The Schirmer Inheritance

He led the way. They followed in silence. About a quarter of a mile further on, the road ended again. This time the obstruction was due to a landslide from the hill above, which had obliterated a section of about fifty yards. However, a narrow track had been beaten out over the debris, and they stumbled along this cautiously until the road reappeared. That is, George and Miss Kolin stumbled; Arthur went forward as sure-footedly as if he were on a city street. He was waiting for them when they got back to the road.

“Only a little way now,” he said.

They walked on for another quarter of a mile. There were tamarisks growing out of the hillside here, and the moonlight cast their distorted shadows across the road. Then the shadows became solid and Arthur slowed down. Parked on a section of road which was wide enough for a vehicle to turn was a small covered truck.

“Here we are, chums. You hop in the back.”

He shone a flashlight below the tailboard as he spoke. “You first, miss. Now careful. We don’t want to spoil the nylons, do we? See that stirrup there? Well, just put your foot-”

He broke off as Miss Kolin climbed easily into the back of the truck. “I have been in a British army truck before,” she said coldly.

“ Have you now, miss? Well, well! That’s nice, isn’t it? By the way,” he went on as George followed her, “I’m going to have to do the canvas up. It’ll be a bit warmish, I’m afraid, but we haven’t got far to go.”

George groaned. “Do you have to?”

“Afraid so, chum. My pals are a bit touchy about people knowing where they are. You know-security.”

“This had better be worth while. All right. Let’s get on.”

George and Miss Kolin sat on two box-shaped fixtures in the body of the truck, while their escort lashed down the canvas flaps. When he had finished, they heard him get into the driver’s seat and start up. The truck lurched off over the stones.

Arthur was a forceful driver and the truck bucked and swayed about fantastically. Inside, it was impossible to remain seated and they stood crouched under the canvas top, clinging to the metal supports. The air inside, which was soon mixed with exhaust fumes, became almost unbreathable. George was dimly aware of the truck turning several hairpin bends and he knew that they were climbing steeply, but he quickly lost all sense of direction. After ten minutes or more of excruciating discomfort, he was beginning to think that he would have to shout to Arthur to pull up, when, after yet another turn, the truck ran on to a comparatively smooth surface and stopped. A moment later the rear canvas was unlashed, moonlight and air streamed in, and Arthur’s face appeared at the tailboard.

He grinned. “Bit bumpy, was it?”

“Yes.”

They climbed out stiffly and found themselves standing on what had once been the flagged courtyard of a small house. All that remained of the house itself was a ruined wall and a pile of debris.

“ELAS boys did that,” Arthur explained; “the other lot were using it as a stronghold. We go this way.”

The ruined house was on the summit of a pine-clad hill. They followed Arthur along a track which led from the house down through the trees.

They walked silently over pine needles for about fifty yards, then Arthur halted.

“Wait a tick,” he said.

They waited while he went on ahead. It was very dark under the trees and there was a strong smell of pine resin. After the atmosphere in the truck, the soft, cool air was delicious. A faint murmur of voices came from the darkness ahead.

“Did you hear that, Miss Kolin?”

“Yes. They were speaking Greek, but I could not distinguish the words. It sounded like a sentry challenging and receiving a reply.”

“What do you make of all this?”

“I think we should have left word with someone where we were going.”

“We didn’t know where we were going, but I did what I could. If we’re not back by the time the femme de chambre cleans my room in the morning, she’ll find a letter addressed to the manager on my bureau. In it there’s the number of that old man’s car and a note of explanation for the Captain.”

“That was wise, Mr. Carey. I have noticed something-” She broke off. “He’s coming back.”

Her hearing was very acute. Several seconds went by before George was able to hear the soft rustle of approaching footsteps.

Arthur appeared out of the darkness. “O.K., chums,” he said. “Here we go. We’ll have a bit of light on the scene in half a tick.”

They followed him down the path. It was getting less steep now. Then, as it levelled off, Arthur switched on a flashlight and George saw the sentry leaning against a tree with his rifle under his arm. He was a thin, middle-aged man in khaki drill trousers and a ragged singlet. He watched them intently as they went by.

They were clear of the pine trees now and there was a house in front of them.