“Goldsmith!” said Arthur unexpectedly.
“Pardon?”
“Oliver Goldsmith,” repeated Arthur; “he wrote a book called The Citizen of the World. We had it at school. Lot of crap about a Chinaman who comes to London and sees the sights.”
“What part of London do you come from, Arthur?”
Arthur wagged a finger coyly. “Ah, naughty, naughty! That would be telling!”
“Afraid I’ll check up on the British War Office lists of troops reported missing in Greece and find out which ones came from where you came from?”
“What do you think, chum?”
George smiled. “O.K., Arthur. Here it is. This man Schirmer I’ve been inquiring about was entitled to some money left by a distant relative of his in America. He was reported missing. I came here really to get confirmation of his death, but I’d also like to know if he ever had any children. That’s all. I found out today that he’s dead.”
“From old Ma Vassiotis?”
“That’s right. And now I’m on my way home.”