And then there are the contradictions. Her clothes would suggest a woman who does not have a great deal of money, while her presence in a first-class compartment would argue against such a conclusion. The fact that she’s travelling to Budapest with no luggage leads me to believe she is a widow on a pension, a Hungarian returning home from visiting a daughter or a son in Prague, a grateful child who purchased a first-class ticket for their mother.

I want to share my findings with Mimi, but there is the remote chance that the woman can speak English and would not like her impoverished life aired in public.

Through the window, I can see the Czech countryside fly by. There’s nothing to distinguish it from other places in the world. We could be travelling from Guelph to Toronto or through Central Valley, California.

Mimi leans against my shoulder.

“It’s amazing,” she whispers. “Last week we were in Guelph, and now here we are on a train to Budapest.”

I don’t notice the man until he is at the entrance to our compartment. A large man, blond hair, sweaty face, slacks, blue polo shirt, dark windbreaker. He’s dragging two large suitcases behind him.

“Next time,” he says to my Hungarian pensioner, “we fly.”

AS FAR AS UNCLE LEROY and the Crow bundle were concerned, Athens was a bust. There was no record of any Wild West show having passed through within Leroy’s time frame and nothing to suggest that a Leroy Bull Shield had ever been to the city.

“We have the postcard,” said Mimi, “so we know he was here.”

We went to the Acropolis, strolled by Hadrian’s Gate, checked out the Acropolis Museum and the National Archaeological Museum, and made our way through the anarchy of Athens traffic to a komboloi shop on Amerikis.

“You should buy a set.”

“An Indian with Greek worry beads?”

“You’re not just one thing, Mr. Mavrias,” said Mimi. “‘I am large, I contain multitudes.’”

I had never much cared for Whitman, but I was tempted by a particular string of ebony beads with bronze inlay.

“We can take them to the next powwow,” said Mimi. “Blackbird Mavrias. Drumstick in one hand, komboloi in the other.”

So I bought the beads, and the guy at the shop showed me how to swing them around my finger and catch them in my hand.

“Look at that,” said Mimi. “You’re a natural.”

We stayed in Athens for two nights. The drive to Kymi was only about two and a half hours, but after watching the motorists and the pedestrians play chicken all along Andrea Syngrou, I arranged for a car service to take us there. I could have rented a vehicle, but driving unfamiliar roads and trying to read signs in Greek while listening to Kitty in the back seat making disaster noises would have been unsettling.