While Helena repaired to Maia's to collect our abandoned baby and, check whether Tertulla had turned up again, I took the glassware to the station house and exhibited the gorgeous thing. Petro weighed it in his great paw while I sweated pints in case he dropped it. `What's this?' `

`A present from Milvia. Last time I saw this, it belonged to Pa.' `You've questioned Milvia? That's quick. I only just sent Porcius over to your house.'

`I work fast,' I said smoothly, not telling him I took my own witness. `The girl claims she and Florius had it as a "gift from a well-wisher".'

`Believe her?'

`I stopped believing girls when I was about fourteen.'

My old friend was not a man who rushed in without preparation. He thought this through carefully. `The glass jug was one Geminus had stolen. Now it's been found with Milvia and Florius, but we don't know how it came there -'

`It's always possible sweet little Milvia acquired it legitimately,' I pointed out. `An innocent purchase, or genuine gift.'

`Don't annoy me, Falco! But it might be all she has.'

`I hope not. There was a matching beaker set,' I remembered bitterly.

Petro carried on doggedly, now instructing his men: `I don't want to force the issue and bungle it, but I do want to see what else they've got. What we'll do is conduct house searches of all the major criminals, then we'll add in Flaccida and Milvia. We'll go in as if it was a routine result of the Emporium raid. We'll probably net a few interesting trophies anyway, so it won't be wasted. Falco won't be there. We won't mention Milvia's water jug at this stage.'

`That sounds sensible. There's been time for the raiders to share out the loot, but I'd assumed most of it would go for sale.'

'Falco's right,' Petro conceded. `We'll raid a few hot-property shops at the same time.' Turning to Martinus he added, `Try to find out what new receivers have opened up recently, so we don't miss any.'

`Keep your eyes peeled for one item that is not on your theft list,' I said gloomily. `It's gold, and it cost a fortune, believe me!' I described Helena's birthday present carefully while they all listened with expressions of rapt attention – all of them mocking my extravagance. `It was among Pa's load of glass, but he won't have mentioned it to Martinus because he didn't know I had hidden it.'

`Bribe for a mistress?' enquired Fusculus, looking innocent.

`Birthday gift for Helena. I've got a day to find it – or pay up twice.'

`Why not explain to Helena and hope to find the original soon?' Petro suggested. `That girl is strangely understanding where you're concerned.'

`Helena is not the problem. I have to come up with something, and it has to be spectacular so her damned family don't sneer. Her mother for one will be expecting me to let Helena down.'

`Oh it's the mother he's trying to impress!' Petro murmured wickedly to Fusculus.

Fusculus sagged his jaw into a sorrowful grimace. `Explain to the man, chief – the mother never comes around!'

Since I was not needed for the searches I left Petro and Fusculus shaking their heads over my predicament while I set off on errands of my own. The jug stayed at the station house, which was just as well or it might have ended up in pieces before the day ended.

I called at my father's house, knowing he would be at the Saepta, Julia. That suited me. I left messages with his domestic staff saying we had recovered one of his Syrian treasures, and explaining about my need for a gift for Helena. Now Pa would know it was her birthday; he would try to inflict himself on us to celebrate, but as we were promised at her parents' house we could escape that. Leaving, I popped in at Mother's. She was out too, but I made sure a nosy neighbour saw me so word would reach Ma. Brilliant. I had made duty calls on both my parents, without the trouble of seeing either.

Back to Fountain Court. L waved at Cassius, noticing that somebody had suddenly taken over the ground-floor shop lease opposite his bakery, the one Helena and I had looked at briefly before we spotted our preferred new abode. Some sort of mixed hardware was now being offered for sale from the lockup, though I didn't take note of what. My own new let, which I ran up to and inspected by daylight, was looking as if we could make something respectable of it. At street level, the skip had lost several items to desperate scavengers, but I had gained little more; I was winning on that. I now felt like a juggler who was keeping the balls in the air. Overconfident, I made the mistake of letting Lenia see me as I crossed to walk upstairs.

`Falco! We need to discuss arrangements!'

`Like, how can you be persuaded to jilt the bridegroom?' `You never give up.'

`I don't want to find myself in two months' time being harassed to suggest grounds for divorce so you can claw your dowry back. Getting evidence on Smaractus will be more sordid than anything I've ever had to do.'

`He's just a colourful character,' Lenia sulked.

`He's a disaster.'

`He just needs to settle down.' `In a dung heap,' I said.

After that I was allowed to leave without discussing the auguries at all.

I took the stairs at a cheerful pace, pausing only to instruct the stray dog called Nux not follow me up. She was a tufty mongrel in several colours, with limpidly soulful eyes. Something about her big furry paws and her whiskery face had a dangerous appeal. I sped off fast to discourage her.

By now it was well into the afternoon, so everywhere was fairly quiet in the lull after siesta and before the mens' baths grew busy. The apartments I passed sounded more peaceful than they were sometimes; fewer screaming children, fewer distressed adults. The smells seemed less obnoxious. I could almost convince myself that though the building was shabby and overcrowded, its landlord did deserve a chance at normal life… This was no good. Being dragged in to act at the nuptials was shaking my cynical view. I knew what it was: playing the priest for Lenia and Smaractus was making me feel responsible for their future wellbeing.

Cursing, I leapt up the stairs on the fourth and fifth flights several at a time. I wanted to leave the laundry and its crazy proprietress behind as fast as possible. At the top I slowed. An automatic instinct for caution led me to silence my steps.

Somebody else was making a noise, though. As I reached the final landing I heard a man shouting anxiously. Then Helena screamed, `No! Oh no!'

I crossed the landing in two strides. The door stood open. I shot through it, out of breath from the stairs yet ready for anything.

The voice I had heard belonged to Porcius, Petro's young recruit. He was holding up one hand, trying to calm the situation. It was well beyond him. Two ugly brutes whose violent intentions were unmistakable had invaded the apartment, probably not long before I arrived. One leering thug, a huge collection of sinew, was laughing at Porcius as the lad tried to reason with him. The other man was menacing Helena; he was holding our rubbish-skip baby by his tiny wrists and swinging him backwards and forwards like a pegged napkin on a windy washing line.

`I'm not Falco, and that's not their child!' Porcius attempted valiantly.

From the doorway I roared, `I'm Falco!'

The giant spun to face me, a terrifying prospect. I had pulled out my knife, but I had to drop it. The small man had hurled something at me. I dropped my knife because I had to catch his missile – and I had to catch it right: the bastard had thrown the babe at me.