“When did Mailer first approach you?”

“I believe — about a week ago.”

“So tonight was the first of these dinner parties?”

“And the last, I assure you, if what you tell me is true.”

“You noticed, of course, that he did not appear?”

“With some surprise. But his assistant, Giovanni Vecchi, is a courier of good standing. He informed us that his principal was unwell. Am I to understand—”

“He may be unwell, he has undoubtedly disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” The colour seeped back, unevenly, into Marco’s cheeks. “You mean—?”

“Just that. Vanished.”

“This is very confusing. Should I understand that you believe him to have—” Marco’s full lips seemed to frame and discard one or two words before they chose “absconded.”

“That is the Questore’s theory.”

“But not yours?” he asked quickly.

“I have none.”

“I conclude, Mr. Alleyn, that your attendance here tonight, which must have followed your enrollment in today’s tour, is professional rather than recreational.”

“Yes,” Alleyn agreed cheerfully. “That’s about it. And now I mustn’t take up any more of your time. If — and the chances I believe are remote — if Mr. Mailer should put in an appearance here”—Marco gave an ejaculation and a very slight wince— “Il Questore Valdarno and I would be most grateful if you would say nothing to him about this discussion. Simply telephone at once to — but the number is on the Questore’s card, I think.”

“The Questore,” said Marco in a hurry, “will I am sure appreciate that any kind of unpleasantness, here, in the restaurant, would be—” He flung up his hands.

“Unthinkable,” Alleyn filled in. “Oh, yes. It would all be done very tactfully and quite behind the scenes, you know.”

He held out his hand. Marco’s was damp and exceedingly cold.

“But you think,” he persisted. “You yourself think, isn’t it, that he will not come back?”

“For what it’s worth,” Alleyn agreed, “that’s my idea. Not, at any rate, of his own volition. Good-bye.”

On his way out he went to the telephone booth and rang Il Questore Valdarno, who reported that he had set up further enquiries but had no news. Mailer’s flat had been found. The porter said Mailer left it at about three o’clock and had not returned. The police briefly examined the flat, which seemed to be in order.

“No signs of a sudden departure?”

“None. Yet I am still persuaded—”

“Signor Questore, may I ask you to add to the many favours you have already granted? I am not familiar with your police regulations and procedures but I understand you are less restricted than we are. Would it be possible to put a man in Mailer’s flat at once and could that man answer the telephone and make a careful note of any calls, if possible tracing their origin? I think it’s highly probable that Marco of La Giaconda will at this moment be trying to get him and will try again. And again.”

“Marco! Indeed? But — yes of course. But—”

“I have spoken to him. He was discreet but his reaction to the disappearance was interesting.”

“In what way? He was distressed?”

“Distressed — yes. Not, I think, so much by Mailer’s disappearance as by the thought of his return. That prospect, unless I’m very much mistaken, terrifies him.”

“I shall attend to this at once,” said Il Questore.

“If Mailer is still missing, tomorrow, would you allow me to have a look at his rooms?”

“But of course. I will instruct my people.”

“You are too kind,” said Alleyn, as usual.

When he returned to the vestibule of La Giaconda he found all the party there except Lady Braceley. He noticed that Giovanni was having little conferences with the men. He spoke first with Kenneth Dorne, who responded with an air of connivance and cast furtive looks about him. Giovanni moved on to the Major, who, ignoring Kenneth, listened avidly but with an affectation of indifference much at odds with the grin that twitched the corners of his mouth. Giovanni seemed to send out a call of some sort to Baron Van der Veghel, who joined them. He too listened attentively, the Etruscan smile very much in evidence. He said little and presently rejoined his wife, linked his arm in hers and stooped towards her. She put her head on one side and gazed at him. He took the tip of her nose between his fingers and gently, playfully, waggled it. She beamed at him and tapped his cheek. He pulled her hand down to his mouth. Alleyn thought he had never seen a more explicit display of physical love. The Baron slightly shook his head at Giovanni, who bowed gracefully and looked at Grant, who was talking to Sophy Jason. Grant at once said quite loudly: “No, thank you,” and Giovanni moved on to Alleyn.

“Signore,” he said. “We go now to the Cosmo, a very elegant and exclusive nightclub where the guests will remain for as long as they wish. Perhaps until two when the Cosmo closes. That will conclude the programme for this tour. However, Signor Mailer has arranged that a further expedition is available for those who are perhaps a little curious and desire to extend their knowledge of Roman nightlife. Some drinks. A smoke. Congenial company. Boys and girls, very charming. Everything very discreet. The cars will be available without further charge but the entertainment is not included in the tour.”

“How much?” Alleyn asked.

“Signore, the fee is fifteen thousand lire.”

“Very well,” Alleyn said. “Yes.”

“You will not be disappointed, Signore.”

“Good.”

Lady Braceley re-entered the vestibule.

“Here I am!” she cried. “High as a kite and fit for the wide, wild way-out. Bring on the dancing girls.”

Kenneth and Giovanni went to her. Kenneth put his arm round her waist and said something under his breath.

“Of course!” she said loudly. “Need you ask, darling? I’d adore to.” She advanced her face towards Giovanni and widened her eyes.

Giovanni bowed and gave her a look, so overtly deferential and subtly impertinent that Alleyn felt inclined either to knock him down or tell Lady Braceley what he thought of her. He saw Sophy Jason looking at her with something like horror.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” said Giovanni, “to Il Cosmo.”

The Cosmo was a nightclub with a lavish floor show. As soon as the party was seated, bottles of champagne were clapped down on their tables. They hadn’t been there long before the members of the orchestra left their dais and walked severally to the front tables. The bass and cello players actually planted their instruments on the tables and plucked the strings. The fiddlers and saxophonists came as close as possible. The tympanist held his cymbals poised above the shrinking Major Sweet’s head.

Eight marginal nudes trimmed with tropical fruit jolted round the floor space. “Black lighting,” was introduced and they turned into Negresses. The noise was formidable indeed.

“Well,” Grant asked Sophy. “Still keeping Grandpapa Jason at bay?”

“I’m not so sure he doesn’t ride again.”

The uproar was such that they were obliged to shout into each others’ ears. Lady Braceley was jerking her shoulders in time with the saxophonist at her table. He managed to ogle her while continuing his exertions. “She seems,” Grant said, “to be on the short list of persona grata here as well as at the Giaconda.”

“It’s a bit hard to take, I find.”

“Say the word if you’d like to go. We could, you know. Or do you want to see the rest of the show?” Sophy shook her head vaguely. She tried to get her reactions into some kind of perspective. It was odd to reflect that less than twelve hours ago she had met Grant for virtually the first time. It was not the first time by many that she made an instant take, but she had never before experienced so sharp an antagonism followed for no discernible reason by so complete a sense of familiarity. At one moment they had blackguarded each other to heaps and at another, not fifteen minutes later, they had gossiped away in the shrine of Mithras as if they had not only known but understood each other for years. “Me,” thought Sophy, “and Barnaby Grant. Jolly odd when you come to think of it.” It would have been quite a thing if she could put it all down to the violent antagonism that sometimes precedes an equally violent physical attraction but that was no go. Obviously they were under no compulsion to fall into each other’s arms.