But I, being fond of true philosophy,

outline of the keepless than a cross-country mile from the town instead of Louki's exaggerated estimatewhen they passed by an abandoned earthen house and Miller spoke for the first time since they had left the town square of Navarone. "I'm bushed, boss." His head was sunk on his chest, and his breathing was laboured. "01' man Miller's on the downward path, I reckon, and the legs are gone. Couldn't we squat inside here for a couple of minutes, boss, and have a smoke?" Mallory looked at him in surprise, thought how desperately weary his own legs felt and nodded in reluctant agreement. Miller wasn't the man to complain unless he was near exhaustion. "Okay, Dusty, I don't suppose a minute or two will harm." He translated quickly into Greek and led the way inside, Miller at his heels complaining at length about his advancing age. Once inside, Mallory felt his way across to the inevitable wooden bunk, sat down gratefully, lit a cigarette, then looked up in puzzlement. Miller was still on his feet, walking slowly round the hut, tapping the walls as he went. "Why don't you sit down?" Mallory asked irritably. "That was why you came in here in the first place, wasn't it?" "No, boss, not really." The drawl was very pronounced. "Just a low-down trick to get us inside. Twothree very special things I want to show you." "Very special. What the devil are you trying to tell me?" "Bear with me, Captain Mallory," Miller requested formally. "Bear with me just a few minutes. I'm not wastin' your time. You have my word, Captain Mallory." "Very well." Mallory was mystified, but his confidence in Miller remained unshaken. "As you wish. Only don't be too long about it." "Thanks, boss." The strain of formality was too much for Miller. "It won't take long. There'll be a lamp or candles in hereyou said the islanders never leave an abandoned house without 'em?" "And a very useful superstition it's been to us, too." Mallory reached under the bunk with his torch, straightened his back. "Two or three candles here." "I want a light, boss. No windowsI checked. O.K.?" "Light one and I'll go outside to see if there's anything showing." Mallory was completely in the dark about the American's intentions. He felt Miller didn't want him to say anything, and there was a calm surety about him that precluded questioning. Mallory was back in less than a minute. "Not a chink to be seen from the outside," he reported. "Fair enough. Thanks, boss." Miller lit a second top consumer choice digital cameras candle, then slipped the rucksack straps from his shoulders, laid the pack on the bunk and stood in silence for a moment. Mallory looked at his watch, looked back at Miller. "You were going to show me something," he prompted. "Yeah, that's right. Three things, I said." He dug into the pack, brought out a little black box hardly bigger than a match-box. "Exhibit A, boss." Mallory looked at it curiously. "What's that?" "Clockwork fuse." Miller began to unscrew the back panel. "Hate the damned things. Always make me feel like one of those bolshevik characters with a dark cloak, a moustache like Louki's and carryin' one of those black cannon-ball things with a sputterin' fuse stickin' outa it. But it works." He had the back off the box now, examining the mechanism in the light of his torch. "But this one doesn't, not any more," he added softly. "Clock's O.K., but the contact arm's been bent right back. This thing could tick till Kingdom Come and it couldn't even set off a firework." "But how on earth?" "Exhibit B." Miller didn't seem to hear him. He opened the detonator box, gingerly lifted a fuse from its felt and cotton-wool bed and examined it closely under his torch. Then he looked at Mallory again. "Fulminate of mercury, boss. Only seventy-seven grains, but enough to blow your fingers off. Unstable as hell, toothe little tap will set it off." He let it fall to the ground, and Mallory winced and drew back involuntarily as the American smashed a heavy heel down on top of it. But there was no explosion, nothing at all. "Ain't workin' so good either, is it, boss? A hundred to one the rest are all empty, too." He fished out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and watched the smoke eddy and swirl above the heat of the candles. He slid the cigarettes into his pocket. "There was a third thing you were going to show me," Mallory said quietly. "Yeah, I was goin' to show you somethin' else." The voice was very gentle, and Mallory felt suddenly cold. "I was goin' to show you a spy, a traitor, the most vicious, twistin', murderin', doublecrossin' bastard I've ever known." The American had his hand out of his pocket now, the silenced automatic sitting snugly against his palm, the muzzle trained over Panayis's heart. He went on, more gently than ever.