Free The Great Game by Michael Kurland Page B

parasol, and stood watching unconcernedly as the small yacht neared the dock.
     
                  "A very pretty picture," Cecily said. "I believe I shall ask that German fellow, Herr Lindner to capture it in oil for us. At least we could find out whether the man really can paint or not. Come have breakfast."
     
                  Barnett put his arm around Cecily's waist. "I see that you're convinced that Lindner is not really an artist," he said. "I shall have Tolliver check him out today."
     
                  Cecily shook her head. "I never said he wasn't an artist. He may very well be an artist, although I doubt it judging by his checkered jacket. I merely said he didn't come here to paint. I think he's spying on us."
     
                  "Why do you suppose he's watching us?" Barnett asked.
     
                  "I don't know," Cecily said. "Why did those men on the train search our baggage?"
     
                  "You've got me there," Barnett said. It was still as big a mystery as when it had happened. The fat man and his friends had disappeared by the time Barnett got the conductor to search the train, probably by jumping off as it chugged up a hill or slowed for a curve. The Italian police were informed at the next station, but they were no help; the descriptions of the villains fit no known criminals. "Banditti," suggested the captain of police who had taken their statement, shrugging.
     
                  "But then why was nothing stolen?" Cecily had asked sensibly.
     
                  The captain of police had merely shrugged again. Who can tell what the banditti will do?
     
                  And now a German painter had arrived at the villa-turned-pensione, and Cecily was convinced that he was a fraud. Barnett was resolved to pay serious attention to his wife's convictions. But if she was right, the questions multiplied. Why would anybody have any reason to watch them? Who could be responsible for this seemingly endless supply of watchers? What was their objective? Did they intend to do anything beyond simply watch? Were they aware that they had been detected? Barnett rather doubted that, since he was barely aware of it himself. And, finally, what should he and Cecily—and the mummer—do about it? Time, Barnett decided, would tell.
     
                  The blue-blazered gentleman at the wheel of the sloop dropped the sail at the last second and spun the wheel, nosing the craft gently up to the dock. Two men who had been waiting on the dock stepped out of the shadow and helped him tie off the boat fore and aft before he leapt onto the dock and helped the lady step ashore. It was hard to make out details from this distance, but it looked to Barnett as though one of the men was remonstrating with the boatsman. He took it patiently for a moment, and then spoke sharply to the man, who appeared to step back respectfully. The boatsman held his arm out for the lady, and the two of them strolled ashore.
     
                  "What do you suppose that was about?" Barnett wondered aloud.
     
                  "Pirates," Cecily suggested promptly. "Arguing over the booty."
     
                  "Ah!" Barnett said. "And the lady?"
     
                  "Take your choice," Cecily told him. "She's either the pirate queen, or the booty in question."
     
                  "Obviously," Barnett agreed. "How silly of me not to have guessed immediately."
     
                  "Shall we breakfast?"
     
                  "Good idea. Let me get out of these flannels and into something decent, and I'll join you in the breakfast room. I shall drown my jealousy in an egg, or possibly an entire omelette."
     
                  Half an hour later Barnett and Cecily made their way to a corner table in the large parlor that Frau Schimmer, the Swiss