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he said after he had closed the door again, (But now, what? The man was looking at him, blank and expectant.) “the thing to do is get out of this hotel before that fellow’s missed—at his headquarters or whatever.”
    â€œYes. Or found,” Chester said. “Well, we’re nearly packed and ready, aren’t we, honey?”
    â€œTwo more minutes for the stuff in the john,” said Colette. “You get your razor and things, Ches. I’ve practically got this finished. Toss me a towel, will you?”
    â€œA towel?”
    â€œA towel, so I can dry this.”
    Colette sounded very practical. She was certainly cool-headed. She looked up and saw Rydal looking at her and smiled at him, then adroitly caught the towel Chester tossed across the room to her. “What a mess,” she said, bending to her work again.
    Rydal remembered the papers he had stuffed into his overcoat pocket, and pulled them out. There was a chunky notebook, and he flipped through it. There were many photographs, and he found Chester’s at once. He walked closer to Chester, who was putting things into a suitcase. “This is you?”
    Chester looked embarrassed, but he nodded.
    The comment, in Greek, said that he was wanted for fraud and embezzlement. There were several different names under the picture, in Greek and English characters. “Which of these names is yours?” asked Rydal.
    Chester held the notebook’s edge and looked over the names, looked a little wildly. “None of them. My name’s—I’m Chester MacFarland.” There was no use in hiding it, Chester thought, because the fellow could just ask the hotel desk who was or had been in room six twenty-one.
    â€œChester MacFarland,” Rydal repeated softly.
    Chester gave a nervous smile. “Heard of me?”
    â€œNo . . . no.” The Greek agent’s name, Rydal saw, was George M. Papanopolos.
    â€œUh . . . we were going to Corinth tomorrow. I don’t suppose you know if there’s a train or bus there tonight, do you? We were going to rent a car tomorrow, but—”
    â€œI don’t happen to know, but I can call down and ask the desk to find out,” Rydal said, moving towards the telephone.
    â€œNo, wait!” Chester spread his hands. “Your calling—from this room—”
    â€œWell, it just occurred to me,” Rydal said to Chester, and the woman, too, who was now standing in the middle of the room, looking at him, “since nobody saw me come up, I can just as well say I’ve been here with you all afternoon. Or at least a few hours. ” The man looked blank still, so Rydal said, “I didn’t take the elevator up. I saw it went to the sixth floor, so I took the stairs up. I don’t think anybody noticed me. I mean, in case that man is found before we get out—I’ll provide an alibi.” The words seemed to come out of him from nowhere. He was offering to perjure himself. And for what? For whom? A man whose look of a gentleman didn’t go very deep, Rydal could see now; a man whose clothes were well cut and tailor made, but whose cuff-links were flashy; a man whose over-all manner looked dishonest, because he was dishonest. “Take your choice. I’m not insisting,” Rydal added. “I mean, whether I call downstairs or not.”
    â€œYes. Do call. That’s fine,” Chester said. He looked away from Rydal’s eyes.
    Rydal picked up the telephone and, without thinking, began to speak in Greek, asking about trains and buses to Corinth. The woman, after closing a couple of suitcases, returned to staring at him curiously, unself-conscious, apparently, as a child. Rydal hung up and said, “The last bus left at six. No train until tomorrow. You could perhaps rent a car at this hour, but it’s an odd time to be starting off for Corinth. The view along the sea is considered the best part of the trip. Kinetta Beach,