So perished the greatest of the Heroes. There came a terrible storm of thunder and lightning, during which Pallas Athene descended in her chariot and bore the immortal part of Hercules up to Olympus. By then even Hera's hatred of him had burnt itself out. She welcomed him among the gods and gave him for
wife her daughter Hebe, the spirit of Eternal Youth.
* * * *
When Robbie finished reading, his large brown eyes were glistening, and he was almost in tears. 'Poor, poor Hercules!' he thought. 'What a terrible time he had. His life had been one long series of combats with powerful beasts and hideous reptiles. All his love affairs had gone wrong, the Kings he had performed great deeds for had cheated him out of his rewards and he had spent the best years of his life doing penance for crimes committed while he was not responsible for his actions. Then, to cap it all, he had died in agony. Still, after all, he had come out all right in the end. Athene had seen to it that he should be given a place for all eternity on Olympus, and no man could have asked more than to have for his own the lovely Hebe who would remain for ever young and gay.'
This last thought put a different complexion on the matter and cheered Robbie considerably. He needed no telling that he had neither the strength, the courage nor the quick wits of Hercules; but as against that, he did not expect to have to fight any fire-breathing dragons, and he did have one thing in common with the Hero—namely, the same patron. Whatever trials and tribulations might beset his path, he felt confident that Athene would arrange matters so that he, too, came out all right in the end.
Next morning, hardly able to contain his excitement, he was at the Czech Legation well before ten o'clock. Confidently announcing that he had an appointment with Mr. Havelka, he sent his name up. When a reply came down that the Minister would not be able to see him for some time, that did not in the least damp his spirits. It did not even occur to him that Havelka had not actually promised him a job and might not have found one for him. He sat down opposite a large portrait of the President of the CzechoslOvakian Republic, and just let his thoughts drift.
Three-quarters of an hour later, a middle-aged man with hair cut en brosse, a blue jowl and a small paunch, who looked as though he ought to be wearing a Gestapo uniform and carrying a gun, entered the hall, halted in front of Robbie, gave a jerky bow and said: 'Cepicka.'
'Oh—er—yes.' Robbie quickly stood up. 'My name is Grenn. How d'you do?'
'Mistair Grenn,' nodded the other, then went on in Czech: 'Pan Havelka tells me you speak our language. He regrets not to receive you, but he has a great deal of work. He asks that you place yourself in my hands. Come with me, please.'
'By all means,' smiled Robbie, turning instinctively toward the stairs. It was only as Mr. Cepicka turned in the opposite direction, towards the door to the street, that Robbie noticed that he was carrying a hat. When he reached the door, he put on the hat, with the remark: 'It is not far, so we will walk.'
Much puzzled, Robbie caught him up and strode along beside him. Sekeri Street debouched on to the broad Leoforos Vasilissis Sofias Boulevard, on which the British Embassy lay, but was nearer the centre of the city. Twice Robbie attempted to start a conversation with his companion, but the gorilla-like Mr. Cepicka replied only in monosyllables. Having covered a few hundred yards, they reached Constitution Square. Maintaining a stolid silence, Cepicka walked purposefully across it and entered a turning just off Karageorgi Street. A little way along it, he turned into an alley that broadened out into a small courtyard. In the centre grew a gnarled olive tree; at the sides there were two small private houses, a shop that sold bales of coarse silk, and a travel agency. Cepicka marched into the latter and said abruptly to a tall, thin young man behind the counter: 'Comrade Krajcir. He is expecting me.'
'Yes, Commrade Cepicka,' replied the young man quickly, with a nervous smile. 'Please come this way.'
He ushered them into an inner office. There, behind a desk, a plump man of about forty was sitting. He had very black hair that grew low on his forehead, dark eyes under bushy brows, a rather round face and a dimpled chin. He stood up and shook hands solemnly with Cepicka, who said: 'I bring you the young man about whom the Comrade Minister spoke to you on the telephone.' Then he turned to Robbie and added:
'This is Comrade Marak Krajcir. He is in charge here and will provide for you the employment that you asked Pan Havelka to find for you.'
Comrade Krajcir smiled, displaying a gold tooth at the left side of his upper jaw, and held out his hand to Robbie. Taking it in a firm grip, Robbie bowed over it, murmured his own name, and said how happy he was to know Mr. Krajcir.
The blue-jowled, unsmiling Comrade Cepicka announced that, having executed the orders he had been given, he would leave them and, with a curt nod, made his exit.
The more amiable Krajcir invited Robbie to sit down, asked him if he was willing to start work right away and, on receiving a reply in the affirmative, informed him of the office hours he would be expected to keep. He then proposed a wage that was little more than a pittance, but added that a handsome commission would be given on all business brought to the agency.
It was barely ten minutes since Robbie had left the Czech Legation, and all this had happened so quickly that his slow mind had not yet taken in its full significance; so, ever eager to please, he agreed enthusiastically.
Only after having been introduced to the other members of the staff, and finding himself rubber-stamping a thick pile of travel folders, did it fully come home to him that he had been had for a mug.
Mr. Havelka happened at about that time to give a thought to Robbie, and he smiled in his little black beard. He felt that in this matter he had good reason to congratulate himself on having eaten his cake and kept it, too. He could take kudos from his superiors for having caused the British Ambassador to lose face by taking his nephew into his employment, yet he had placed Robbie as a stooge in the Czech Travel Agency, where he could not possibly find out any secrets.
That was what Mr. Havelka thought and, had he had only Robbie to deal with, he would have been right. Understandably, he had not taken Pallas Athene into his calculations and, as she was on Robbie's side, before Mr. Havelka was very much older he found, to his fury and alarm, that he had been entirely wrong.
6
The Amateur Cracksman
That night Robbie again seriously contemplated throwing in his hand. He had thought himself such a clever fellow to have talked
Havelka into promising to find him a job, and it had never for a moment occurred to him that the job would not be in the Legation. But he now saw that, even if Havelka had believed his assertion that he had Communist sympathies, the Minister would never have been fool enough to give the nephew of the British Ambassador any employment which might enable him to secure knowledge of secret transactions.
In vain he racked his brains for some other line of approach by which he might ferret out the truth about the Czecho-Greek oil-tobacco deal. He could think of none. Yet, having had such high hopes of achieving, for the first time in his life, something worth while by his own initiative, to admit defeat after less than a week of endeavour would mean a humiliation almost beyond bearing.
After much cogitation, he decided that he could at least put off swallowing that final bitter pill as long as he continued to work at the Travel Agency, and that, while there, it was just possible that a new way of trying to achieve his object might occur to him; so next morning at eight o'clock, he duly reported for duty.