'Byron! Come and help me get the taste of Gigi out of my mouth.'

He grinned and said something to her in Greek which sent her sulking to the far end of the bar.

'I thought Gigi's was the most likely place to find you.'

He splashed himself a liberal dose of the Skaros. 'There are three people in Thera looking for you tonight' '

Three?'

'Myself, Ari, and the postmaster, old Tsaras. He'd fall apart at the seams if he tried the steps'

'You've found me.'

'But Ari has the telegram. He talked Tsaras into letting him deliver it to you at the excavation site.'

'Ad knew damn well I was away in Athens.'

Ari was an urchin, about ten years old, who attached himself to me whenever I came ashore. He was an orphan and lived in a hovel in Theta. Perhaps the strength of the proprietary feeling about me was in direct proportion to my liberal tips.

'Knowing Ari I'd say he was touching some sucker of a tourist for the fare to the site, and then hoping to double up by what you gave him'

I laughed. 'You bloody Greeks are all the same at heart-from the cradle onwards,'

'Aren't you interested in the telegram?'

'Why should I be?'

'The typical beach-comber syndrome.'"

'Where'd you learn that fine phrase, Byron? It sounds like the exit line of one of your women.'

He grinned, 'She was American. We met on an intellectual level.'

I looked him over. 'And you couldn't bear all that beau amp; ful body going to waste.'

'The telegram is something special Old Tsaras was all steamed up about it.'

Gigi came over and joined us. 'Maybe it's from Athens, about the vases you took.'

'Never. Athens wouldn't bother about me. They'd get in touch direct with the Prof.'