‘I wonder why, though? I wonder what he’s up to?’

‘So do I,’ said Wexford, ‘but I’m pretty sure it’s not pinching ashtrays from waterside cafés.’

They rounded the point and came within sight of the lights of the Hotel Adriatic. A little further and they could see each other’s faces. Dora saw his and read there much to disquiet her.

‘You’re not going to start detecting, Reg!’

‘Can’t help it, it’s in my bones. But I won’t let it interfere with your holiday, that’s a promise.’

On Tuesday morning Racic’s taxi boat was waiting at the landing stage outside the hotel.

‘Gospoda Wexford, it is a great pleasure to meet you.’

Courteously he handed Dora into the boat. Its awning of green canvas, now furled, gave it somewhat the look of a gondola. As the engines started, Dora made her excuses for the following day.

‘You will like Cetinje,’ said Racic. ‘Have a good time. Gospodin Wexford and I will have a bachelor day out. All boys together, eh? Are you quite comfortable? A little more suitable than that one for a lady, I hope.’

He pointed across the bay to where a man was paddling a yellow and blue inflatable dinghy. The girl with him wore a very brief bikini. The Nymans.

‘If you could manage to avoid passing those people, Mr Racic,’ said Dora, ‘that would make me very comfortable indeed.’

Racic glanced at Wexford. ‘You have met them? They have annoyed you?’

‘Not that. They spoke to us last night in Mirna and the man was rather pushing.’

‘I will keep close to the shore and cross to Vrt from the small peninsula there.’

For most of the morning there was no one else on the little shingly beach of Vrt, which Racic had told them meant a garden. The huddle of cottages behind were overhung with the blue trumpet flowers of the morning glory, and among the walls rose the slender spires of cypress trees. Wexford sat in the shade reading while Dora sunbathed. The dinghy came close only once, but the Wexfords went unrecognized, perhaps because they were in swimming costumes. Iris Nyman stood up briefly before jumping with an explosive splash into the deep water.

‘Rude she may be,’ said Dora, ‘but I’ll grant she’s got a lovely figure. And you were wrong about her legs, Reg. Her legs are perfect.’

‘Didn’t notice,’ said Wexford.

Josip took them back. He was a thin smiling brown man, not unlike Racic, but he had no English beyond ‘thank you’ and ‘good-bye’. They hired him again in the afternoon to take them into Mirna, and they spent a quiet, pleasant evening drinking coffee with Werner and Trudi Muller on the Germans’ balcony.

Wednesday came in with a storm at sunrise, and Wexford, watching the lightning and the choppy sea, wondered if Burden had been over-optimistic with his guarantee of fine weather. But by nine the sun was out and the sky clear. He saw Dora off in the Mullers’ Mercedes, then walked down to the landing stage. Racic’s boat glided in.