“That’s what I shall be if anything happens to Franz Schirmer.”
“Oh-la-la! Sorry I spoke.”
“Forget it. Say, what about taking it easy this time on some of those bends going down?”
“O.K., pal. You’re the doctor. Easy it is.”
The opening between the driver’s seat and the rear of the truck had a flap over it, and during the drive down to the culvert George struck a match so that Miss Kolin could examine the false number-plates again. She looked at them carefully and nodded. George extinguished the match impatiently. Any real hopes he might have had that the Sergeant would, after all, turn out to be only another simple-minded zealot of the Phengaros type had long since been abandoned. It was absurd to go on clutching at straws.
Promising to meet them again the following night at the same place, Arthur left them at the culvert. They stumbled back to the car, roused the old man from his sleep, and set out on the road back to Florina.
Although it was the first opportunity they had had of talking privately since they had met the Sergeant, neither of them spoke for several minutes. Then it was Miss Kolin who at last broke the silence.
“What do you intend to do?” she asked.
“Cable the office for instructions.”
“You will not inform the police?”