nothing political about my business.”

The Captain sighed elaborately. “Mr. Carey,” he said, “if I were to come to you in America and ask you to put me in touch with a gangster wanted by the police, would you be prepared to help me?”

“Is that a true comparison?”

“Certainly. I do not think you quite understand our problems here. You are a foreigner, of course, and that excuses you, but it is very indiscreet to inquire into matters of this kind.”

“Do you mind telling me why?”

“These men are Communists-outlaws. Do you know that Phengaros himself is in prison on a criminal charge?”

“Yes. I interviewed him two days ago.”

“Pardon?”

“Colonel Chrysantos in Salonika was kind enough to arrange for me to see Phengaros in prison.”

The Captain’s smile faded. He took his elbows off the back of the chair.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Carey.”

“What for?”

“I did not understand that you were on official business.”

“Well, to be exact-”

“I do not think we have received orders from Salonika. Had we done so, of course, the Commandant would have instructed me.”

“Now, just a moment, Captain, let’s get this straight. My business is legal rather than official. I’ll explain.”

The Captain listened carefully to the explanation. When George had finished he looked relieved.