We shook hands. Negrini was very American and not at all Italianate, despite his name. His voice was cultured and his manners smooth and he bore himself with an easy assurance. I could see how he would attract women and why the Saltons had liked him. We chatted for a few minutes and I was polite about his casino. At last he said, ‘I understand that you want to talk to me about something, Mr Kemp.’

‘Very mysterious,’ said Jill. ‘He wouldn’t tell me about it.’ The muscles of her face tautened slightly and I knew that she was looking at Negrini in a different way from before. Suspicion is the most corrosive of all thought patterns and warps the vision so that white becomes black and black white. I would have to make sure I let her off that insidious hook before I left Campanilla.

Negrini said, ‘Well, I suggest we use my office.’

‘Fine.’ I slid off the stool. ‘Owen, will you entertain Mrs Salton until I get back?’ I smiled at her. ‘Don’t lose too much on the tables.’

‘I won’t,’ she promised. ‘I don’t play – I’m not allowed to.’

‘Not allowed to – why on earth not?’

‘I’m a Campanillan resident,’ she said. ‘There’s a fine of £100 for every bet I place in a casino. That’s the law.’

I went with Negrini to his office. As we threaded our way through the crowd in the gambling hall, I asked, ‘Is that a fact that Campanillans aren’t allowed to gamble in the casinos?’

‘It is,’ said Negrini. ‘What Jill didn’t tell you is that for every bet she places I’m fined £100 too. Neither of us can buck those odds.’ We came out into the foyer. ‘And you know who came up with that little legislative gem? My own friend, David Salton.’

I probed a bit. ‘You must have been annoyed.’

‘I was – but not too much. The natives wouldn’t bring in huge sums compared with the tourists, and anyway it makes us look good. Even a gambler worries about his image.’ He stopped before a door. ‘Here we are.’

I noted the man lounging negligently in the corridor and was not surprised when Negrini didn’t have to unlock the door. We went inside and he waved me to an easy chair. ‘Drink?’

‘Scotch, thanks.’

There was a sideboard with bottles and glasses laid out. He poured the drinks and said, ‘In here you get it free. Out there you pay.’

‘And pay and pay. You must be doing well.’

‘I get along.’ He handed me a glass. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Kemp?’

‘I represent the Western and Continental Insurance Company,’ I said.

Negrini broke in. ‘I have all the insurance I need.’ He was smiling.

‘No doubt, but I’m not selling. We insured David Salton for a lot of money. Now he’s dead.’

‘I see.’ Negrini’s eyes turned hard. ‘And you’re here to figure out a way of not paying.’