The Major took an appreciably longer pause before he said with quiet dignity, ‘That was uncalled for.’

‘I would have thought it was obvious enough.’

‘Not to me, sir. Hold on, though. Wait a bit. You’re referring to that ghastly youth: Dorne. Sorry I spoke. Good lord, yes, I knew what he was up to, of course. You brought it all out next morning. Very neatly done if I may say so, though as a matter of fact I dozed off a bit. Didn’t get the hang of all that was said.’

‘This isn’t your first visit to Rome, is it?’

‘Oh no. No. I was here on active service in 1943. And once or twice since. Never got hold of the lingo.’

‘How long have you known Giovanni Vecchi?’

The beetroot ran out of the Major’s carefully shaven jaw leaving the plum behind but only in this respect could he be said to change countenance. ‘Giovanni how much?’ he said. ‘Oh. You mean the courier fellow.’

‘Yes. The courier fellow. He’s in the drug business with Mailer.’

‘Good lord, you don’t say so!’

‘I do, you know. They’re tied up,’ Alleyn said, mentally taking a deep breath, ‘with Otto Ziegfeldt.’

‘Who’s he?’ asked the Major in a perfectly toneless voice. ‘Some dago?’

‘He’s the biggest of the drug barons.’

‘You don’t tell me.’

‘I don’t think I need to, do I?’

‘What you need to do,’ said the Major and his voice jumped half an octave, ‘is explain yourself. I’m getting sick of this.’

‘Ziegfeldt imports morphine from Turkey. The usual route, by diverse means, is from Izmir via Sicily to the USA. During the past year, however, an alternative route has developed: to Naples by a Lebanese shipping line and thence by Italian coastal traders to Marseilles, where it is converted to heroin. Ziegfeldt established an agent in Naples whose job was to arrange and supervise the trans-shipments. We believe this man to have been Sebastian Mailer.’

Alleyn waited for a moment. They sat in the deserted smokingroom of the hotel. It smelt of furniture polish and curtains and was entirely without character. Major Sweet rested his elbow on the arm of his uncomfortable chair and his cheek on his hand. He might have been given over to some aimless meditation.

‘It appears,’ Alleyn said, ‘that at one time Mailer was married to the woman Violetta. Probably she acted for him in some minor capacity. Subsequently he deserted her.’

‘Now,’ said the Major into the palm of his hand, ‘you’re talking. Threatened to expose him.’

‘Very likely.’

‘Killed her.’

‘Highly probable.’

‘There you are, then.’

‘Ziegfeldt doesn’t at all care for agents who help themselves to goods in transit and then set up on their own account.’

‘Dare say not.’