Free Mortal Remains by Margaret Yorke

looking for the Psyche?’
    ‘Maybe. But I expect there are other boats, and other young men besides Spiro and his friend,’ said Ursula.
     
    The next morning, as he drove past on his way to the airport where he had arranged to surrender the car, Patrick paused at the harbour and looked towards the Psyche’s mooring-place. She was still away.
     
    Athens was hot, dusty, and very noisy.
    In the plane Patrick had felt a mild nostalgia for Crete and his utilitarian room at the Hermes; he had grown used to the town of Challika, and the whole tempo of the place. But he was no closer to finding Yannis, and more days spent idling would diminish his resolution. However, all feelings of regret fled when he saw the Parthenon again. It must, he thought, be the most beautiful building in the world. He had booked a room at a hotel just off Constitution Square, which was central and convenient. From it he could discover how to get to the island of Mikronisos, and he could go to Delphi to intercept the Persephone when she called at Itea on Monday. It was this, much more than the search for Yannis, which was driving him now. He must try to discover why Felix left the ship; someone from among her crew or passengers might know.
    He checked in at the hotel and was shown to a small cell with a tiny balcony overlooking a well between the inner walls of the building. More balconies were ranged in tiers all round. The city was full of tourists; he was lucky to find a room in such a central hotel at such short notice, and one that was away from the street, where the noise was unabating all round the clock.
     
    Half an hour after his arrival he was sitting under a mulberry tree in the Plaka, at a taverna just below the great bulk of the Acropolis, with an iced beer and a salad lunch.
    This was more like it.
    Though it was the hottest part of the day now when life, in theory, came to a halt, there were still people about. A flow of tourists eddied up and down the wide flight of steps past the taverna. The buildings baked in the heat but it was cool under the big, spreading tree. Patrick felt his whole system shifting into faster gear after the torpor of the last few days in Crete.
    There would be a ferry boat from the Piraeus to Mikronisos, he supposed. He wondered how best to pursue his enquiries when he got there. The unforthcoming attitude of the old men in Ai Saranda made him favour a furtive approach; it might not be prudent to ask for Yannis Pavlou outright. Anyway, there would be time to go there before he need be in Delphi to meet the Persephone. He would spend at least one night on Parnassus. The people from the ship would have a mere five hours up there, and Patrick knew from an earlier visit that this was not enough; but no doubt it was convenient to take your hotel with you wherever you went, with experts like Felix to bring the famous places to life in their lectures. He wished he knew more about ancient stones himself.
    He finished his meal, and, profiting from Ursula’s tuition, asked for the bill in Greek. Then he went down Diaskouron and through the streets of the old town towards Ermou. The heat was scorching, but he strode out briskly, his head protected by his Cretan straw hat. Every now and then he turned around to look for the Acropolis; the bulk of it loomed perpetually above the city, drawing the eye to the white temple there that was sometimes tinged with gold. He turned right and lost it behind the tall buildings of the modem city. Cars sped past with horns tooting and tyres squealing. In spite of the heat, there were still crowds in the centre; tourist buses went by, and yellow trolley buses, and he saw the blue local buses too. The city seemed well served by public transport. He knew that every incoming bus converged upon Constitution Square but he had made no forays by bus in an outward direction from there when he was in Athens before.
    That reminded him.
    He had promised to put flowers on Miss Amelia Brinton’s