‘That will be done. There is,’ Valdarno confessed, ‘some confusion. On the one hand we have the trade in illicit drugs which is your concern. On the other the murder of Violetta which is also ours. And Mailer who is the key figure in both. One asks oneself: is there a further interlockment? With the travellers? Apart, of course, from their reluctance to become involved in any publicity arising out of our proceedings. Otherwise, between the murder and these seven travellers there is no connection?’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Alleyn said. ‘Oh, my dear Signor Questore, I wouldn’t say that, you know. Not by a long chalk.’

When he had explained this point-of-view he hung up the receiver and took counsel with himself. At last, by no means sure that he was doing the right thing, he went to the reception desk and sent up his name to Major Sweet.

III

It was hard to believe that this was the same man who, half an hour ago, had muttered away with Giovanni. The Major was right back on the form that Alleyn had suspected from the first to be synthetic. There he sat in his impeccable squarish light-weight suit, wearing an RA tie, a signet ring, brown brogues polished like chestnuts and the evidence of a mighty hangover in his bloodshot eyes. The hangover, at least, was not assumed. Perhaps none of it was assumed. Perhaps the Major was all he seemed to be and all of it gone to the bad.

‘Glad you looked in, Alleyn,’ he said. ‘I hoped to have a word with you.’

‘Really?’

‘Only to say that if I can be of use I’ll be delighted. Realize you’re in a difficult position. Treading on foreign protocol corns, what? Don’t suppose there’s much I can do but such as I am—here I am. Services ought to stick together, what?’

‘You’re a Gunner, I see.’

‘Was, old man. Was. Retired list now but still good for a spell of duty, I hope.’ He gave a sly comradely laugh. ‘In spite of the other night. Mustn’t judge me by that, you know. Bad show. Rather fun once in a while, though, what?’

‘You’re not a regular patron of Mr Mailer’s then?’

A fractional pause, before Major Sweet said, ‘Of Mailer’s? Oh, see what you mean. Or do I? Can’t stomach the feller, actually. Picked him for a wrong ‘un straight off. Still, I must say that show was wellrun even if I did look on the wine when it was red, but let that go.’

‘I wasn’t talking about alcohol. I meant hard drugs. Heroin. Cocaine.’

‘I say, look here! You’re not telling me they’ve been pushing that rot-gut at Toni’s Pad! I mean regularly.’

‘And you’re not telling me you didn’t know.’