Mortal Remains Read Free Page B

lunatic instant if his phrase book covered this contingency. Instead, he sought aid from philology.
    ‘ Nekros,’ he tried, and added, gesturing, ‘come with me.’
    The already pale clerk turned even paler. He hastened out from behind his counter. Had the Englishman gone mad? In silence, they walked quickly to where the body lay.
    ‘Christos!’ The young man crossed himself and stared in dismay at the still figure which rested near the water’s edge, the head turned to one side. Dark hair was plastered to the skull and covered the face.
    ‘You get help. I’ll stay here,’ said Patrick.
    The clerk looked at him desperately.
    ‘I tell the manager,’ he said.
    ‘Yes,’ agreed Patrick.
    The young man dashed away and Patrick looked down at the body once more. Now, seen through his glasses, it was no longer a blurred mass. It wore dark trousers and a cream linen jacket. He stooped and moved the strands of hair away from the face. There was something familiar about those blotched and puffy features: with rising horror Patrick stared down at what he now recognised as the remains of Felix Lomax, senior member of his own college and at present supposed to be aboard the S.S. Persephone lecturing about ancient historical sites.
    In minutes, the clerk, whose brain had clicked into efficient motion, was back with a blanket and two sturdy men. They wrapped up the body and bore it away – without difficulty, for Felix was not a big man – finally bundling it into the hotel through one of the service doors. Once it was out of public view the clerk looked relieved.
    ‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said. ‘The other guests.’
    Patrick understood only too clearly. The sudden sight of that corpse in such surroundings was shocking indeed.
    ‘The police come,’ the clerk added. ‘And the manager.’ This was said with foreboding; the young man seemed more in awe of the manager than of the law.
    Patrick still felt numb with the shock of recognising Felix.
    ‘My name is Grant. Room 340,’ he said. ‘I will get dressed now.’ He indicated his towelling robe. ‘Then I will go to the dining room. You will find me there if you want me.’ Despite his attire, his habitual air of authority clung to Patrick and the clerk responded to it.
    ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said. He looked as shaken as Patrick felt.
     
    Patrick rode alone in the lift and stepped from it in a state of unbelief: Felix Lomax, dead in Crete. It was Felix, there could be no mistake; he had recognised the cameo signet ring which Felix always wore.
    What a terrible thing. His mind ranged over their last meeting at Alec Mudie’s funeral only a week ago. Felix had renewed his suggestion that Patrick should join the cruise; he was flying to Venice himself the following day.
    ‘You can’t get away from people in a ship,’ Patrick had said.
    What on earth was Felix doing in Crete when he should have been aboard the Persephone?
    No doubt the ship called at Heraklion, so that the passengers could visit the museum and the palace at Knossos. Felix must have seen both many times; if he were not the duty lecturer he might have decided to spend the day elsewhere on the island.
    But how had he drowned? And when?
     
    The big dining-room was almost empty when Patrick came downstairs later. It was still early, and most people probably chose to have breakfast on their balconies. He’d do so in future, though he didn’t propose to spend many nights in Challika. Several waiters were talking together, their sibilant voices low but their gestures dramatic; by this time all the staff would know that a dead man had been found in the sea.
    He ordered coffee and hoped the management ran to rolls, and not the limp toast, wrapped in a paper napkin, which was the normal Greek hotel breakfast.
    Jane, who had been to Greece too, had advised taking his own supply of crispbread.
    ‘Nonsense. Crusty old thing I may be, but I’m not so set in my ways yet that I can’t take things as I find