He lacked also Louki's quick intelligence, the calculated opportunism that amounted almost to genius. It had been a brilliant idea on Louki's part, Mallory mused, that they should take over this abandoned house: not that there had been any difficulty in finding an empty house — since the Germans had taken over the old castle the inhabitants of the town had left in their scores for Margaritha and other outlying villages, none more quickly than those who had lived in the town square itself; the nearness of the fortress gates, the sentries marching to and fro, the never-ceasing reminders that their freedom was a vanished thing. So many had gone that more than half the houses on the west side of the square — those nearest the fortress — were now occupied by German officers. But this same enforced close observation of the fortress's activities had been exactly what Mallory had wanted. When the time came to strike they had only yards to go. And although any competent garrison commander would always be prepared against the unexpected, Mallory considered it unlikely indeed that any reasonable man could conceive of a sabotage group so suicidally minded as to spend an entire day within a literal stone's throw of the fortress wall.
Not that the house as such had much to recommend it. As a home, a dwelling place, it was just about as uncomfortable as possible, as dilapidated as it could be without actually falling down. The west side of the square — the side perched precariously on the cliff-top — and the south side were made up of fairly modern buildings of whitewashed stone and Parian granite, huddled together in the invariable fashion of houses in these island towns, fiat-roofed to catch as much as possible of the winter rains. But the east side of the square, where they were, was made up of antiquated timber and turf houses, of the kind much more often found in remote mountain vifiages.
The beaten earth floor beneath his feet was hummocky, uneven, and the previous occupants had used one corner of it — obviously — for a variety of purposes, not least as a refuse dump. The ceiling was of roughhewn, blackened beams, more or less covered with planks, these in turn being covered with a thick layer of trodden earth: from previous experience of such houses in the White Mountains, Mallory knew that the roof would leak like a sieve whenever the rain came on. Across one end of the room was a solid ledge some thirty inches high, a ledge that served, after the fashion of similar structures in Eskimo igloos, as bed, table or settee as the occasion demanded. The room was completely bare of furniture.
Mallory started as someone touched him on the shoulder and turned round. Miller was behind him, munching away steadily, the remains of a bottle of wine in his hand.
«Better get some chow, boss,» he advised. «I'll take a gander through this hole from time to time.»
«Right you are, Dusty. Thanks.» Mallory moved gingerly towards the back of the room — it was almost pitch dark inside and they dared not risk a light — and felt his way till he brought up against the ledge. The tireless Andrea had gone through their provisions and prepared a meal of sorts — dried figs, honey, cheese, garlic sausages and pounded roast chestnuts. A horrible mixture, Mallory thought, but the best Andrea could do: besides he was too hungry, ravenously so, to worry about such niceties as the pleasing of his palate. And by the time he had washed it down with some of the local wine that Louki and Panayis bad provided the previous day, the sweetly-resinous rawness of the drink had obliterated every other taste.
Carefully, shielding the match with his hand, Mallory lit a cigarette and began to explain for the first time his plan for entering the fortress. He did not have to bother lowering his voice — a couple of looms in the next house, one of the few occupied ones left on that side of the square, clacked incessantly throughout the evening. Mallory had a shrewd suspicion that this was more of Louki's doing, although it was difficult to see how he could have got word through to any of his friends. But Mallory was content to accept the situation as it was, to concentrate on making sure that the others understood his insttuctions.
Apparently they did, for there were no questions. For a few minutes the talk became general, the usually taciturn Casey Brown having the most to say, complaining bitterly about the food, the drink, his injured leg and the hardness of the bench where he wouldn't be able to sleep a wink all night long. Mallory grinned to himself but said nothing; Casey Brown was definitely on the mend.
«I reckon we've talked enough, gentlemen.» Mallory slid off the bench and stretched himself. God, he was tired! «Our first and last chance to get a decent night's sleep. Two hour watches — I'll take the first.»
«By yourself?» It was Miller caffing softly from the other end of the room. «Don't you think we should share watches, boss? One for the front, one for the back. Besides, you know we're all pretty well done up. One man by himself might fall asleep.» He sounded so anxious that Mallory laughed.
«Not a chance, Dusty. Each man will keep watch by the window there and if he falls asleep he'll damn' soon wake up when he hits the floor. And it's because we're so darned bushed that we can't afford to have anyone lose sleep unnecessarily. Myself first, then you, then Panayis, then Casey, then Andrea.»
«Yeah, I suppose that'll be O.K.,» Miller conceded grudgingly.
He put something hard and cold into his hand. Mallory recognised it at once — it was Miller's most cherished possession, his silenced automatic.
«Just so's you can fill any nosy customers full of little holes without wakin' the whole town.» He ambled off to the back of the room, lit a cigarette, smoked it quietly for a few moments, then swung his legs up on the bench. Within five minutes everyone except the silently watchful man at the window was sound asleep.
Two or three minutes later Mallory jerked to unmoving attention as he heard a stealthy sound outside-from the back of the house, he thought. The clacking of the looms next door had stopped, and the house was very still. Again there came the noise, unmistakable this time, a gentle tapping at the door at the end of the passage that led from the back of the room.
«Remain there, my Captain.» It was Andrea's soft murmur, and Mallory marveled for the hundredth time at Andrea's ability to rouse himself from the deepest of sleeps' at the slightest alien sound: the violence of a thunderstorm would have left him undisturbed. «I will see to it. It must be Louki.»
It was Louki. The little man was panting, near exhaustion, but extraordinarily pleased with himself. Gratefully he drank the cup of wine that Andrea poured for him.
«Damned glad to see you back again!» Mallory said sincerely. «How did it go? Someone after you?»
Mallory could almost see him drawing himself up to his full height in the darkness.
«As if any of these clumsy fools could see Louki, even on a moonlit night, far less catch him,» he said indignantly. He paused to draw some deep breaths. «No, no, Major, I knew you would be worried about me so I ran back all the way. Well, nearly all the way,» he amended. «I am not so young as I was, Major Mallory.»
«All the way from where?» Mallory asked. He was glad of the darkness that hid his smile.
«From Vygos. It is an old castle that the Franks built there many generations ago, about two miles from here along the coast road to the east.» He paused to drink another mouthful of wine. «More than two miles, I would say — and I only walked twice, a minute at a time, on the way back.» Mallory had the impression that Louki already regretted his momentary weakness in admitting that he was no longer a young man.