Cooper-ffrench had only time to shout ‘Haight!’ before he was over the wall and falling.

Haight watched him to the bottom. It seemed to take an awfully long time.

‘The penny drops,’ he said and tossed the flask of brandy after him.

21

21

Sadism Before Supper

James had been put into an empty tool room deep in one of the mining tunnels beneath the palazzo. The steel door was locked shut and the light had been switched off from outside. The room was pitch dark and smelt of damp.

He had no idea what time it was. It might be the middle of the night or the sun might be blazing in the sky.

He had slept a little, a deep, sluggish sleep filled with confusing dreams, and when he’d woken he was painfully stiff and felt as if his whole body had been trampled on by elephants. On top of the bruising his face and hands had received in the boxing match, there were the other injuries he had got from being chased across the rooftops, not to mention the lump on his head from when he’d been attacked at Victor’s.

He knew that it was pointless trying to escape. All he could focus on was thinking of a story, something he could say to keep Mauro’s friend Stefano out of danger. He felt partially responsible for Mauro’s death; he couldn’t bear it if Stefano suffered a similar fate because of him.

His one hope of getting away was Cooper-ffrench. Surely the master would sound the alarm and come looking for him.

He couldn’t believe he had been so stupid as to trust Peter Haight.

It all seemed so obvious now.

It was Haight who had organised this trip to Sardinia, at the hottest time of the year, so that under the guise of attending Ugo’s carnival he could deliver the stolen paintings. James remembered the rolled canvases in Haight’s bag, the bag that never left his side. He had the perfect cover to smuggle stolen art out of the country – a harmless schoolteacher on a trip with his pupils.

Haight had quizzed the boys about their families’ art collections. He knew the exact location of all the pieces. He knew when the families would be away from home. He knew about the Goodenoughs’ yacht and the statuette of the siren it contained. His concern for Mark had nothing to do with feeling sorry for him: he just felt guilty about what had happened. All the other thefts had been quick and simple and no one had been hurt. This one had gone wrong and people had died.

The light was switched on from outside. James jumped, startled, and, despite the fact that the bulb only cast a feeble orange glow, he blinked and shielded his eyes from its glare.

He heard the grinding of a key turning in the lock and the door creaked open.