“I’m curious. Kuros, to know where you got this,” Simon said, holding up the passport photograph.
“From my files,” the Greek answered with obvious satisfaction. “Originally, of course, from the passport photographer who took it. Can you think of a better source than passport photographers for clear pictures of almost everyone who counts — even those who shy from seeing themselves in newspapers and magazines? In this house I have such a quantity of photographs and other information that you would be amazed.”
“Nothing about you would amaze me,” the Saint said coolly. “Sicken me, yes, but not amaze me.”
Timonaides’ grip on his automatic tightened.
“That will be enough talk. Now. if Mr Wyler — who incidentally confirmed your real identity to Dr Edelhof late this afternoon as a sign of his good faith — and Mr Halston will...”
There was a buzz from an intercom box on a table beside the armchair where Timonaides had been sitting.
“The watchman at the gate,” he explained, keeping his automatic aimed at Simon as he spoke into the box. “I told you not to... Yes? Send her away immediately. Oh. Well. Very good, have the boys from the boat bring her up here then.”
Simon, whose instinct told him it would be best to display no interest in the watchman’s call, had already begun speaking to Wyler and Halston.
“Let me tell you about the man you’re working for — and especially about his extensive files. He got his start in Greece during the war, during the German occupation. Somehow he managed to be a member of the resistance and at the same time end up rich on Nazi money at the expense of a few dozen dead patriots. That must have been where he learned the saleable value of information — and that the potential victim might pay even more not to be turned in than the authorities would to get him. Then, after the war...”
“Shut up,” barked Timonaides.
“Ashamed of that part of your career?” Simon asked mildly. “I’ll admit that as much as I despise the kind of blackmail you’re engaging in now, I prefer it to...”
Timonaides’ first violent reaction had been controlled, and the natural pinkness, which for an instant had drained away, returned to his face.
“Do not talk any more, Mr Templar,” he said.
Simon sensed that until he was in a better position to defend himself he would be wise to obey the order. Timonaides turned to Wyler and Halston.
“Don’t worry yourselves about Mr Templar’s words. You will learn what you need to know of my operations. Rest assured that I am no common gangster, but a businessman. It is not my fault if the laws of the jungle still govern man’s competitive activities, no matter how much he tries to cover them up with pretty words. Only the stupid masses believe in such fairy tales... which suits the purposes of superior people very well.”
There were sounds of footsteps from the terrace, and Timonaides went to the door and opened it.
“Let her go,” he said to the men outside, not allowing them to see his gun, “and get back to the boat. You can sleep awhile if you like. We shall be doing a little hunting.”
Jenny Turner, her short yellow-flowered summer dress looking strangely inappropriate, stepped into the room.
“It suits my purposes,” Timonaides said precisely, in place of greeting her, “for the servants to know that I keep rabbits on the island in case I want a little sport. It explains the sounds of shots. This is the first time, however, that a rabbit has come to my island of its own free will.” He gestured with the gun. “If you will please go stand by your friend Mr Templar.” As Jenny moved; Timonaides looked at Simon. “She came to rescue you.”
“I had to come,” she said, “when I heard them saying they’d found out who you really were, and...”
“Heard who?” Simon asked, starting to stand up as she came over to his chair.
“Put up your hands, Mr Templar,” Timonaides said. “Maria Corsina and Edelhof were talking,” Jenny said. “They didn’t know I followed them down the hall toward their offices, and...”
“And so,” Timonaides took up the narrative, “your young friend here confiscated a boat and came to help you.”
“I never thought the whole island out here would have a fence around it,” she said. “I thought I could sneak in.”
Timonaides half smiled and shook his head. “And just what did you think you’d do when you got in?”
“I... I’m not sure. Lots of things. It depended on...”
“Well,” the Greek interrupted, “fortunately, you did not have to face that problem.” He turned to Simon again. “She tried to tell the watchman some ridiculous story about a message she was bringing. I communicate by radio with the shore, of course, and the watchman always knows about legitimate visitors in advance. So...” He shook his head again. “I’m afraid the sides in our Death Game are going to be equal. Two against two.”
Jenny, who had looked frightened already, turned pale. “Death Game?”
Timonaides nodded. “Mr Halston and Mr Wyler are going to be the hunters. You and Mr Templar will be the victims. The hunters will be armed and the victims will not. But for the sake of fairness, we will let our rabbits have a three minute head start.”
Halston licked his lips nervously. “A girl?” he asked.
“Girls die as easily as men,” Timonaides said. Jenny turned her stare on Wyler.
“Grey... you wouldn’t really...”
Wyler met her eyes for a minute, then nodded as he looked away.
“Easy there,” Simon said to her in a soothing voice. “I think it’s very sporting for Mr Timonaides to give us a start. Let’s save our breath for that.”
Timonaides pressed a button on his intercom set.
“I don’t want you getting hit by stray bullets,” he said into the box. “Be sure the gate is locked, and then go get in the boat with the other boys. All three of you stay below decks, and don’t come out until I personally come there and tell you to. Do you understand?”
A pause..
“And don’t get into the champagne. I hope you do understand. If you come out of the sleeping cabin before I tell you, you will be fired — and worse than that.”
Timonaides turned away from the intercom.
“That will take care of witnesses. Now, Mr Templar, you may go, and I suggest that you and your ally move as fast as you can while I am giving weapons to my friends here. I must admit I am anxious to see if they do as brilliantly in real life as they have done in games.”
“Let’s go, Jenny,” Simon said, taking her firmly by the hand and leading her toward the door.
“And Mr Templar,” Timonaides said, “if you have any ideas about climbing the fence, forget them. The upper strands are electrified.”
“Must take quite a generator to do that,” Simon said.
Timonaides smiled.
“It does — and you can forget any ideas you may have about that, too, because it is safely located in the cellar of this house. You can’t get at it from the outside.”
The Saint nodded.
“Thanks for saving us the trouble of looking for it.”
The Greek glanced at his watch.
“I’m afraid you will not have much time to look for anything. Half a minute is gone already.”
Simon sprinted across the terrace and along the asphalt path, with Jenny close behind him.
“What’ll we do?” she gasped.
I saw something like a tool shed along here on the way up. There. This way.”
They left the path, hurried around a clump of banana trees, and came on a small wooden shed. The door was held with only a sliding bolt. Simon yanked it open and began searching through the implements which were hung on the walls or were leaning in the corners. He handed out a two-pronged pitchfork with a long handle.
“Primitive, but a perfectly respectable weapon,” he said.