Laughing, Wexford said, ‘It was hardly a similar conversation you overheard between Philip and his wife, though?’

‘No.’ Racic looked thoughtful. ‘I think I will not tell you what I overheard. It is no business of ours. And now I must make my excuses, but we shall meet again.’

‘In your boat, certainly. I must take my wife over to Vrt for the bathing.’

‘Better than that. Bring your wife and I will take you for a trip round the islands. On Wednesday? No, I’m not touting for custom. This will be a trip – now for a good colloquial expression – on the house! You and me and Gospoda Wexford.’

‘Those very nice Germans,’ said Dora, ‘have asked us to go with them in their car to Cetinje on Wednesday.’

‘Mm,’ said Wexford absently. ‘Good idea.’ It was nine o’clock but very dark beyond the range of the waterside lights. They had walked into Mirna after dinner, it being too late for the taxi boats, and were having coffee on the terrace of a restaurant at the harbour edge. The nearly tideless Adriatic lapped the stones at their feet with soft gulping sounds.

Suddenly he remembered. ‘Oh, God, I can’t. I promised that Yugoslav I told you about to go on a trip round the islands with him. It’d look discourteous to let him down. But you go to Cetinje.’

‘Well, I should like to. I may never get another chance to see Montenegro. Oh, look, darling, there are those people we saw in Dubrovnik!’

For the first time Wexford saw the girl full-face. Her haircut from the front was as spectacular as from the back, a fringe having been cut into a sharp peak in the centre of her forehead. It looked less like hair, he thought, than a black cap painted on. In spite of the hour, she wore large tinted glasses. Her coloured skirt was the same one she had been wearing that first time.

She and her companion had come on to the terrace from the harbour walk. They walked slowly, she somehow reluctantly, the man called Philip looking about him as if for friends they had arranged to meet here. It couldn’t have been for a vacant table, for the terrace was half-empty. Dora kicked her husband’s foot under the table, a warning against overt curiosity, and started to talk about her German friends, Werner and Trudi. Out of the corner of his eye, Wexford saw the man and the girl hesitate, then sit down at a neighbouring table. He made some sort of reply to Dora, conscious that it was he now who was being stared at. A voice he had heard once before said:

‘Excuse me, we don’t seem to have an ashtray. Would you mind if we had yours?’

Dora handed it to him. ‘Please do.’ She hardly looked up.

He insisted, smiling. ‘You’re sure you won’t need it?’

‘Quite sure. We don’t smoke.’

He wasn’t the kind to give up easily, thought Wexford, and now, very intrigued by something he had noticed, he didn’t want to. Another prod from Dora’s foot merely made him withdraw his own under his chair. He turned towards the other table, and to the next question, ‘Are you staying long in Mirna?’ replied pleasantly, ‘A fortnight. We’ve been here four days.’