The Moonspinners by Mary Stewart

of pride to dress in. ‘I’ll go,’ I said huskily. ‘I can keep out of sight—’
    â€˜Are you mad?’ It was his turn to be furious; more, I could see, with his own helplessness than with me. That the conversation was conducted in hissed whispers did nothing to detract from its forcefulness. We glared at one another. ‘You don’t even begin to—’ he began, then stopped, and I saw his face change. The relief that swept into it was so vivid that for the moment all exhaustion and worry seemed wiped away, and his smile was almost gay. I swung round, to look where he was looking.
    A man had dropped lightly from the tumble of rocks above the little alp, and was making a cautious way between the clumps of asphodel. Brown trousers, dark-blue jersey, bare head: Lambis. Lambis, watching the watcher, following him down to Colin . . .
    In a few moments more he, too, skirted the base of the cliff, and vanished.
    â€˜He got away,’ said Lambis, breathlessly, in Greek. ‘There’s another gorge further along the hill, where a stream runs down. It’s full of trees – plenty of cover. I lost him there.’
    It was perhaps an hour later. Mark and I had waited, watching the hillside, until we saw Lambis returning. He approached slowly and wearily, pausing at length at the edge of the flowery plateau to look up towards the rocks where we lay. It was obvious from his bearing that he was alone, so Mark had waved some sort of signal to show him where we were, while I had made a hurried way down, to meet him on the narrow path above the spring. He was empty-handed still. I guessed that he had cached whatever he had been carrying, in order to follow the Cretan.
    â€˜Was he heading downhill – down the gorge?’ I asked quickly. ‘That’s probably another way down to Agios Georgios; in fact, I don’t see where else it can go. Did you see?’
    The Greek shook his head, then rubbed the back of his hand over his forehead. He looked tired, and was sweating profusely. He had spoken in his own language as if too exhausted to attempt English, and I had answered in the same tongue, but he gave no sign that he had noticed this. ‘No. I couldn’t get too close to him, you understand, so it was not easy to follow him. I lost him among the rocks and bushes. He could have climbed out of the gorge and gone further east, or he may have been making for the village. Look, I must tell Mark. He got up there?’
    â€˜Yes. I helped him up. He’s much better. What about Colin?’
    â€˜Eh? No. Nothing. He wasn’t there. He had not been to the boat.’ He spoke, I thought, as if his mind was not quite on what he was saying. He had hardly looked at me, but kept his eyes on the upper rocks where Mark lay. He rubbed a hand again across his damp face, and made as if to push past me without further speech.
    I caught at his sleeve in a sudden flash of apprehension. ‘Lambis! Are you telling me the truth?’
    He paused and turned. It seemed to take two or three seconds before his eyes focused on me. ‘The truth?’
    â€˜About Colin. Have you got bad news for Mark?’
    â€˜No, of course I haven’t! Of course I’m telling you the truth, why not? I went to the boat last night; he was not there. There was no sign, no sign of him at all. Why should I lie to you?’
    â€˜I – it’s all right. I just thought . . . Sorry.’
    â€˜It is because I have nothing to tell him that I am angry now. If I had found out something from this man—’ a quick exasperated shrug – ‘but I did not. I have failed, and this is what I have to tell Mark. Now let me go, he will be wondering what’s happened.’
    â€˜Wait just a moment, he knows you haven’t got Colin, we were watching you from the ledge. But the food – did you get the food and stuff?’
    â€˜Oh. Yes, of course I did. I