“Not yet, but I have a letter to him from our Legation in Athens.”
“Ah, good. I will tell the commandant that you are a friend of the American Minister. That should be sufficient.”
“What exactly is this man Phengaros in prison for?”
The Colonel referred to the folder. “Jewel robbery, Mr. Carey.”
“I thought you said he was a political prisoner.”
“In America, Mr. Carey, your criminals are all capitalists. Here in these times they are occasionally Communists. Men like Phengaros do not steal for themselves, but for the Party funds. Of course, if we catch them they go to the criminal prison. They cannot be sent to the islands as politicals. They have made some big coups lately. It is quite traditional. Even the great Stalin robbed a bank for the Party funds when he was a young man. Of course, there are some of these bandits from the hills who only pretend to rob for the Party, and keep what they get for themselves. They are clever and dangerous and the police do not catch them. But Phengaros is not of that kind. He is a simple, deluded fanatic of the type that always gets caught.”
“When can I see him?”
“Tomorrow perhaps. We shall see.” He pressed the button again for the Lieutenant. “Tell me,” he said, “are you and Madame by chance without an engagement this evening? I should so much like to show you our city.”
Twenty minutes later George and Miss Kolin left the building and came again into the heat and glare of a Salonika afternoon. George’s excuse that he had a long report to write that evening had been accepted with ready understanding. Miss Kolin had seemed to have rather more difficulty in evading the Colonel’s hospitality. The conversation, however, had been conducted in Greek and George had understood nothing of it.
They crossed to the shade on the other side of the street.