Greek Fire Read Online Free Page B

“How do you plan to spend your time here?” she asked.
    â€œI have to see Michael Michaelis. And I shall wander round meeting some old friends.”
    â€œGo carefully. Don’t get into trouble like last time.”
    â€œI was of use.”
    Her grey worldly-wise eyes flickered up to him for a moment. “I know you were of use. I know that, Gene. But you made enemies in high places as well as friends.”
    â€œIt’s an occupational risk.”
    â€œThat’s just what it’s not. If you are here on publishing business I’m sure no one will interfere with you. But if you start dabbling in our politics again … Besides, it is perhaps not altogether a pretty scene but it could be worse.”
    â€œDo you have friends who know Anya Stonaris?”
    She made a gesture disavowing responsibility. “… I have some.”
    â€œI want to meet her. Could it be arranged in some casual way?”
    â€œI suppose it is human nature that if you tell a man a woman is bad it makes him more eager to meet her.”
    He said: “I’ve met a lot of so-called bad women. They bore me to death. This one probably will. But I’ve other reasons for wanting to get to know her.”
    â€œWell, make no mistake. She is George Lascou’s woman without question.”
    â€œThat too,” said Gene, “ is something I’ll be interested to discover for myself.”

Chapter Five
    The day ended well. Towards evening the last of the clouds split and a vivid sun fell on the scene like an arc light on a film set. The temples clustering at the foot of the Acropolis were like things drawn out of themselves by a stereoscope, and above them the great Parthenon stood crowned against the sky in four-dimensioned light.
    Below it the modern city pullulated, a city of no visible connection except that of locality with the marble ruins of Cimon and Pericles, a city separated from the Hellenic age by two thousand years of neglect and non-inhabitation, a mushroom town grown in a hundred years from 5000 people to 1,250,000, spawning, sprawling, raucous and decentralised over all the great plain, ringed by mountains and stretching to the sea. Handsome boulevards and nineteenth century squares stood between the escarpments of the Acropolis and the Lycabettus; and around this central conglomerate a thousand featureless streets segmented to a German design stretched away until they deteriorated into rows of drab concrete boxes on the fringe of the plain.
    It was in this sudden brilliance that Gene Vanbrugh walked back to his hotel. The Astoria in spite of its name was small and in a dark side street and rated B class. Gene had known the proprietor for years. As he entered the proprietor’s wife said in an undertone: “Oh, M. Vanbrugh, there is someone waiting for you upstairs.”
    â€œName?”
    â€œShe wouldn’t give a name. But she said you had asked her to call.”
    â€œWhere is she?”
    â€œIn the writing-room.”
    Gene took his key and turned away.
    â€œAnd M. Vanbrugh, Paul told me to tell you …”
    â€œYes?”
    The woman glanced round. “ The police came while you were out, checking over our register. They said it was a routine call …”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œBut they asked for a description of foreign visitors. You are the only one. It is unusual for them to come like this. Paul said you should know.”
    â€œThank you. How long have they been gone?”
    â€œAbout an hour.”
    Thoughtfully Gene went up the stairs and into the writing-room. After the brightness outside there was nothing at first in the semi-darkness but dusty rexine furniture and the smell of mildew and moths. Then a foot scraped on the bare floor and a voice said in English:
    â€œI have come to call on you, M. Vanbrugh.”
    â€œI’m glad you’ve been so prompt.” He went to the window.
    â€œLeave the shutters for just the