His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,

before the search party would clear the northern part of the town, give himself and Andrea a chance to begin a diversion. "Come on, let's cache this stuff and get out of here. We'll shove the rucksacks in this corner and cover 'em with earth. Take the rope out first, though; we'll have no time to start undoing packs when we get back here." Miller dropped to his knees, hands fumbling with straps, then exclaimed in sudden annoyance. "This can't be the pack," he muttered in disgust. Abruptly his voice changed. "Here, wait a minute, though." "What's up, Dusty?" Miller didn't answer immediately. For a few seconds his hands explored the contents of the pack, then he straightened. "The slow-burnin' fuse, boss." His voice was blurred with anger, with a vicious anger that astonished Mallory. "It's gone!" "What!" Mallory stooped, began to search through the pack. "It can't be, Dusty, it just can't! Dammit to hell, man, you packed the stuff yourself!" "Sure I did, boss," Miller grated. "And then some crawlin' bastard comes along behind my back and unpacks it again." "Impossible!" Mallory protested. "It's just downright impossible, Dusty. You closed that rucksackI saw you do it in the grove this morningand Louki has had it all the time since then. And I'd trust Louki with my life." "So would I, boss." "Maybe we're both wrong," Mallory went on quietly. "Maybe you did miss it out. We're both helluva tired, Dusty." Miller looked at him queerly, said nothing for a moment, then began to swear again. "It's my own fault, boss, my own gawddamned fault." "What do you mean, your own fault? Heavens above man, I was there when . . ." Mallory broke off, rose quickly to his feet and stared through the darkness at the south side of the square. A single shot had rung out there, the whiplash crack of a carbine followed the thin, high whine of a ricochet, and then silence. Mallory stood quite still, hands clenched by his sides. Over ten minutes had passed since he and Miller had left Panayis to guide Andrea and Brown to the Castle Vygosthey should have been well away from the square by this time. And almost certainly Louki wouldn't be down there. Mallory's instructions to him had been explicitto hide the remainder of the T.N.T. blocks in the roof and then wait there to lead himself and Miller to the keep. But something could have gone wrong, something could always go wrong. Or a digital camera from walmart trap, maybe, a ruse. But what kind of trap? The sudden, off-beat stammering of a heavy machine-gun stilled his thoughts, and for a moment or two he was all eyes and straining ears. And then another, and lighter machine-gun cut in, just for a few seconds: as abruptly as they had started, both guns died away, together. Mallory waited no longer. "Get the stuff together again," he whispered urgently. "We're taking it with us. Something's gone wrong." Within thirty seconds they had ropes and explosives back in their knapsacks, had strapped them on their backs and were on their way. Bent almost double, careful to make no noise whatsoever, they ran across the roof-tops towards the old house where they had hidden earlier in the evening, where they were now to rendezvous with Louki. Still running, they were only feet away from the house when they saw his shadowy figure rise up, only it wasn't Louki, Mallory realised at once, it was far too tall for Louki, and without breaking step he catapulted the horizontal driving weight of his 180 pounds at the unknown figure in a homicidal tackle, his shoulder catching the man just below the breast-bone, emptying every last particle of air from the man's lungs with an explosive, agonised whoosh. A second later both of Miller's sinewy hands were clamped round the man's neck, slowly choking him to death. And he would have choked to death, neither of the two men were in any mind for half-measures, had not Mallory, prompted by some fugitive intuition, stooped low over the contorted face, the staring, protruding eyes, choked back a cry of sudden horror. "Dusty!" he whispered hoarsely. "For God's sake, stop! Let him go! It's Panayis!" Miller didn't hear him. In the gloom his face was like stone, his head sunk farther and farther between hunching shoulders as he tightened his grip, strangling the Greek in a weird and savage silence. "It's Panayis, you bloody fool, Panayis!" Mallory's mouth was at the American's ear, his hands clamped round the other's wrists as he tried to drag him off Panayis's throat. He could hear the muffled drumming of Panayis's heels on the turf of the roof, tore at Miller's wrists with all his strength: twice before he had heard that sound as a man had died under Andrea's great hands, and he knew with sudden certainty that Panayis would go the same way, and soon, if he didn't make Miller understand. But all at once Miller understood, relaxed