Dillon nodded composedly. He looked intently at Coburn. "You know me," he said reservedly. "Should I remember you?"
"I've met you once or twice," Coburn told him. "In Salonika."
"Oh," said Dillon. "Oh, yes. Sorry. I've got some cameras up yonder. I want a picture or two of those Bulgarians. See if you can persuade this young lady not to go on. I fancy it's safe enough here. Not a normal raid route through this pass."
Coburn nodded. Dillon expected the raid, evidently. This sort of thing had happened in Turkey. Now it would start up here, in Greece. The soldiers would strike fast and far, at first. They wouldn't stop to hunt down the local inhabitants. Not yet.
"We'll wait," said Coburn. "You'll be back?"
"Oh, surely!" said Dillon. "Five minutes or less."
He started up the precipitous wall, at whose bottom he had slid down. He climbed remarkably well. He went up hand-over-hand despite the steepness of the stone. It looked almost impossible, but Dillon apparently found handgrips by instinct, as a good climber does. In a matter of minutes he vanished, some fifty feet up, behind a bulging mass of stone. He did not reappear.
Coburn began to get his breath back. The girl looked at him, her forehead creased.