“Yes, that’s what it sounded like.”

I shivered. The concept was disturbing, now that I had actually heard the sound.

“Did Nicholas say why this quake bothers the villagers so much?”

“He was evasive,” Jim said, frowning. “I gather they expect more action. A new vent has opened on Nea Kaimeni.”

“Nea-oh, the island out in the bay?”

“Yes. It’s the cone of the new volcano that arose after the old one blew itself up. Hell, Sandy, don’t look so apprehensive. Volcanoes smoke all the time.”

“They erupt all the time too,” I said. “How can anybody live in a place like this?”

“People live in the craziest places,” Jim said cheerfully. “The peasants go right back to the slopes of Vesuvius after each eruption. And what about Californians? Scientists have been predicting for years that San Francisco is about to collapse into the Bay.”

“I think Californians are crazy too,” I said.

“How’s Dr. Frederick?” Jim asked.

“Trying to change the subject? He’s okay.”

“He sure looked bad last night.”

“I asked him, this morning, about the man in the villa.”

“What did he say?”

“As usual, nothing. He laughed at me when I suggested your remark had brought on his attack.”

“It is pretty farfetched,” Jim muttered.

“Aha. You are thinking what I am thinking.”

“It’s because we were raised on bad melodrama,” Jim said, with a wry smile. “TV crime series, James Bond. In a thriller the guy at the villa would turn out to be the Gestapo officer who pursued your boss across the mountains of Crete, yelling ‘Achtung,’ or ‘Gotterdämmerung,’ or whatever TV German villains yell…”

“What does your boss say about it? He was in Crete too.”

“Why should he have anything to say? Our cast of characters is purely hypothetical, love. The man in the villa is probably some retired merchant who has never even set foot on Crete. He may not be a colonel or even an army officer.”

“True.” I felt the same relaxation, the same sense of security I always felt with Jim. I wondered if this was the time to tell him that Frederick wasn’t only my employer but my father. But it was so peaceful, I hated to disturb the mood. The crowd in the plaza was thinning. People were returning to their normal pursuits, as if the danger was over. I leaned back in my chair. Neither of us spoke for a while, and the silence was comfortable, the way it is when two people who know each other so well they don’t have to make idle conversation.

Jim saw her first. He sat up with a start.

She came into the plaza, and, as before, the people scattered before her. She was wearing beautifully tailored white slacks and a printed blouse that strained across her bosom. She jangled with jewelry. A scarf of fiery mustard yellow held her black hair. She was walking so fast the ends of the scarf blew out.

She came straight toward us. Jim got to his feet as she stopped at our table, but she didn’t look at him, she was staring at me.

“Ariadne,” she said. “Yes. It is true. I could not believe when they told me. But, as always, they are right. Welcome back.”

I THINK MOST PEOPLE WOULD HAVE FOUND THAT speech disconcerting. For me the effect was absolutely devastating. It was not only what she said, it was the way she was looking at me, with the queerest mixture of longing and hostility. I had heard of devouring eyes, but I had always thought it was a figure of speech, till then, when her black eyes fastened on my face like claws.

Jim pulled out a chair.

“Won’t you join us?” he said. “My name is Jim Sanchez. This is Sandy Bishop. Madame…?”

“Kore.” She didn’t look at him.

“Will you have coffee, madame? Ouzo? Wine?”

His insistent courtesy finally won her attention. When she turned those eyes away I felt as if an actual physical restraint had been removed.

She wasn’t as tall as I had thought. Next to Jim she appeared quite short. She looked up at him with her head tilted. It might have been instinctive coquetry, for, as I had noticed, he was that sort of man. Or it might have been appraisal.

“Coffee,” she said. “Thank you. You forgive the informality, yes? In this small place we outsiders must be allies.”

The smile she gave him held a hint of the sexual allure she must have possessed once upon a time. She had lost most of it. Her figure was still good, if you like the Junoesque type, but at close range her face was a sad ruin. The fiery black eyes were her only remaining beauty; her cheeks and forehead were a map of wrinkles. Instead of camouflaging the disaster, her heavy makeup merely emphasized its marks.

Jim held the chair for her and then seated himself.

“Allies?” he repeated. “Against what enemy, madame?”

“Is not the enemy always the same?”

“I think not.” Jim was watching her curiously. “The age-old struggle between evil and good is eternal, but the definitions vary, depending on which side you happen to be.”

She laughed. She had a pretty, tinkling laugh.

“But what an absurd conversation. I do not mean to be so serious. I express only my pleasure to find a breath of the outside world. The world of fashion, newspapers, reason. These people talk only of fish and their foolish superstitions.”

“What kind of superstitions?” Jim was carrying the conversation. I was still tongue-tied.

“Every kind. Thera is the home of the vrykolas, the vampire. Sometimes the men do not work the fields because there are ghosts. And you have seen”-she opened her eyes wide-“how they are afraid of me. Perhaps they think I am vrykolas, an old harmless woman like me.”

“You could never be old, Madame Kore,” Jim said. “And no beautiful woman is ever harmless.”

“And they say Americans are without gallantry.” She smiled at him. “That, too, I miss. The men of Zoa run from me as if I were a demon. Not that a woman would wish their compliments…”

“Without offense, madame, may I suggest that you encourage their fear? Even your name…”

“Kore, the maiden,” she said dreamily. “The mother, in one of her many aspects. Persephone, bride of Hell… But of course it is not my realname! My real name I have forgotten, it is so dull.” She swung on me, so suddenly that I shrank back. “A woman may choose her name to suit herself, is that not true?”

Before I could answer, Jim intervened again. He was frowning, aware of the strain between us, although he didn’t understand it-any more than I did-and was doing his best to intercept Kore’s verbal thrusts.

“You chose an ominous name,” he said. “Especially in view of the superstitions you mention. And do you always wear those ornaments?”

He indicated the bracelets she wore, one on each arm. I hadn’t noticed them before. They were not simple circles around her wrists, but coils of gold that went halfway up her forearms and ended in serpents’ heads. The eyes were tiny rubies.

“I am fond of jewelry.” She toyed with the chains on her breast. The ruby eyes of the golden serpents flashed.

A movement in the doorway attracted my attention, and I saw Sir Christopher standing there. I wondered how long he had been watching us. When he caught my eye he came toward us. Jim started to perform introductions.

“I know Madame,” Sir Christopher said, bowing over her hand.

“You never mentioned her to me,” Jim said.

Sir Christopher looked surprised at his belligerent tone.

“I don’t believe the subject ever came up.”

“You do not talk of me?” Kore laughed. “How unflattering.”

“Archaeologists are a dull lot,” Sir Christopher said with a smile. “But I’m sure the subject would have arisen sooner or later. You are a prominent citizen, madame.”

“So prominent it makes me wonder what you are doing here,” Jim said. “A woman like you burying herself in this remote place.”