Follow a Stranger

me,” he said, softly. “These little tips work hard. Either a

typist or a pianist. I suspected a pianist, because of this

...” and he delicately touched the pulse which beat at the

base of her slender throat. “Sensitive, responsive little

creature! Ah, if I were younger! To see that tell-tale beat

stir at my touch!” He sighed romantically.

Kate looked helplessly at Marc’s unresponsive back. “I

... I teach, Mr. Pyrakis, I’m not an artiste ...” she

stammered, trying to withdraw her hands without

seeming rude.

His face relaxed and a great charm flowed out towards

her. “A good teacher is the bounty of heaven,” he said

gently. “I had a wonderful teacher!” He released her

hands and waved her to a chair. Much relieved, she sank

into it, and Marc turned round and also took a seat.

Pyrakis glared at the door. “Where is that fellow, that

thief, that rascal?” he bellowed in rapid Greek, and from

somewhere in the house a loud voice replied in fierce

tones.

Soon the old man reappeared, carrying a little table.

They sat around it, drinking black coffee and nibbling

slices of honey-drenched pastry sprinkled with almonds.

Marc mentioned Pallas and Spiro Pyrakis bared his

teeth.

“Has she begun to work yet, the lazy, idle girl?”

“Miss Caulfield is her teacher. Ask her,” said Marc

lightly, leaning back, his hands on the arms of his chair.

Pyrakis looked at her, one thick brow raised. “What do

you think of her?”

“She is beyond me,” Kate confessed. “I think she has