A servant brought an envelope to Lugano. “This just came by messenger,” he said. “It’s addressed to you and Mr. Barrington.”

Lugano opened it and found another envelope inside, along with a letter on handsome stationery with a crest at the top. “It’s from Baron Klaucke,” he said. He read from the letter. “‘This arrived today. It may have been intended ironically. Please add it to the evidence I am providing.’” Lugano opened the other envelope and extracted an invitation. He read it slowly. “It doesn’t say who it’s from, but there’s an ornate C at the top.” He read: “‘The pleasure of your company is requested for a housewarming. Drinks, dinner, and music.’ There’s an address on the Amalfi Coast road.”

“When?”

“Saturday, in three days, drinks at seven.”

“Why would Casselli invite Klaucke to his party?”

“Because he’s a baron? Maybe Casselli is a snob.”

“I think we should accept on Baron Klaucke’s behalf,” Stone said, “but without an RSVP.”

They moved to the living room for coffee and brandy.

“We can’t attack,” Jim said, “but Stone’s right, we can infiltrate.”

“Disguised as guests?” Stone asked. “I don’t think we could pass for Casselli’s friends.”

“But,” Jim pointed out, “there will be a lot of other people in the house—staff, catering personnel, musicians.”

Dante brightened. “On another occasion we smuggled our people into a large event as workers. It could work again.”

“How would you manage it?” Stone asked.

“The same way we did before: we find out who’s catering the affair and what sort of music is being provided. We substitute our people for some of theirs.”

“I play bass,” Lugano said, raising his hand. “Most Sunday nights at a jazz club.”

“One of my assistants plays very good jazz guitar,” Dante said, “in the manner of Django Reinhardt. All we need is a pianist who knows how to use a gun.”

“Stone is likely to shoot himself in the foot,” Dino said, “but he plays pretty decent piano.”

“Oh, no,” Stone said, “I’m the rustiest piano player you ever heard.”

“Let’s hear something,” Lugano said, taking away Stone’s drink and pointing him at the piano in the corner.

“Casselli’s file says he’s a music lover,” Dante said, “with a particular fondness for the Great American Songbook.”

“All right,” Stone said, “I’ll play you some Rodgers and Hart, but it will sound a lot better if you’re all talking at the same time.” He sat down and played “My Romance,” and got a round of hearty applause from the group.

“You’ll do,” Jim said. “Where have you played?”

“I picked up spending money when I was at NYU, at a little club on Bleecker Street called the Surf Maid.”

“I’ve been in there,” Jim said. “A nine-foot grand with stools around it and a bar.”