The wife of Decimus Camillus fell into my third type: she stayed at home. I knew that already, otherwise I would have heard of her. She was what I expected: glossy, tense, perfect manners, jingling with gold jewellery—a well-treated woman with an even better-kept face. She glanced first at Sosia, then her shrewd black eyes flicked over me. She was just the sort of sensible matron a bachelor would be lucky to find when he was presented with an illegitimate child he felt unable to ignore. I could see why the nifty Publius parked his Sosia here.

Julia Justa, the senator’s wife, took back her lost niece without fuss. She would ask her questions later, once the household settled down. Just the sort of decent, deserving woman who has the unhappy luck to be married to a man who dabbles in illegal currency. A man so inept, he hires his own informer to expose him.

I made my way to the library and marched in on Decimus unannounced.

“Surprise! A senator who collects not grubby Greek antiques but ingots engraved artistically by the government. You’re in enough trouble, sir, why hire me as well?”

He had a shifty expression for a moment, then he seemed to straighten up. I suppose a politician gets used to people calling him a liar.

“Dangerous ground, Falco. When you calm down—”

I was perfectly calm. Furious, but lucid as glass.

“Senator, the silver pig must be stolen; I don’t rate you as a thief. For one thing,” I sneered, “if you had gone to the trouble of stealing British silver, you would take much more care of your loot. What’s your involvement?”

“Official,” he said, then had second thoughts. That was just as well, since I didn’t believe him. “Semi-official.”

I still didn’t believe him. I choked back a laugh. “And semi-corrupt?”

He brushed my bluntness aside: “Falco, this has to be in confidence.” The stale crust of this family’s confidence was the last thing I welcomed. “The ingot was found after a scuffle in the street and handed in to the magistrate’s office. I know the praetor for this Sector; he’s a man I dine with and his nephew gave a posting to my son. We discussed the ingot, naturally.”

“Ah, just among friends!”

Whatever he had done, to a man of his station I was being unacceptably rude. His patience surprised me. I watched him closely; he was just as intently observing me. I would suspect he wanted a favour, had he been a different class of man.

“My daughter Helena took a letter to Britain—we have relatives there. My brother-in-law is the British secretary of finance. I wrote to him—”

“All in the family; I see!” I scoffed again. I had forgotten how clannish these people can be: little pockets of reliable friends sewn into every province from Palestine to the Pillars of Hercules.