The men were solemnly presented. Alleyn supposed Bergarmi to be the opposite number in rank of a Detective Inspector.

They were given their instructions. Everyone was immensely deferential to Il Questore Valdarno and, since it was clearly indicated, to Alleyn. The grille was unlocked and the new arrivals went below.

“We shall not accompany them,” Valdarno said. “It is not necessary. It would be inappropriate. In due course they will report themselves. After all one does not need a medical officer to tell one when a woman has been strangled.”

Alleyn thought: “I’ve got to tread delicately here. This is going to be tricky.”

He said: “When your photographer has taken his pictures I would be very glad to have another look round, if I might. Particularly at the top railing round the well. Before that fragment of material, whatever it is, is removed. May I?”

“But, of course. You find some significance in this fragment? The rail has a rough surface, many many persons have brushed past it and grasped it. I saw that you examined the area closely after the lights were on. What did you see? What was this material?”

“Some kind of black stuff. It’s the position that I find interesting. The rail is about five by two inches. It is indeed rough on the inside surface and it is on the inside surface near the lower edge that this scrap of material has been caught.”

After a considerable pause Valderno said: “This is perhaps a little curious, but I would suggest not of great moment. Some person has leant over the rail, lolling his arms down, peering into the depths and—” he stopped, frowned and then said, “By all means go down, my friend, and examine the area as you require. You have my full authority.”

“How very kind,” Alleyn said and took immediate advantage of the offer.

He went below and found Valdarno’s “people” very active in the familiar routine under Bergarmi. Violetta had been photographed in situ and was now transferred to the stretcher, where the surgeon hung over her terrible face. The lid of the sarcophagus was being treated by a finger-print officer. Alleyn didn’t for a moment suppose that they would find anything. Bergarmi received his principal’s card with elaborate courtesy and little enthusiasm.

Alleyn had his own and very particular little camera. While Bergami and his staff were fully extended in other directions, he took three quick shots of the inner-side rails. He then returned to the basilica. He told Valdarno what he had done and said that he would now take advantage of his kind offer and visit Mailer’s apartment. Valdarno instructed one of his drivers to take him there, and having shaken hands elaborately for the second time in an hour, they parted.

Mailer’s apartment was in a side street behind the Pantheon. It was reached through a little run-down courtyard and up the first flight of a narrow outdoor stairway. Valdarno’s man on duty let Alleyn in and, after a look at the all-powerful card, left him to his own devices.

The rooms — there were three of them — struck Alleyn as being on their way up. One or two new and lusciously upholstered armchairs, a fine desk, a sumptuous divan, and on Mr. Mailer’s bed a heavily embroidered and rather repellent velvet cover, all pointed to affluence. A dilapidated kitchenette, murky bathroom and blistered walls suggested that it was of recent origin. The bookshelves contained a comprehensive line in high-camp pornography, some of it extremely expensive, and a selection of mere pornography, all of it cheap and excessively nasty. Signor Valdarno’s man was whiling away his vigil with a sample of the latter kind.

Alleyn asked him if the contents of the desk had been examined. He said Vice-Questore Bergami had intimated that he would attend to it later on if Mailer did not return.

“He has not returned,” Alleyn said. “I will look at it. You, perhaps, would prefer to telephone Il Questore Valdarno before I do so.”

This did the trick. The man returned to his book and Alleyn tackled the desk. The only lock that gave him any trouble was that of a concealed cupboard at the back of the knee-hole and it was in this cupboard, finally, that he struck oil: a neatly kept ledger, a sort of diary-cum-reference book. Here, at intervals, opposite a date, was a tick with one, or sometimes two, letters beside it. Alleyn consulted his own notebook and found that these entries tallied with those connected with suspected shipments of heroin from Izmir to Naples and thence, via Corsica, to Marseilles. He came to a date a little over a year ago and found: Ang. in Aug. B.G. and four days later: B.G.S. in L. This he thought very rum indeed until, in a drawer of the desk, he found a manuscript entitled Angelo in August. He returned to the ledger.

Nothing of interest until he came to an entry for May of the previous year. V. der V. Confirmed. Wait. From now on there appeared at intervals entries of large sums of money with no explanation but bearing a relationship to the dates of shipment. He plodded on. The Agente yawned over his book. Entries for the current year. Perugia. K.D. L. 100,000. Several entries under K.D. After that, merely a note of the first subsequent Il Cicerone tours.

Alleyn completed his search of the desk. He found in a locked cash box a number of letters that clearly indicated Mr. Mailer’s activities in the blackmailing line and one in a language that he did not know but took to be Dutch. This he copied out and then photographed, together with several entries in the diary. It was now half past eleven. He sighed, said good morning to the Agente and set out for Valdarno’s office reflecting that he had probably just completed a bare-faced piece of malfeasance but not in the least regretting it.

At noon Mr. Mailer’s unhappy band of pilgrims assembled in the Questore Valdarno’s sumptuous office.

Lady Braceley, Kenneth Dorne and Major Sweet all bore shattering witness to the extravagances of the previous night. The Van der Veghels looked astonished, Barnaby Grant anxious and Sophy Jason shocked. They sat in a semi-circle on imitation Renaissance chairs of great splendour and little ease while Valdarno caused wine to be handed round on a lordly tray. Lady Braceley, Kenneth and Major Sweet turned sickly glances upon it and declined. The rest of the party sipped uncomfortably while the Questore addressed them at length.

Alleyn sat a little apart from the others, who, as the Questore proceeded, eyed him with increasing consternation.

Without much elaboration, Valdarno told them of the discovery of Violetta’s body and remarked upon Sebastian Mailer’s continued non-appearance. He sat behind his magnificent desk. Alleyn noticed that the centre drawer was half open and that it contained paper. The Questore had placed his folded hands negligently across the drawer but as he warmed to his theme he forgot himself and gestured freely. His audience shifted uneasily. Major Sweet, rousing himself, said that he’d known from the first that there was something fishy about the fellow Mailer. Nobody followed this up.

“My lady, ladies, gentlemen,” the Questore concluded, “you will, I am sure, perceive that it is important for this Mr. Mailer to be traced. I speak from the highest authority when I assure you of our great concern that none of you should be unduly inconvenienced and that your visit to Rome, we hope a pleasurable one, should not be in any way—” he paused and glanced into the drawer of his desk, “diminished,” he said, “by this unfortunate occurrence.”

He made the slight mistake of absentmindedly closing the drawer with his thumb. Otherwise, Alleyn thought, he had managed beautifully.

Major Sweet said: “Very civil, I’m sure. Do what we can.” The Van der Veghels and Sophy said, “Of course.” Lady Braceley looked vaguely about her. “No, but really!” she said. “I mean how too off-putting and peculiar.” She opened her cigarette case but made a sad botch of helping herself. Her hands jerked, cigarettes shot about the floor.