'But . . . but what about that document you made me sign? I promised-'
'Forget it;' Stephanie shook her head impatiently. 'When you signed it my husband hadn't tried to murder me. Anyhow, you signed it at my request; so I can absolve you from it, and I do.'
Over the mountains to the west, the last rays of the sunset were fading, and it was now almost dark. As Robbie glanced at the lingering flush on the peaks, he suddenly spotted on the road below them the lights of an approaching vehicle. Jumping to his feet, he said: 'There's a car or lorry coming. We must get it to give us a lift.'
'Yes; we can't stay here all night,' Stephanie agreed, as she stood up beside him. 'But what are you going to do: give yourself up to the police when we get to Tripolis, or take a chance on eluding them, anyway for a time?'
'I don't know. I've not had time to think, but there's a lot in what you have just said. We'll talk about it later.'
'That won't be much good, unless you cover your tracks from the beginning,' she said hastily. 'You had better take a new identity right away. You speak German, don't you?'
'Yes.'
'So do I. We had better pass ourselves off as German hikers. We've lost our kit in an accident. Let me do the talking.'
By then, they could see that the approaching vehicle was a car. Robbie ran out into the middle of the road and held up his arms. The car slowed down to take the corner, but hooted angrily for him to get out of the way. He stood his ground and, with evident reluctance, the driver brought the car to a halt only a few yards from him.
It was a four-seater, and there were two men in it. As Stephanie stepped up to the window beside the driver she saw that they were well dressed and, from the clothes and horn-rimmed spectacles they were wearing, she judged them to be Americans. In halting English, she asked if either of them spoke German.
The driver replied that he spoke a little, upon which she launched out on a piece of fiction that recalled to Robbie, a trifle grimly, the story-telling ability she had displayed when he had given her lunch at Floca's.
She said that they had set out from Tropaia that morning with the intention of sleeping at Vitina that night and they had had a map showing the goatpaths over the mountains by which they meant to go. At midday they had selected a place to picnic, with a beautiful view. Oh, such a beautiful view. Then tragedy. It was above a sandy cliff that had a rabbit warren in it. There were hundreds of rabbit holes; yes, hundreds. Walking about up there must have disturbed the earth. Suddenly there came a landslide. They were carried down nearly forty feet and buried up to their waists. Their picnic basket, their rucksacks, everything had been lost and they were lucky to have escaped alive. Their map, of course, had been buried too; so for hours they had been lost in the mountains and only a qfuarter of an hour ago had sighted the main road. Would the well-born gentlemen please give them a lift?
Had it been full daylight, it might have occurred to the occupants of the car that the clothes and footwear of the two unfortunates did not at all tally with the story that they were hikers; but in the near darkness they passed unnoticed. Evidently relieved that they had not been forced to pull up by tramps or other undesirables, the Americans expressed their sympathy to Stephanie and willingly agreed to take her and her boy-friend on their way. Coats and bundles in the back of the car were re-stacked, they climbed in and within a few minutes had left behind the spot where they had so nearly lost their lives.
The Americans, with the friendly communicativeness usual in their countrymen, gave their names and said they were professors on their sabbatical vacation from a Mid-Western university. They had toured England, France, Italy and, the previous Thursday, had left their wives to amuse themselves in Athens while they made a five-day tour of the outstanding antiquities in Greece. They had done Delphi and Olympia and were on their way to Navplion from which they would do Tiryns, Mycenae and Epidauros, then do Corinth on their way back to the capital.
Robbie's natural instinct was to tell them of things they must not miss in the places to which they had not yet been; but Stephanie kicked him into silence, fearing that he might give too much away about his real self. She had already given her name as Greta Heine and Robbie's as Willi Muller, and she went on to say they were from Heidelberg University, that they had flown out with a party of students for ten days, at a special rate during the Easter vacation, but that they preferred hiking and seeing the country to being rushed from place to place in a coach.
Neither of the Americans spoke very good German; so, after a while, the conversation lapsed, and within a quarter of an hour they reached Vitina, with its little summer resort nearly four thousand feet up in the mountains. Their driver drew up to set them down there; but Stephanie quickly said that, as they had lost all their kit, they must now go on to a town at which they could buy more.
Soon after nine o'clock, they arrived at Tripolis, where the Americans said they planned to break their journey for dinner at the Arkadia Hotel. Robbie by now had a ravenous appetite and would have given a lot to be able to dine there, too. But he knew that to have a meal at an expensive hotel would not be in keeping with his new role; so he began to thank them for the lift, preparatory to saying good-bye.
Stephanie, however, had other plans. She was most averse to Robbie's spending the night in Tripolis, in case Barak had already put the police there on to him; so she cut in to say that, if the well-born gentlemen would be so good as to take them on to Argos, it would be a great kindness, as they would then be able to see Mycenae from there next day. The professors agreed and dropped them in the arcaded square of the town, with the understanding that they would pick them up from the same corner at ten o'clock sharp.
On the corner where they had been set down, there was a small caf^-restaurant. As they were about to go into it, Stephanie said in a low voice: 'During the war and occupation, nearly all the Greeks in the towns picked up a little German or English; so not a word of Greek. Remember we are Germans. If need be, we'll use a few words of English to help out.'
Inside the place was fairly full, but they got a table to themselves and, with the help of an elderly waiter who had worked for some years in the United States, they ordered a meal. When they had given their order, Stephanie told the man in broken English that they had sent their suitcases on ahead by train from Argos, then cadged a lift from a lorry; but on going to the station, they found that their luggage had not arrived. As the shops were now shut, this had put them in a nasty fix. She then asked if there was any way he could suggest by which they could buy two bags or knapsacks and things for the night.
The waiter could and would. Like all Greeks of his class, he was both obliging and ready to go to some trouble to earn a small commission. He had a friend who had a friend, etc. Two small children were despatched on missions. A quarter of an hour later, several men and women with bronzed faces and gleaming white teeth arrived. One had some inexpensive fibre suitcases to sell; another cotton pyjamas, nightdresses and dressing gowns; a third sponges, scent, soaps and certain rubber goods that, turning his back to Stephanie, he displayed to Robbie with a whispered recommendation as to their reliability.
Robbie waved him away but, at Stephanie's urging, made as swift a selection as possible from the other items, so as to get rid of a crowd that was quickly collecting and which might have aroused the interest of a policeman. In the half hour that remained to them, Robbie managed to dispose of two taskebaps on skewers, a splinantero of fried intestines, a dish of French fried, which are good anywhere in Greece, and a hunk of white F6ta cheese. Stephanie contented herself with a so-called omelette that had chunks of highly-spiced sausage in it, and a compote of prunes and figs. After washing down these items with two large carafes of the local retsina, they both felt considerably better for their meal.