‘Did it last year—not all it’s cracked up to be. Still, book it and go now. You could die of self-neglect and your efforts would all be wasted. So—who were the tumblers and the band working for?’

‘No one special.’

‘What? We’re talking about Cretan shepherds in hairy coats!’

‘Cretan my rear end! The tumblers arrived last week from Bruttium and all the rest came straight over the Tiber from Nero’s Circus.’

‘You amaze me! And they have no money-making sidelines?’

‘I didn’t say that. I believe,’ said Scorpus, with disgust, ‘the strummers have been known to sell stories about indiscretions for the dirty scandal page in the Daily Gazette.’

I winced. ‘That’s low!’

‘I agree—though I believe there is cash to be made.’

‘Fortunately the Camilli—to whom I am related, by the way, so watch it—are models of tedious morality. As for Anacrites, snitching on him would be madness: you could end up holding your next musical evening with Praetorian Guards, answering an arrest warrant signed by Titus Caesar, before they drag you on a very short walk to your death.’

I plucked his lyre, reflecting that the musicians he sneered at as strummers had played seven-string lyres too—their instruments probably costing much less than this fine pearl-inlaid walnut specimen. The singer gave me a sideways scrutiny. ‘So what were you doing there, Falco?’

‘Oh all I got was indigestion and a sore head.’

Thinking this had made us friends, Scorpus tried again to get up. I shoved him back angrily. ‘Oh get this over with! What do you want, Falco?’

‘Who did you see? There were two agents lurking in a back room—was somebody else with them?’

He had had enough time between playing his sets for a thorough reconnoitre. He knew about the Melitans. But Scorpus claimed, convincingly it seemed, that he saw no one else; he did not know who occupied that other room, where the pilfering chef found the cameo.

I gave up and went home for lunch.

The singer had lied to me. I did not know it at the time, but when I found out afterwards, I felt no real surprise.

38

After lunch my secretary needed me to attend to business; in superior homes it might be the other way around, but not with Katutis. He told me what I had to tell him to do. I complied. Still, I was lucky to have my hour with him. Now I was known to have a secretary, other people continually borrowed him. Katutis was supposed to take down my case-notes and start collating my memoirs, but he spent whole afternoons writing out soup recipes, curses and laundry lists.