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by road. Why?”
    He did not answer. Instead, he took an envelope from the writing desk and began to scribble something in pencil. I desperately needed a cigarette, but was afraid to light one in case it might look as if I were no longer worried. I was worried, and confused, too; but I wanted to be sure I looked that way. I drank the brandy instead.
    He finished his scribbling at last and looked up. “All right, Arthur. There’s a pad of plain paper there and a pen. I’m going to dictate. You start writing. No, don’t give me any arguments. Just do as I tell you.”
    I was hopelessly bewildered now. I picked up the pen.
    “Ready?”
    “Yes.”
    “Head it: To the Chief of Police, Athens. Got that? Now go on. I, Arthur A. Simpson, of - put in your address - do hereby confess that on June fifteenth using an illegal pass key, I entered the suite of Mr. Walter K. Harper in the Hotel Grande-Bretagne and stole American Express traveller's cheques to the value of three hundred dollars. The numbers of the cheques were ...”
    As he felt in his pocket for the loose cheques, I started to protest.
    “Mr. Harper, I can’t possibly write this. It would convict me. I couldn’t defend myself.”
    “Would you sooner defend yourself right now? If so, I can call the police, and you can explain about that pass key.” He paused and then went on more patiently. “Look, dad, maybe you and I will be the only ones who will ever read it. Maybe in a week’s time it won’t even exist. I’m just giving you a chance to get off the hook. Why don’t you take it and be thankful?”
    “What do I have to do for it?”
    “We’ll get to that later. Just you keep writing. The numbers of the cheques were P89.664.572 through P89.664.577, all in fifty-dollar units. I intended to forge Mr. Harper’s signature on them so that I could cash them illegally. I have stolen, forged, and cashed other cheques in that way. Shut up and keep writing! But now I find I cannot go through with it. Because of Mr. Harper’s great kindness to me during his visit to Athens, and his Christian charity, I feel that I cannot rob him. I am, therefore, sending the cheques I stole from him back with this letter. By taking this decision, I feel that I have come out of the darkness into the light of day. I know now that, as a sinner of the worst type, my only chance is to make restitution, to confess everything, and to pay the penalties the law demands. Only in this way can I hope for salvation in the world to come. Now sign it.”
    I signed it.
    “Now date it a week from today. No, better make it the twenty-third.”
    I dated it.
    “Give it to me.”
    I gave it to him and he read it through twice. Then he looked at me and grinned.
    “Not talking any more, Arthur?”
    “I wrote down what you dictated.”
    “Sure. And now you’re trying to figure out what would happen if I sent it to the police.”
    I shrugged.
    “All right, I’ll tell you what would happen. First they’d think you were a nut. They’d probably think that I was some kind of a nut, too, but they wouldn’t be interested in me. I wouldn’t be around anyway. On the other hand, they couldn’t ignore the whole thing, because of the cheques. Three hundred dollars! They’d have to take that seriously. So they’d start by getting on to American Express and finding out about all the cheque forgeries that have been traced back to accounts in Athens banks. Then they’d pull you in and grill you. What would you do, Arthur? Tell them about me and what really happened? You’d be silly to do that, wouldn’t you? They’d throw the book at you. No, you’re too smart for that. You’d go along with the reformation jazz. That way, you’d have a real defence - voluntary confession, restitution, sincere repentance. I’ll bet you’d get away with just a nominal sentence, maybe no more than a year.”
    “Thank you.”
    He grinned again. “Don’t you worry, Arthur. You’re not going to do any time at all.”