know a fair number of people all round here. Chrissa, for instance. It might be Chrissa … that’s only a few kilometres away. What about that?’
George shook his head. ‘No. I am sure. I would have remembered. And in Arachova …’
Simon ran a finger along the wing of the car, then contemplated the tip of it for a moment. ‘Yes?’
George said, regretfully: ‘No, I do not remember anyone in Arachova, either.’
Simon took out a handkerchief and wiped his finger-tip clean again. ‘In any case I can find out. I’m going back there tonight.’
The Greek gave him a quick bright glance that held, I thought, curiosity. But he only said: ‘Ah. Well, Iregret, but that is all I can tell you, except – oh, but that is not the same; it is of no use to you.’
‘We’ll have it, though, please. You’ve thought of someone?’
George said slowly: ‘There is a Simonides at Itea. I do not think this is the man, but he is the only one I know of. But perhaps,
kyrie
, you would like to ask someone else? I do not know everybody, me. Elias Sarantopoulou, my cousin, he is also in the Tourist Police. He is at the office now, or perhaps he is at the café … if you like to come with me I will show you the place; it is opposite the post office.’
‘I know it,’ said Simon. ‘Thanks, but I really doubt if your cousin will know any more than you. This is an irritating little problem, isn’t it? It’ll probably solve itself very soon, but meanwhile I suppose we must do something. We’ll try your Simonides at Itea. Who is Simonides, what is he?’
George, of course, took him literally. ‘He has a little baker’s shop near the cinema in the middle of the main street, facing the sea. Giannakis Simonides.’ He glanced at his wrist. ‘The bus goes in ten minutes. The shop is not far from the place where the bus stops.’
Simon said: ‘We have a car,’ then grinned as he caught my eye. My answering smile was a rather brittle one. The car stood there like a mockery. I hated the sight of it.
Simon nodded to George, said something in Greek, then pulled open the car door for me.
I said doubtfully: ‘Ought we to?’
‘Why not? This is a quite legitimate attempt atdelivery. Come along, the sooner we get down to Itea the better. It’ll be dark in an hour. Are you tired?’
‘Not now. But – you’ll drive, won’t you, Mr Lester?’
‘You bet I will. You haven’t seen the Itea road. And please call me Simon. It’s more euphonious than “Mr. Lester”, and besides …’ his grin, as he slid into his seat beside me, was malicious … ‘it’ll give you an illusion of comfort.’
I didn’t answer that one, except with a look, but as we drove off I said suddenly, and almost to my own surprise: ‘I’m beginning to feel frightened.’
The glance he gave me held surprise, but, oddly enough, no amusement. ‘That’s a strong word.’
‘I suppose so. Perhaps it isn’t, either, from me. I’m the world’s most complete coward. I–I wish I’d had the sense to let well alone. The beastly thing should still be standing there in Omonia Square, and—’
‘And you’d still be wishing you were in Delphi?’
‘There is that,’ I acknowledged. ‘But you do see, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do.’
The car had crept carefully through Delphi’s narrow upper street, topped the rise opposite the presbytery, and then dived down to meet the lower road out of the village.
I said abruptly: ‘Do you suppose for a moment that this Simonides is the man we’re looking for?’
‘It doesn’t seem very probable.’ Perhaps he felt this to be a little brusque, for he added: ‘We might as well try it, all the same.’
‘Something to make me feel progress is being made?’No answer to this. I said: ‘You know, it really would be carrying coincidence a bit too far to suppose there are two Simons in Delphi.’
‘It’s not,’ he said evenly, ‘a very common name.’
I waited, but he didn’t speak again. We had
George shook his head. ‘No. I am sure. I would have remembered. And in Arachova …’
Simon ran a finger along the wing of the car, then contemplated the tip of it for a moment. ‘Yes?’
George said, regretfully: ‘No, I do not remember anyone in Arachova, either.’
Simon took out a handkerchief and wiped his finger-tip clean again. ‘In any case I can find out. I’m going back there tonight.’
The Greek gave him a quick bright glance that held, I thought, curiosity. But he only said: ‘Ah. Well, Iregret, but that is all I can tell you, except – oh, but that is not the same; it is of no use to you.’
‘We’ll have it, though, please. You’ve thought of someone?’
George said slowly: ‘There is a Simonides at Itea. I do not think this is the man, but he is the only one I know of. But perhaps,
kyrie
, you would like to ask someone else? I do not know everybody, me. Elias Sarantopoulou, my cousin, he is also in the Tourist Police. He is at the office now, or perhaps he is at the café … if you like to come with me I will show you the place; it is opposite the post office.’
‘I know it,’ said Simon. ‘Thanks, but I really doubt if your cousin will know any more than you. This is an irritating little problem, isn’t it? It’ll probably solve itself very soon, but meanwhile I suppose we must do something. We’ll try your Simonides at Itea. Who is Simonides, what is he?’
George, of course, took him literally. ‘He has a little baker’s shop near the cinema in the middle of the main street, facing the sea. Giannakis Simonides.’ He glanced at his wrist. ‘The bus goes in ten minutes. The shop is not far from the place where the bus stops.’
Simon said: ‘We have a car,’ then grinned as he caught my eye. My answering smile was a rather brittle one. The car stood there like a mockery. I hated the sight of it.
Simon nodded to George, said something in Greek, then pulled open the car door for me.
I said doubtfully: ‘Ought we to?’
‘Why not? This is a quite legitimate attempt atdelivery. Come along, the sooner we get down to Itea the better. It’ll be dark in an hour. Are you tired?’
‘Not now. But – you’ll drive, won’t you, Mr Lester?’
‘You bet I will. You haven’t seen the Itea road. And please call me Simon. It’s more euphonious than “Mr. Lester”, and besides …’ his grin, as he slid into his seat beside me, was malicious … ‘it’ll give you an illusion of comfort.’
I didn’t answer that one, except with a look, but as we drove off I said suddenly, and almost to my own surprise: ‘I’m beginning to feel frightened.’
The glance he gave me held surprise, but, oddly enough, no amusement. ‘That’s a strong word.’
‘I suppose so. Perhaps it isn’t, either, from me. I’m the world’s most complete coward. I–I wish I’d had the sense to let well alone. The beastly thing should still be standing there in Omonia Square, and—’
‘And you’d still be wishing you were in Delphi?’
‘There is that,’ I acknowledged. ‘But you do see, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do.’
The car had crept carefully through Delphi’s narrow upper street, topped the rise opposite the presbytery, and then dived down to meet the lower road out of the village.
I said abruptly: ‘Do you suppose for a moment that this Simonides is the man we’re looking for?’
‘It doesn’t seem very probable.’ Perhaps he felt this to be a little brusque, for he added: ‘We might as well try it, all the same.’
‘Something to make me feel progress is being made?’No answer to this. I said: ‘You know, it really would be carrying coincidence a bit too far to suppose there are two Simons in Delphi.’
‘It’s not,’ he said evenly, ‘a very common name.’
I waited, but he didn’t speak again. We had
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