‘It’s fogged.’

‘Well, that’s not my fault, is it? Look: I want to talk to you. Please.’

‘At eight.’

‘I see. Well I—yes—well, thank you. I’ll ring again at eight.’

‘Do that.’

At half past six the office called to say that the Baron Van der Veghel had arrived. Alleyn asked them to send him up.

He opened his door and when he heard the lift whine, went into the corridor. Out came a waiter ushering the Baron, who greeted Alleyn from afar and springingly advanced with outstretched hand.

‘I hope you don’t mind my bringing you up here,’ Alleyn said. ‘I thought we wanted a reasonable amount of privacy and the rooms down below are like a five-star Bedlam at this hour. Do come in. What will you drink? They make quite a pleasant cold brandy-punch. Or would you rather stick to the classics?’

The Baron chose brandy-punch and while it was coming enlarged upon their visit to the water-gardens at the Villa d’Este. ‘We have been there before, of course,’ he said, ‘but with each visit the wonder grows. My wife said today that now she summons up, always at the same vista, a scarlet cardinal and his guests. She sees them through the mists of the fountains.’

‘She has second sight,’ Alleyn said lightly. Seeing the Baron was puzzled, he explained.

‘Ach—no. No, we do not believe such phenomena. No, it is her imagination which is so very vivid. She is most sensitive to her surroundings but she does not see ghosts, Mr Alleyn.’

The drinks arrived. Alleyn attended to them and then said, ‘Would you like to look at your photographs? I’m afraid you will be disappointed.’

He had left all the prints except Kenneth’s on the bed.

When the Baron saw Violetta and Mailer, which he did at once, he said, ‘Oh, no! This is too horrible! Please!’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Alleyn said and swept them away. ‘Here are your wife’s photographs. The early ones, you see, are very good. It is when we come to S. Tommaso that the trouble begins.’

‘I cannot understand this,’ the Baron said. He stooped, peered at them and took them up, one by one. ‘My wife’s camera is in good condition: it has never happened before. The film was correctly rolled off before it was removed. Where are the negatives?’

‘Here they are.’

He held them in turn up to the light. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘And I confess I am puzzled. Forgive me, but—the man who processed the film—you said he was a police photographer?’

‘I honestly don’t think for a moment that he was careless.’

‘My wife,’ said the Baron, ‘will be relieved after all. She wanted no record of the visit to that place.’

‘No.’

‘But I am sorry. You wished for the photograph of the sarcophagus, I believe.’