He removed his briefcase and Hedy’s purse from the rear seat: both were charred, but their contents seemed unharmed. Stone used his key to try to open the trunk. It worked. A bellman came and removed their luggage, which seemed unharmed.

Before they could get to their suite, the two policemen he had spoken to the day before were back; they checked things off the list of lost items that had been reported the day before and issued Stone a new police report. “Your insurance will be happy,” one of them said.

Upstairs, they unpacked their bags, and Stone transferred the contents of his ruined briefcase to a shopping bag. Realizing that he had neglected to call Marcel duBois the day before, he did so now.

Marcel reacted to the news of the loss of his car with equanimity. “I will notify my insurer,” he said.

“I think you should ask for a new car,” Stone suggested. “It would cost them less than restoring the present one.”

“Quite.”

“Marcel, do you think there is a connection between the theft and burning of the car and the burning of the hotel?”

“Possibly,” Marcel replied.

“Would you care to expand on that?”

“Not at the present time. When will you return to Rome?”

“Tomorrow, I suppose.”

“What time will you depart?”

“After lunch.”

“I will send another car for you.”

“We can rent one.”

“It will be safer if I send a car.”

Stone refrained from mentioning that there was evidence to contradict that statement. “All right,” he said.

They had lunch on their terrace, and Hedy surprised him by stripping naked and disporting herself on a chaise longue. “I forgot to buy a bikini,” she said.

“Who’s complaining?” He took off his clothes and joined her.

—

They awoke later in the afternoon when the sun was behind an awning and a cool breeze swept over them. They took a shower together, made love on the bed, and fell asleep again.

They went down to dinner at the hotel’s terrace restaurant. Another couple, apparently Italian, from their conversation, were seated at the next table, quite close to theirs.

—

Well,” Hedy said when they were on coffee, “I must say, Stone, there’s never a dull moment being with you.”

“I try to keep things interesting,” he replied.

“And I’ve gotten half a new wardrobe out of it, as well. What’s next?”

“Only time can tell.”

The woman of the couple at the next table, much younger than her companion, got up and headed toward the ladies’ room.

“Excuse me,” the man said to Stone. He was in his sixties, Stone reckoned, suntanned, well-barbered, and dressed in elegant resort clothing. “I couldn’t help noticing your car this afternoon.” His English was lightly accented, with overtones of New York.

“It was noticeable, wasn’t it?” Stone admitted.

The man offered his hand. “My name is Leonardo Casselli.”