Her head was small for her body, with dark hair drawn tightly away from the brow. The face seemed as though it ought to belong to someone younger or less gross. It was still firm and delicately shaped, and the eyes under their heavy lids were dark and clear.
She murmured a word of greeting.
Miss Kolin replied. George had briefed her in readiness for the interview and she did not trouble to interpret the preliminaries. He saw Madame Vassiotis nod understandingly and glance at the old man. He prompttly finished his wine and went out. Then she bowed slightly to George and, with a gesture of invitation, led the way through a doorway at the back into a sitting-room.
There, there were Turkish carpets on the walls, a divan with plush cushions, and a few pieces of rickety Victorian furniture. It reminded him of a fortune-teller’s booth in a travelling fair. Only the crystal ball was missing.
Madame Vassiotis poured three glasses of wine, sank down heavily on the divan, and motioned them to chairs. When they were seated, she folded her hands in her lap and looked placidly from one to the other of them as if waiting for someone to propose a parlour game.
“Ask her,” George said, “if she has been able to get any reply to the questions put to her by Monsieur Kliris.”
Madame Vassiotis listened gravely to the translation and then, with a nod, began to speak.
“She states,” said Miss Kolin, “that she has been able to speak with one of the andartes who took part in the affair near Vodena. Her information is that the German Sergeant was killed.”
“Does she know how he was killed?”
“He was in the first truck of the German convoy. It exploded a mine.”