(#60) The Greek Symbol Mystery (5 page)

The woman nodded with understanding and patted one of the children, saying, “Zoe!
Grígora! Grígora!”

“That must mean ‘Hurry,’ ” Bess whispered to Nancy.

“Fére tón Babá!”
the woman continued.

Shortly, the little girl returned with her father, a man not much taller than his wife but as muscular as she was plump. He circled the car quickly, then got inside and started it, pressing the gas pedal to the floor. The others stood back as mud churned under the racing wheels. Suddenly, the car lurched forward.

“Efharistó, efharistó,
thank you,” Nancy said when the car stood on the road once again.

The couple smiled happily as the girls gave each child a shiny American coin. They grinned and waved good-bye to the travelers who set off for the Papadapoulos home, a small stone house down the road.

“Welcome,” Mrs. Papadapoulos greeted them. She was a slender, dark-haired woman with a pale face. A little girl with huge dark eyes clung to her skirt.

Nancy handed her Jeannette Thompson’s letter of introduction.

“Cannot read,” the woman said. “Maria, you—” Her daughter, who was nine or ten years old, spoke. “Mama knows only a few English words.”

“But you speak very well,” George remarked.

“That’s because I went to school in Athens.”

Maria glanced at the letter and seeing Mrs. Thompson’s name at the end of it, she grinned. “She is a nice lady. She helped us a lot, but she stopped. ”

As she talked, her listeners looked past her at the rugs and afghans handwoven with red and brown wool. They were a striking contrast against the pure white cotton cloths trimmed in needlepoint that hung over the tables and chairs.

“Mrs. Thompson never stopped helping you,” Nancy assured her. “Somebody stole the money!”

Maria gasped and sputtered in Greek to her mother, who looked equally shocked. Her eyes brimmed with tears which subsided only when George asked to see some of her handiwork. Quickly Maria brought a cloth bag. Her mother opened it and pulled out a beautifully embroidered shawl.

“How lovely!” Bess murmured. “Is it for sale, Maria?”

The little girl repeated the question in Greek. Mrs. Papadapoulos shook her head. “A gift,” she said, wiping her eyes.

“That is very kind of you,” Bess said sweetly, “but I can’t take it unless I pay for the shawl. It’s not for me. I want to give it to someone else.”

When Maria explained to her mother, she reluctantly accepted a small sum of money. Then, digging back into the bag, she produced a pretty white handkerchief with an unusual lace edging. She handed it to Bess. “For you,” she said. Pulling out two more, she gave them to Nancy and George.

“Efharistó,”
the girls answered gratefully.

“I suppose,” Maria said, “Mrs. Thompson will not want to—”

“When she got your mother’s letter, she was very upset,” Nancy interrupted.

“I wrote it for my mother—”

“Well, she realizes how much you all have depended on her. ”

Before the girl could continue, the door swung open and two small children, younger than Maria, ran in.

“Éla, éla.
Michali! Anna!” their mother exclaimed. “Come here, we have guests.”

She sent them to fetch glasses of fresh goat’s milk for the visitors. Bess swallowed hers quickly.

“It’s delicious,” she said. “You ought to make goat’s milk candy.”

“Think so?” Maria giggled. “How much milk would it take? We only have three goats!”

“In that case,” Bess said, excusing herself, “I’ll be right back.” She returned with a large picnic basket filled with delectable food from Athens.

“Where did you hide that?” George asked in amazement.

“In the trunk,” Bess replied smugly.

Her friends helped lay out the meal. Despite everyone’s hearty appetite, there were plenty of leftovers for the Papadapoulos family.

When the girls were on their way back to Athens, Nancy and George praised Bess extravagantly. “It’s the first time you didn’t go for second helpings!” George teased. “Now that you’ve started the diet, how about sticking to it?”

Bess did not retort.

As they drove along an attractive bathing beach, Nancy gazed longingly at a strip of white sand dotted with sunbathers. “If only we had brought our swimsuits,” she said with a sigh.

“That’s my second surprise,” Bess piped up, announcing she had packed everyone’s gear. “I was hoping we’d have time for a dip!

Eagerly Nancy parked the car and Bess removed the beach togs. The girls hurried to the ticket booth and bathhouse. They changed quickly and, after dropping their towels on the coarse sand, ran into the surf. Nancy and George dived under a wave, feeling the cool water tingle against their skin, while Bess began to sidestroke near shore.

“It’s wonderful,” she thought as the salt water licked her face. Then, changing direction, she let her toes touch bottom. Instantly, she let out a cry of pain!

6

Hunting a Suspect

Hearing Bess’s cry, Nancy and George swam toward her from opposite directions. They sliced through the water quickly but were still several feet away when the lifeguard reached her.

“My foot hurts,” Bess was saying to him as she limped onto the beach.

The young man knelt to look at the red mark on Bess’s skin. “You were stung by a jellyfish,” he said, then stood up again. “You’ll be all right. I have some—”

“What happened?” George interrupted as she and Nancy caught up to the pair.

Nancy’s gaze traveled to the bite. “Do you have any rubbing alcohol?” she asked.

“No,” the lifeguard said, “but I have a solution of ammonia.”

“Ammonia!” Bess gasped. “Ick!”

The young man ran to a canvas bag next to his chair and removed a bottle of clear fluid. Within seconds he was pouring some of it over the large welt.

“Ou-ouch!” Bess cried out. “That burns. It hurts more than the jellyfish!” She shook her foot vigorously and to her relief the sharpness of the sting abated quickly.

“You see, I told you you’d be all right,” the lifeguard grinned. “Alexis is never wrong. ”

For a long moment Bess returned the smile, dimpling her cheeks as she blinked in the sunlight. “Alexis?” she paused for the rest of his name.

“Hios.”

“The shipping family?” Nancy inquired.

“That’s right. We’re from the island of the same name. ”

“Then why are you here in Loutraki and not sailing on some gorgeous yacht?” Bess asked.

“I will be on one later this summer. Would you all like to go?” he said hastily.

The sunlight danced on his deeply tanned shoulders, making the visitors wish they had more time to spend on the beaches of Greece.

“I’d love to,” Bess replied.

“But we don’t plan to stay the whole summer,” George put in quickly.

“We’re really here on business,” Nancy explained. “As a matter of fact, it involves the shipping family of Nicholas, who own the Nikos line.”

“Oh, yes. I know them.”

“You do?”

“Of course,” Alexis said. “The shipping community is a very close-knit one. ”

“Then maybe you know Constantine Nicholas,” George put in. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we’re looking for him. I mean Nancy is.”

Alexis seemed somewhat guarded as he went on. “I understand he disappeared with a lot of money, some of it his inheritance from his parents and the rest stolen. It’s possible, though, the story is only gossip. ”

“What else have you heard?” Nancy prodded.

“First, can you tell me why three pretty American girls are so eager to know?”

Briefly, the girl detective mentioned that her father was Helen Nicholas’s lawyer and that he had asked Nancy to search for Helen’s missing cousin, Constantine. “The stolen money you referred to—was it stolen from Uncle Nicholas’s estate?”

“Maybe. I know that the old man hoped Constantine would carry on the business after his death. But now he’s gone, and no one knows where.”

Alexis could shed no more light on the subject, and the young people began to chat about Greece.

“Have you ever been to Lycabettus Hill?” Alexis inquired.

“Where’s that?” Bess asked.

“In Athens,” he said. “It has a spectacular view of the city. There’s a small church, too, and a restaurant. Maybe you would all like to go there with me this evening. ”

“Sounds great,” George replied.

“Shall we meet about eight thirty?” Nancy said as the girls picked up their beach towels.

“Fine. Just tell me where you’re staying,” Alexis said.

“The Hotel Skyros,” Bess replied, waving good-bye. “See you later. ”

The young detectives changed into dry clothes and as they were starting back for Athens, Nancy mentioned Mrs. Thompson. “I ought to phone her about our visit to Agionori. ”

“Forget using the hotel phone,” George said. “It takes forever to get through.”

Consequently, after Nancy returned the car to the garage, the trio headed for the kiosk near their hotel. Nancy dialed Mrs. Thompson’s home telephone number, listening to it ring several times before hanging up, then tried Helen Nicholas. She did not answer.

“Maybe Dad’s in,” Nancy murmured, making the third call.

To her delight, he picked up the phone immediately, and Nancy related her current news.

Bess, meanwhile, pulled George aside. “Do you see that guy up the street?” she asked.

A tall man with black hair was pacing back and forth in front of an iron fence.

“What about him?” George replied.

“I think he’s the one who took the basket of apples from our hotel room!” Bess said.

“Oh?” George said. “Let’s watch him.”

As soon as Nancy finished her conversation, Bess told her about the suspect. Suddenly she let out a stifled cry.

“And look who else is coming,” Nancy remarked.

Approaching the stranger was Isakos, the unpleasant man they had met on their flight
to Athens!

“Follow me!” Nancy urged her friends. She led them onto a side street that curved back to the one where the men were standing.

The girls walked briskly toward a profusion of bougainvillea vines entwined around an iron fence and parted the flowers enough to see Isakos’s red face. He was moving his lips, but the words were barely audible. Then his voice rose.

“At two or three tomorrow morning no one will be around St. Mark’s!” he insisted. “It will be perfect. We can take—”

“Don’t speak so loudly!” the other man cautioned him.

“I can’t hear everything they’re saying,” Bess whispered to Nancy.

“Sh!” her cousin warned.

They heard only a few more words, including a vague reference to mosaics, before the pair moved down the street. They crossed it, apparently aiming for the Hotel Skyros.

“Do you suppose the men are staying there?” Bess asked, following her cousin and Nancy through the square.

“If not both, then I bet one of them is,” Nancy said upon entering the hotel. She stopped at the desk to inquire.

“Why, yes,” the clerk answered, “there is a Mr. Isakos in Room 986. ”

“Thank you very much,” Nancy said.

“Do you wish to leave a message?”

“N-no,” Nancy replied. The number of the man’s room was racing through her mind. Theirs was 968! Had the venomous snake in the basket of apples been meant for Isakos? If so, why?

The same questions occurred to George. “Our room isn’t far from 986,” she said as they took the elevator to the ninth floor.

When the girls reached it, no one was in the hallway.

“All clear,” Bess said, tiptoeing with the others to Isakos’s door.

They listened a bit, but heard nothing.

“Maybe the other guy left,” George whispered.

“And maybe he’s on his way back,” Bess pointed out. “We’d better go.”

The girls hurried to their room to rest awhile before they showered and changed. Less than an hour before Alexis was due to meet them, Nancy slipped into a pretty turquoise skirt and blouse. Bess put on a white eyelet dress, and George, a tan silk outfit.

When they strolled out of the elevator onto the first floor, they found Alexis seated in a comfortable chair under a palm tree. His deep tan was a striking contrast against his white shirt.

“Hi!” the girls greeted him, prompting the young man to rise.

“I have some news for you,” he said mysteriously.

“You do?” Bess asked eagerly.

“I think I saw Constantine.”

“Where?” Nancy asked in surprise.

“Near Plaka. I tried to catch up to him, but couldn’t. There were too many people around. ”

“Maybe Constantine works at the flea market,” Nancy said thoughtfully. “We ought to go there in the morning to find out what we can.”

The other girls agreed, but as they approached Lycabettus Hill, the conversation quickly changed.

“How do we get up there?” Bess inquired.

“On the funicular,” Alexis said, pointing to a cable car ready to ascend through a tunnel. “It will take us to St. George’s Church.”

“Speaking of St. George’s,” Nancy said as they boarded one of two compartments, “is there a St. Mark’s Church nearby?”

Alexis pondered a minute. “Not that I know of,” he said.

“Well, I’m thinking of some place called St. Mark’s that may have some unusual icons or mosaics,” Nancy went on.

“Oh, yes. The monastery.”

“Is it in Athens?”

“No, no. It’s on the northern outskirts.” As Alexis spoke, the car began to slide through the dark tunnel, breaking slowly away from the buildings below.

“This is fantastic!” George exclaimed when they reached the top of the mountain.

The church was small and white, a stark contrast against the awesome view from the hill. Alexis swept his arm toward the Acropolis, where a rainbow of lights played over the temple ruins, then pointed out the King’s Palace and, in another direction, the harbors of Piraeus.

“We’d never have come here if we hadn’t met you,” Bess said to Alexis. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he answered. “I hope to convince your friends to stay all summer.”

The evening wore away quickly and at the end of it, the girls promised to keep in touch with their new friend.