“Did you write this check?”

“Not there and then. He said he would hold the police off for two days and call for the check at midday today. And then, of course, there was this thing about him disappearing and all the murder horror. And then Giovanni — you know? — rather sweet or so I thought. Giovanni said he knew all about it and he would arrange everything only now it would be more expensive. And he came in here after lunch today and said the situation was more difficult than he had understood from Mailer and he would want 800 pounds in lire or it might be easier if I let him have some jewelry instead. And I’ve got rather a famous tiara thing my second husband gave me only it’s in the bank here. And quite a lot of rings. He seemed to know all about my jewelry.”

“Did you give him anything?”

“Yes. I did. I gave him my diamond and emerald sunburst. It’s insured for 900 pounds, I think. I’ve never really liked it frightfully. But still—”

“Lady Braceley, why are you telling me all this?”

“Because,” she said, “I’m frightened. I’m just frightened. I’m out of my depth. Kenneth behaves so oddly and, clearly, he’s got himself into the most hideous mess. And although I’m awfully fond of him I don’t think it’s fair to land me in it, too. And I can’t cope. I feel desperately ill. That place — I don’t know whether you — Anyway they gave me something to turn me on and it wasn’t anything like they tell you it’ll be. It was too awful. Mr. Alleyn, please, please be kind and help me.”

She wept and chattered and dabbed at him with her awful claws. In a moment, he thought, she’ll take off into the full hysteria bit.

“You’re ill,” he said. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Over there. In the drinks place. Tablets. And brandy.”

He found them and poured out a moderate amount of brandy. She made a sad botch of shaking out three tablets. He had to help her. “Are you sure you should take three?” he asked. She nodded, crouched over her hand, gulped and swallowed the brandy. “Tranquilizers,” she said. “Prescription.”

For a minute or so she sat with her eyes closed, shivering. “I’m sorry. Do have a drink,” she offered in a travesty of her social voice.

He paid no attention to this. When she had opened her eyes and found her handkerchief he said: “I’ll do what I can. I think it’s unlikely that your nephew is in danger of arrest. I’ll find out about it. In the meantime you mustn’t think of giving anything else to Giovanni. He is blackmailing you and he will certainly not carry out any negotiations with the police. But I don’t think he will come. It’s highly possible that he himself is under arrest. I’ll leave you now but before I go tell me one thing. Your nephew did meet Mailer that afternoon by the statue of Apollo, didn’t he?”

“I think so.”

“To collect his drugs?”

“I think so.”

“For any other purpose, do you know? Did he tell you?”

“I — think — he’d seen Mailer talking to me and he’d seen I was upset. And — I think he wanted to find out if — if—”

“If you’d agreed to pay up?”

She nodded.

“When your nephew appears,” Alleyn said grimly, “will you tell him I want to see him? I will be in my room, 149, for the next hour. And I think, Lady Braceley, you should go to bed. Shall I call your maid?”

“She’ll come.”

She was gazing at him now with an intensity that appalled him. She suddenly burst into an incoherent babble of thanks, and since there seemed no hope of stemming the flood, he left her, still talking, and returned to his room.

Inspector Fox came through, loud and clear, at six o’clock. The department had been expeditious in collecting information about the travellers. The Dutch Embassy and the London representative of Messrs. Adriaan and Welker had confirmed the Van der Veghels’ account of themselves: an ancient family, a strict Lutheran background conforming with the evangelical policy of the firm.

“Very strict in their attitudes,” Fox said. “Puritanical, you might say. The lady I talked to in their London office is one of the modern sort. Groovy. She said that the Baron’s a very different type from his father, who was what they call a ‘sport.’ In both senses. A bit of a lad. Edwardian playboy type and notorious in his day. She said there are some very funny stories they tell in the firm about the Baron coming face to face with himself and cutting himself dead. She said they live very quietly. In Geneva mostly. The Baroness writes some kind of religious tales for kids but she never accompanies him to the Hague and is thought to be delicate.”

Fox enlarged cosily upon his theme. Believed to be distantly related to her husband, the Baroness, it was understood, belonged to an expatriate branch of the family. The nature of the Baron’s work for the firm obliged them to live abroad. A highly respected and unblemished record.

Lady Braceley: “Nothing in our way, really,” said Fox, “unless you count a 1937 Ascot weekend scandal. She was an unwilling witness. Recently, just the usual stuff about elderly ladies in the jet set. Do you want the list of husbands?”

“She’d love to tell me herself but — all right. In case.”

He took them down.

“The nephew’s different,” said Fox. “He’s a naughty boy. Sacked from his school for pot parties and sex. Three convictions for speeding. Got off on a charge of manslaughter but only just. Accident resulting from high jinks at what was called a ‘gay pad.’ ”

“Press on, Br’er Fox.”

“This Sweet, Hamilton. Major. There’s no Major Hamilton Sweet in the Royal Artillery or any other army lists for the given period. So we looked up recent cases of False Pretences and Fraud, Army Officers, masquerading as. Less popular than it used to be.”

“See British possessions, armed forces, for the use of. Dwindling.”

“That’s right Well, anyway we looked. And came up with James Stanley Hamilton, who answers to your description. Three fraudulent company affairs and two revenue charges involving drugs. Known to have left the country. Wanted.”

“That, as they say in the late night imported serials, figures. Thank you, Br’er Fox.”

“You mentioned Mr. Barnaby Grant and Miss Sophy Jason. Nothing apart from what you know. You seem to be in a funny sort of milieu, Mr. Alleyn,” said Fox, who speaks French, “n’est-ce pas?”

“It gets funnier every second. Mille remerciements, Frère Renard, and why the hell aren’t you speaking Italian? Good night to you.”

Bergarmi rang up to say the Questore had told him to report. They had pulled in Giovanni Vecchi but had not persuaded him to talk. Bergarmi thought Giovanni might be hiding Mailer and almost certainly knew where he was but had no hard facts to support what seemed to be merely a hunch. They would continue to hold Vecchi. Alleyn again reflected upon the apparently wide divergences between Italian and British police procedure. He asked Bergarmi if he had made any enquiries as to Kenneth Dorne’s activities in Perugia. Bergarmi had done so and found that a complaint had been made to the police by a jeweler about a cigarette case but the man had been repaid and the charge withdrawn. There had been no further developments. “I thought as much,” Alleyn said. He then told Bergarmi of his interview with Sweet. “I’ve got a list of Ziegfeldt’s top agents from him,” he said. “I think it’s genuine. He’s been playing the double agent between Ziegfeldt and Mailer and now he’s got very cold feet.”

Bergarmi said he would have the Major watched. An arrest at this juncture would probably prove unfruitful but under obvious supervision he might crack and do something revealing: clearly Bergarmi now regarded the Major as his most fruitful source of information. He added that with the material Alleyn had obtained, no doubt his mission in Rome had been accomplished. There was no mistaking the satisfaction in Bergarmi’s voice. Alleyn said that you might put it like that, he supposed, and they rang off.