‘Oh, forget citron and cedar. Stone beats wood every time for me.’ Faustus kept rambling. ‘Give me Euboean onion-skin marble for setting off silver any day. Lovely green base, good wavy lines …’

‘Stop joshing around,’ I chided. ‘You heard what he said – we are confusing him. Roscius, just tell me, did you know that the family were leaving for Campania?’

‘Yes, I did.’ He answered the simple question with relief.

‘So did you go to the house that night to lift the silver while you could?’

‘We went.’

‘And you took it?’

‘No.’

‘Why not? You got inside?

‘Of course. Sweet as a nut.’

‘So why not take the stuff?’

‘None there. Not a piece of it. We found the dining room all right, but the shelves were standing there all empty.’

Roscius looked awkward and unhappy. In telling this odd story, he seemed unable to decide whether he was embarrassed by failure or defiant because he was innocent of theft. Faustus shot a glance at me, then he took up the questioning. ‘Something happened?’ he asked in a quieter voice than formerly. ‘Get it off your chest, why not?’

Roscius nodded, though he still failed to speak.

Faustus went back to the beginning. In his work as aedile, he must be used to questioning wrongdoers. He was calm, courteous, almost sympathetic. ‘So, let’s start with getting into the house. Is it right that you burst in past the porter?’

Roscius bridled indignantly. ‘No chance! Am I good or not?’

‘Of course; you’re tops. So tell me.’

‘I got us in. My usual method. Did it sweet and quiet. Got past the lock with my special magic.’

‘A pick in the keyhole?’

‘Not saying. Trade secret. Anyway, no one knew we was in their house.’

I stiffened, realising just how much the scenario I had worked on before was wrong. Faustus showed no reaction.

Roscius was suddenly flying. He could not tell his story fast enough: ‘We got in, there was nobody around, we found the room, the shelves were empty, we started searching. Having made it in, we wasn’t leaving empty-handed. Unprofessional! Well, that was what I thought until we knew what had gone down. I was the one that discovered them. Just opened a bedroom door, quiet like, not knowing what might be inside, who I could be facing up to if I was unlucky. There the two of them was. Stark naked and flung out in agony, horribly staring up at me.’

‘Aviola and his wife?’ insisted Faustus. ‘Dead?’

Roscius nodded.

Being so sure of the details previously, I jumped in: ‘But hadn’t you already come across the door porter? Nicostratus? Beaten insensible and lying in his blood, in the long passage from the front entrance?’

Roscius blinked. ‘Never saw him. Never saw nobody.’

‘What?’