A Hero for Leanda

find them all right,” Conway said, putting his hand detainingly on Franklin ’s arm. “They’re by the tree— I saw them. What was that you said about a drink, old boy?”
    Franklin hesitated, then gave a little shrug. Leanda was just disappearing down the slope, still running.
    Wendy said, “What it is to be only twenty-three! You know, Mr. Cornford, I think your wife’s quite charming .“
    “Hear, hear!” Franklin said enthusiastically. “We’re both lucky men!” he added with a grin.
    “A shade late, darling,” Wendy said. “Is she English, Mr. Cornford?—she’s so very dark.”
    “Welsh,” Conway said. “She’s a Welsh witch, actually !“
    “Only in the nicest sense, I’m quite sure,” Wendy said. She looked anxiously down the path. “You know, Tom, she can’t find them—you really should have gone.”
    Suddenly Leanda reappeared. She waved to them, holding up the glasses, and slowed to a walk.
    “Sorry about that,” she said, as she joined them. She avoided Conway ’s eye, but he could sense her excitement. “Now I could do with a shower.”
    In their room, Leanda closed the door and turned jubilantly on Conway . “I did it, Mike! Ill never forget his face as long as I live. He looked absolutely staggered.”
    “I should think so.” Conway was almost as excited as she was. “What happened?”
    “I ran straight up to him and said we’d come to rescue him and could he be down on the beach at midnight? I talked to him in our own language—otherwise I honestly don’t think he’d have believed me. But he was very quick— he cottoned on at once, and nodded, and I ran straight back. That’s all. Oh, Mike, you can’t imagine how I feel .“
    “Better have your shower,” Conway said, “and cool off!”

    Leanda wanted to go with Conway to keep the appointment when the time came, but he argued against it. The hot night and the need for a breath of air could easily explain the sudden desire of one person to go down to the beach after the household had retired, he said, but if they both went, and anyone happened to see or hear them, it might seem a little strange. In any case, he could make the necessary arrangements with Kastella more quickly on his own. In the end Leanda agreed, reluctantly.
    At twelve, Conway put on his dressing gown and slippers and moved soundlessly to the veranda door, Leanda called a whispered “Good luck!” and he raised his hand in acknowledgment. Outside on the veranda he stood listening for a moment. Everything seemed quiet. There was a subdued glow of light coming round the end of the building—the Franklins evidently still had their room light on. But that shouldn’t matter. Conway turned to the left, away from the light, past the unoccupied bedrooms. The wooden floor of the veranda creaked slightly under his tread. After a moment he reached the outer door, turned the key softly, and let himself out, closing the door behind him.
    There was no moon, but the stars were bright enough to light the way. The noise of cicadas and frogs and the distant roar of the surf covered the sound of his movements. He glanced across at Kastella’s bungalow. There was a light in one of the front rooms, but the rest of the house was in darkness. He turned down the path to the beach, moving at a saunter, as though he were genuinely taking the air. He reached the beach and turned to the right along the sand, keeping close to the edge of the trees. He had covered a little over fifty yards when, from a patch of darkness, a man spoke. The voice was soft, the language strange.
    Conway stopped. “Kastella! Where are you?” He groped his way forward, and touched a foot, and dropped down on the sand beside it. “Well, thank God you made it... ! My name’s Conway .”
    “You’re English!” It sounded like an accusation.
    “I am not. I’m Irish.”
    “Ah! Who is the girl? We had no time to talk.”
    “An ardent supporter of yours,” Conway said. “A fellow countryman.”
    “I know that. Her name!”
    “Her name’s Leanda Sophoulis.”
    “She spoke of rescue. How?”
    “We have a yacht,” Conway said. “We sailed here from Kenya —just the two of us. We’re taking you back there. Everything’s laid on.”
    “What is your interest in the matter?”
    “I’m being well paid.”
    “By whom?”
    “By Victor Metaxas.”
    “Metaxas!” For a moment, Kastella was silent. Then he said, “How do I know you are speaking the truth?”
    “About what?”