'I told you, I see everything.'

'That was just a dream.'

He shook his head. 'There are no such things as dreams. Do you want to know more? Ask, if you wish. I can save you, but you must ask. Otherwise you will cause terrible hurt to others.'

'No,' I said, abruptly enough for my fear to shine through all too obviously.

He nodded his head and smiled gently. 'You may change your mind,' he replied softly. 'And thanks to the good doctor, you will know where to find me, for the time being. But you must hurry; I will not be here for long.'

I rose and left without another word. He, meanwhile, sat on his little chair and picked up a book. When I closed the door I leaned with my back against it and closed my eyes.

'Not in a talking mood? Or did you think better of it?' It was Marangoni, standing exactly where I had left him.

'What? No; we talked for a long time.'

'But you have only been in there a minute or two.'

I stared at him.

He pointed at the clock. It was two minutes past three. I had been in that room for slightly more than a minute.

CHAPTER 15

That evening I had my first proper conversation with Arnsley Drennan. I had talked to him before, of course, but never alone, and he never said very much. He was a strange man; he seemed to need no one, but would frequently dine with us. Perhaps even his self-sufficiency needed a rest, on occasion. He was the obvious choice for me at that moment; I needed quite badly to talk to someone normal, rational and calm, who could point out that my afternoon with Signor Casanova had been all complete nonsense. Drennan, who gave off an air of solid good sense, could be relied on not to gossip about it afterwards.

I hadn't planned a conversation with him; it came about by chance, as he and I were the only two people to show up for dinner that night. Longman had one of his rare reports to write as Consul; Cort, fortunately, hardly ever came nowadays, Macintyre and Marangoni were also absent. We ate our fish – Macintyre was correct there, it always was fish and I was starting to get a little tired of it – more or less in silence, then he suggested a coffee down the road in more salubrious surroundings.

'Have you seen Cort recently?' I asked. 'I haven't seen him for some time . . .'

'I ran into him yesterday, poor man. He's in a bad way; he really should go back to England. It would be quite easy for him to do so. But I am afraid he is quite obsessed now. He sees it as a matter of honour to finish this job of his.'

Then bit by bit, as we drank more brandy, I told him about Signor Casanova. He was interested; or at least, I think he was. Drennan was one of those men whose expression never changed very much. But he listened quietly and attentively.

'I can't say I know much about madness,' he said. 'I have come across men driven mad by fear, or by horror, but that is a different sort of insanity.'

'How so?'

'Modern warfare,' he said. 'As you may have guessed already, I was a soldier. I saw many things I did not wish to see, and which will be hard to forget.'

'You fought for the Confederates?'

'Yes. And we lost.' He shrugged to dismiss the subject from his mind.

'So you are an exile? A strange place to choose, if I may say so.'

He glanced at me, then smiled slightly. 'So it would be, if that was why I was here. Well,' he continued, 'maybe I should tell you. Why not? It is all history now. Have you heard of the Alabama?'

I looked at him. 'The warship? Of course I've heard of it . . . Does this have anything to do with Macintyre?'

It was his turn to look surprised. 'How do you know that?'

'I made enquiries.'

'I'm impressed. Truly I am. What else do you know about Mr Macintyre?'

'That he is not wanted back in England at the moment.'

He stared at me in astonishment, the first time I had ever seen any sort of strong emotion pass on his face. I felt quite pleased with myself.

'And who else knows of this?'

'In Venice, you mean? No one. Signor Ambrosian of the Banca di Santo Spirito seems to think he is here because he stole a lot of money. Why do you ask?'

'Because it is my job to protect him.'

'From whom?'

'Yankee lawyers, mainly. He is the living proof of Laird's culpability. Great Britain maintains that the conversion of the Alabama was entirely out of its control. Everyone knows this is a fiction, but it will hold as long as there is no proof. Macintyre is that proof, and there are many people who would dearly like a conversation with him. And, I suspect, would pay high for the opportunity. He was paid off and told to lie low until the matter was settled. And I was hired to make sure that he does. Which is why I am here.'

'Who hired you?'

'Well, that I cannot say. Your Government, Laird's, Lloyd's of London. Should this lawsuit go badly it would cost a great deal in money and reputation. So as I was out of a job at the time . . .'

'What do you mean?'

He shrugged. 'I have no country, and do not wish to live amongst my conquerors. And I am – or was – a soldier. What should I do? Herd cows in Texas for the rest of my life? No; when all was lost, I came to England to seek work. This is what I found. It is not the best of jobs, but it will do for the moment.'

'I see. You are a most interesting man, Mr Drennan.'

'No. But I have had an interesting life. If you can call it that.'

'And Macintyre cannot go back to England?'

'Not until this is settled. I wanted him to go to Greece, change his name, but this is as far as he would travel.'

'You can be assured that I – and my friend in London – will be absolutely discreet on the subject.'

'Thank you.'

'And he doesn't want to leave Venice?'

'Not yet.'

'And if he decides to go back to England?'

'Then it will be my job to stop him.'

'How?'

Drennan shrugged. 'I will worry about that when it happens. At the moment, he seems perfectly happy here. Which is a pleasant change from the Corts.'

'A disturbed man,' I observed.

'Yes. But if I was married to a woman like that, so would I be.'

'I beg your pardon?' It was offensive, gratuitously so. But I looked at him and he stared evenly back. He knew exactly what he was saying; was saying it deliberately.

'I went on a boat ride with her; she invited me. We went to the Lido, although I wanted to tour the inner lagoon. I found her behaviour unfortunate.'

'Did you?'

'I did. And now it is time for me to leave. As you know, I have a half-hour walk back to my lodging. Good evening to you.'

When I left him I walked over to Macintyre's workshop; I could have got there much faster had I hurried, but I had much to think about. Drennan had very carefully given me a warning. From someone like Longman or Marangoni, I would have dismissed it out of hand as the remarks of a vulgarian, but Drennan I took seriously. He was not a man to gossip or to invent stories. What he said could not possibly be true, I was sure of that, but I wondered what his reasoning was. There was no obvious answer. But there were other questions now welling up in my mind as well.

I found Bartoli alone in the workshed, and greeted him. We talked for a while, and I expressed an entirely false disappointment that Macintyre wasn't there.

'He's gone to feed his daughter,' Bartoli said, speaking English in a thick accent.

'You speak well,' I replied. 'When did you learn?'

'Here and there,' he said. 'I lived in England for a while, and then met Mr Macintyre in Toulon. I learned much from him.'

'It is unusual, isn't it? To travel like that? Why did you do it?'

He shrugged. 'I wanted to learn,' he said. 'And there is not much chance of that here.'

'You are Venetian?'

'No,' he said scornfully. 'I come from Padua. I hate it here.'