How long were we all boxed up together under the blank eyes of Mithras? Sweet arrived first and about five minutes later, young Dorne. Then there was the business of the photographs. The discussion, the groping and the grouping. Sophy and I being funnymen and Grant cursing us. He had just said ‘Serve you bloody well right’ to Sophy, who was having trouble with the Major, when the lid, if it was the lid, thudded. After that came the failure of the flashlight, the interminable wait while the Baroness set herself up again. At least ten minutes, I would think. Then Dorne took his photo of Mithras. Then the Baroness loosed off, this time successfully. Then she took two more shots, not without further re-arrangements and palaver. Another four minutes? All of that. And finally the Baron changed places with the Baroness and blazed away on his own account. Then Grant read his piece. Another five minutes. And then the party broke up. After that Dorne and Sweet are again odd men out. So it looks as if we were all together in that bloody basement for about twenty-five minutes, give or take the odd five. So everybody’s got an alibi for the salient time. Everybody? No. No, not quite. Not…Sit still, my soul. Hold on to your hats, boys—

A great rumpus of sirens broke out in the distance, drew rapidly nearer and exploded into the little street. The police. The Squadra Omicidi in strength. Three large cars and a van, eight Agenti and four practical-looking characters in overalls.

Alleyn paid his bill and returned to the church, stiffer now about the shoulders and ribs and painful as to the head, but in other respects his own man again.

A large amount of equipment was being unloaded: two pairs of waders, ropes, pullies, an extension ladder, a winch, a stretcher. Il Vice-Questore Bergarmi watched the operation with an air of tetchy disdain. He greeted Alleyn ceremoniously and with a fine salute.

Patrons from the little caffè, some groups of youths and a car or two quickly collected and were bossed about by two of the Agenti who were otherwise unoccupied. Brother Dominic came out, surveyed the assembly, and opened the main doors.

‘Il Questore Valdarno, Signor Alleyn,’ said Bergarmi fairly stiffly, ‘sends his compliments. He wishes me to express his hopes that you will continue to interest yourself in our investigations.’

‘I am very much obliged to him,’ Alleyn replied, groping about in his Italian for the correct phrases, ‘and will be glad to do so without, I trust, making a nuisance of myself.’

‘Mente affalto,’ Bergarmi replied. Which was as much, Alleyn thought, as to say ‘Don’t let that worry you,’ or even, ‘Forget it.’ Somehow it sounded a good deal less cordial.

It was after ten o’clock when Bergarmi’s men landed Sebastian Mailer’s body in the insula.