Levkas Man by Hammond; Innes

sat staring at me through the smoke of his cigarette. ‘Do you know this man Cartwright who is with him?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Or the Dutch boy, Winters?’
    I shook my head.
    â€˜But you know there has been some trouble?’
    â€˜I know that—yes.’
    He hesitated. ‘There was a question of some money taken. But that has been settled now; it is a young Greek boy who breaks open the tool locker of the Land-Rover. So it is not for that reason he disappear.’ He stared at me, waiting. Finally he gave a little shrug. ‘If you wish I can take you to this village where they camp.’
    I muttered something about not wishing to trouble him, but he brushed it aside. ‘No trouble. I like to help you. Also we can talk—privately, eh?’ And he added, to make it absolutely clear that I had no alternative, ‘It is fortunate for you that I am at Methoni today, otherwise Kondylakes here must take you to Athens for interrogation. If we leave after our coffee we can be at Despotiko tomorrow morning and then you can talk with this man Cartwright. Maybe you discover what I have failed to discover—where Dr Van der Voort is.’ He smiled at me and left it at that.
    I lit a cigarette and sat there watching him, thinking of the journey ahead and the two of us alone. He was a man in his late forties, or early fifties, well educated and with a strong energetic personality. It was difficult to place him. When I asked him about his official position, all he replied was that he was with a Ministry in Athens and was here to help Kapetán Kondylakes in his enquiries. He could have been security police, of course. But there was a peculiar mixture of toughness and charm in his manner; also a certain air of secrecy. I thought he was probably Intelligence.
    The coffee was strong and sweet and very hot, and as we sat there drinking it, the three Greeks talking amongst themselves, I felt a strong sense of isolation. Florrie touched my hand. ‘It will be all right, Paul. I’m sure it will.’ And she added, ‘We can meet you in Preveza.’ Bert agreed. ‘We can be there in two, possibly three days—dependent on the weather. We’ll wait for you there.’
    When we had finished our coffee, Kondylakes returned our passports and the Port Captain handed Bert the ship’s papers. They were free to sail when they wished. Back at the boat, I threw some clothes into my suitcase and by the time I was ready to leave, Kotiadis was waiting for me on the quay, his battered Renault backed up to the gangplank.
    It was shortly after two when we drove out of Pylos, following the coast road that took a wide sweep round Navarino Bay, and then up into the hills, with Kotiadis talking all the time about his country’s ancient history. He was a compulsive, explosive talker, his English interspersed with French and Greek words, and his enthusiasm for Greek antiquities was genuine. All the way up through the Peloponnese he was talking and driving fast, using his horn on the bends.
    We crossed to the mainland of Greece by the ferry that plies the narrows separating the two gulfs of Patras and Corinth. By then the sun had set and we stopped the night at the ancient port of Navpaktos. It was here, after our meal, that I faced the questions I had been expecting. We were sitting under the plane trees in the square and Kotiadis was talking about his early life on the island of Crete where he had been born.
    His family had owned a small vineyard, growing grapes for the raisin trade, but when the Germans invaded in 1941, he had left to join the guerrillas in the mountains. The air in the square was soft, and below us lay the medieval harbour, a circle of still, dark water surrounded by massive stone walls that had been built at the same time as the castle piled on the hill above us. Beyond the black curve of the harbour wall, the Gulf of Corinth lay serene and pale under the moon. The