His mind was filled with wonderment still, reflecting on what had just occurred, thinking of Delphine and their delicate tender lovemaking. He felt at once blessed and humble, grateful and unbearably moved by her generosity. Suddenly alone for a moment, his meandering dance having taken him to the edge of the glow cast by the bright bunched globes of the electric light, he turned back and looked again at the slowly revolving throng, round and round, going nowhere, accompanied by the beautiful music, the chatter of a thousand conversations, the occasional snicker of laughter.

Moving in and out of the crowd, crossing the grassy plots, crossing the roadway, moving heedlessly, were two little American girls seated astride a bare backed pony, with their blonde hair floating loose behind and tied with a big loose bow of ribbon on one side in the American fashion, their thin bare legs in their velvet slippers dangling side by side on each flank of the pony. The girl in front holding the reins looked happy and exhilarated, her smile wide, her eyes constantly on the move, full of curiosity. But the little girl behind, clutching her sister's dress, looked solemn and fearful, holding tight, her eyes fixed resolutely on the ground. They circled the Luneta twice and then he lost sight of them behind the grouped carriages on the far side. They did not reappear and he felt an overwhelming sense of loss invade his being, a terrible sense of life's impermanency and transience, a sudden understanding of the meaning that this vision held. He crossed the road to the sea wall and sat down on it, his legs dangling over the narrow beach, looking out over its wheeled bathing huts and the dark waters of the bay to the last thin slashes of lilac on the horizon. Unobserved, alone, he put his head in his hands and wept.

The Merck and Frankl bistoury lay in the middle of Paton Bobby's desk in his office in the Ayuntamiento, its blade end pointing towards Salvador Carriscant.

'So you say there is one missing,' Bobby repeated. Needlessly, Carriscant thought.

'According to my inventory.'

Bobby frowned and drew his hands from below the level of the desk top and placed his fingertips carefully together, his thumbs resting under his chin. Carriscant noticed that the middle and ring fingers of his right hand were bandaged.

'What happened to your fingers?' he asked.

Bobby looked rueful. 'You remember that day when we found the woman's body? And we found the knife? I put it back in my pocket and forgot it was there. Ten minutes later I went for my matches and ouch.'

'It happens. If you carry a scalpel you need a case, or a little leather scabbard. Like this.' Carriscant showed him his own.

'Yeah, well I don't plan on carrying one around full time.'

'Well, we certainly have one missing, if that's any use.'

'It might have been. Except the San Lazaro can't account for three and we got a whole box gone from the First Reserve.'

'That's hospitals for you.'

Bobby stood up and paced up and down, evidently perplexed. He turned and seemed about to speak and then thought better of it. And then he changed his mind again. Carriscant thought he had rarely seen a man's mental intentions so clearly written on his face-not the best of assets for a policeman, he reckoned. He waited patiently for Bobby to confide in him.

'If that scalpel was from the San Jeronimo,' he began, giving a fair impersonation of a man thinking on his feet, 'then conceivably – conceivably – it could have been taken by Dr Quiroga. Yes?'

'Look, Bobby, I've already told you -'

'Merely a supposition. Hypothetical.'

He pronounced the word 'hippotheetical' and Carriscant had to force himself not to smile.

'The supposition is completely absurd,' Carriscant said. 'You're implying that Dr Quiroga has something to do with these murders? Preposterous.'

'It's a lead, you've got to admit that. First the General Elpidio connection and now this scalpel. And the surgical precision of the mutilations. "Competently done", those were your words, not mine.' Bobby paused, pointing an unbandaged finger at Carriscant. 'Dr Quiroga's family come from Batangas in southern Luzon. It was one of the fiercest areas of rebellion. He made three trips there to my knowledge in the last year of the war.'

'So what? So have I. My mother lives in San Teodoro.'

'And during the war, in February and March of 1902 Colonel Sieverance's regiment was operating there. Too many connections, Carriscant, I can't ignore them.'

'You're grasping at straws,' Carriscant said. 'The flimsiest, most ephemeral of straws… Listen, I could have taken that scalpel. Any of my staff, any porter. Dr Cruz, Dr Wieland. Even Colonel Sieverance, even you. You've all been in my operating theatre, or have access to it.'

Bobby coloured and for a second or two looked very uncomfortable. 'There's no need for that quality of sarcasm, Carriscant. I have to follow up everything.'

Carriscant made an apologetic gesture, bowing his head. 'The scalpel does set up all manner of questions, I agree,' he said, looking hard at Bobby who, he thought, seemed particularly uneasy beneath his gaze. 'If we hadn't found it I would say that the woman's murder was completely unconnected to the soldiers'… She was pregnant, by the way, four months.' He paused: he decided to tell Bobby his own hypothesis. 'If you want my opinion, that scalpel was deliberately placed there. Not to implicate Dr Quiroga… But to implicate me.'

'For God's sake! Now you're being absurd. Who would do such a thing?'

'Dr Cruz or Dr Wieland. Or both of them.'

Bobby laughed, his confidence suddenly returning. 'You're saying they murder some peasant woman and then place one of your scalpels by the body? It makes no sense. These are men of genuine standing in the community. No, no.'

'I don't say murder. But they're more than capable of, of taking an opportunity to try and disgrace me. Cruz has many contacts with the police. Tondo police bring many fight victims to the hospital. To Cruz's wards.'

'I can't accept that.'

'They are completely unscrupulous and sworn enemies of mine.'

'This is fantasy. Pure melodrama.'

'I have to tell you what I think. They want to discredit me and they don't care how. I don't say they murdered the woman. There's a cholera epidemic in the provinces. Dozens of people die every week. And God knows how many spare bodies Cruz has in his fiendish laboratory. He could have -'

'No, stop. This is completely out of control. My dear Carriscant, these are ravings, nonsense. I'm surprised at you, old fellow, I always had you placed as a cooler, more collected type of person.'

'I'm convinced that scalpel was stolen from my operating theatre.'

'Look, I think we're jumping too far ahead. Damn rain's rotting our minds. Growing mildew.'

Carriscant decided to leave it at that. He was satisfied, however: his confession had achieved something unexpected. Bobby's relief at his accusations had been manifest, and too enthusiastically rebuffed. He was convinced now that the theft of the scalpel from his theatre was carried out by none other than Chief of Constabulary Paton Bobby.