They were rather more dressed up than usual. Nyman wore a cream-coloured safari suit, his wife a yellow and black dress and high-heeled black sandals. Wexford was on the alert for an invitation to join them for dinner and was surprised when none came.

Both the Nymans lit cigarettes. Wexford noticed Racic stiffen. He had learned enough about the man’s principles and shibboleths to be aware of his feelings on pollution. Those cigarette butts would certainly end up in the sea. Anger with his passengers might make him all the more willing to fulfil his promise. But for the moment he remained silent. They rounded the point on to a sea where the sun seemed to have laid a skin of gold.

‘So beautiful!’ said Iris Nyman.

‘A pity you have to go so soon.’

‘We’re staying till Saturday,’ said Nyman, though without renewing his suggestion that they and the Wexfords should meet again. The girl took a last draw on her cigarette and threw it overboard.

‘Oh, well,’ said Nyman, ‘there’s so much muck in there already, a bit more won’t do any harm,’ and he cast his still-lighted butt into the ripples of melted gold.

They were approaching the hotel landing stage and Racic cut the motor. Nyman felt in his pocket for change. It was Wexford who got up first. He said to Racic as the Yugoslav made the boat fast:

‘I’ve had a splendid day. Thanks very much indeed.’

He wasn’t looking at them but he fancied the amused glance Nyman would have given his wife at this display of the Englishman’s well-known assumption that all but cretins speak his language. Racic drew himself up to his not very great height. What accent he had, what stiltedness and syntactical awkwardness, seemed to be lost. He spoke as if he had been born in Kensington and educated at Oxford.

‘I’m glad you enjoyed it, I certainly did. Give my regards to your wife and tell her I hope to see her soon.’

There was no sound from the Nymans. They got out of the boat, Racic saying, ‘Let me give you a hand, madame.’ Nyman’s voice sounded stifled when he produced his twenty dinars and muttered his thanks. Neither said a word to Wexford. They didn’t look back. They walked away and his eyes followed them.

‘Did I do all right, Reg? I was moved by the foul contamination of my sea.’

Absently, still staring, Wexford said, ‘You did fine.’

‘What do you look at with such concentration?’

‘Legs,’ said Wexford. ‘Thanks again. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

He walked up towards the hotel, looking for them, but they were nowhere in sight. On the terrace he turned and looked back and there they were, walking hurriedly along the waterfront path back to Mirna, their new friends and their dinner engagement forgotten. Wexford went into the hotel and took the lift up to his room. Dora wasn’t back yet. Feeling rather shaken, he lay down on one of the twin beds. This latest development or discovery was, at any rate, far from what he had expected. And what now? Somehow get hold of the Dubrovnik police? He reached for the phone to call reception but dropped it again when Dora walked in.