Once more they were off across the wide sea. Wexford looked back to the city walls, those man-made defensive cliffs, and brought himself hesitantly to ask:

‘Would you tell me what you overheard of the conversation between that English couple, Philip and Iris Nyman, when you took them out in your boat?’

‘So that is their name? Nyman?’ He was stalling.

‘I have a good reason for asking.’

‘May I know it?’

Wexford sighed. ‘I’m a policeman.’

Racic’s face went very still and tight. ‘I don’t much like that. You were sent here to watch these people? You should have told me before.’

‘No, Ivo, no.’ Wexford brought out the unfamiliar name a little self-consciously. ‘No, you’ve got me wrong. I never saw or heard of them till last Saturday. But now I’ve seen them and spoken to them I believe they’re doing something illegal. If that’s so it’s my duty to do something about it. They’re my countrymen.’

‘Reg,’ said Racic more gently, ‘what I overheard can have nothing to do with this matter of an illegality. It was personal and private.’

‘You won’t tell me?’

‘No. We are not old housewives to spend our time in gossip over the garden walls of our kucice, eh?’

Wexford grinned. ‘Then will you do something for me? Will you contrive to let these people know – subtly, of course – that you understand the English language?’

‘You are sure that what they are doing is against the law?’

‘I am sure. It’s drugs or some kind of confidence trick.’

There was silence, during which Racic seemed to commune with his sea. Then he said quietly, ‘I trust you, Reg. Yes, I will do this if I can.’

‘Then go into Mirna. They’re very likely having a drink on the waterfront.’

Mirko’s boat passed them as they came in and Mirko waved, calling, ‘Dobro vece!’

On the jetty stood a queue of tourists, waiting to be ferried back to the Adriatic or to the hotel at Vrt. There were perhaps a dozen people, and Philip and Iris Nyman brought up the end of the line. It worked out better than Wexford could have hoped. The first four got into Josip’s boat, bound for Vrt, the next group into Mirko’s which, with its capacity of only eight, was inadequate to take the Nymans.

‘Hotel Adriatic,’ said Philip Nyman. Then he recognized Wexford. ‘Well, well, we meet again. Had a good day?’

Wexford replied that he had been to Dubrovnik. He helped the girl into the boat. She thanked him, seeming less nervous and even gave him a diffident smile. The motor started and they were off, Racic the anonymous taxi-man, the piece of equipment without which the vehicle won’t go.

‘I saw you out in your dinghy yesterday,’ said Wexford.

‘Did you?’ Philip Nyman seemed gratified. ‘We can’t use it tonight, though. It’s not safe after dark and you’ve really got to be in swimming costumes. We’re dining at your hotel with another English couple that we met yesterday and we thought we’d have a romantic walk back along the path.’