The party moved on round the basilica. The Van der Veghels took photographs and asked a great many questions. They were laboriously well-informed in Roman antiquities. Presently the Baron, with an arch look, began to inquire about the particular features that appeared so vividly in Grant’s novel. Were they not standing, at this very moment, in the place where his characters assembled? Might one not follow, precisely, in the steps they had taken during that wonderful climactic scene?

‘O-o-oah!’ cried the Baroness running her voice up and down a chromatic scale of enthusiasm. ‘It will be so farskinating. Yes?’

Grant reacted to this plea as he had to earlier conversations: with a kind of curbed distaste. He gave Sophy and Alleyn one each of his sharp glances, darted a look of something like pure hatred at Sebastian Mailer and suggested confusedly, that an author seldom reproduced in scrupulous detail, an actual mise-en-scène any more than he used unadulterated human material. ‘I don’t mean I didn’t start off with San Tommaso,’ he shot out at Sophy. ‘Of course I did. But I gave it another name and altered it to my purpose.’

‘As you had every right to do,’ Sophy said boldly and Alleyn thought the two of them were united for the moment in their common field of activity.

‘Yes, but do show us,’ Lady Braceley urged. ‘Don’t be beastly. Show us. You promised. You know you did.’

Kenneth Dorne said, ‘Isn’t that why we came? Or not? I thought you were to be the great attraction.’

He had approached Grant and stood in an attitude of some elegance, his left arm extended along one of the closure-slabs of the schola, his right hand on his hip. It was not a blatant pose but it was explicit nevertheless and at least one aspect of Kenneth was now revealed. He looked at Grant and widened his eyes. ‘Is it all a sellout?’ he asked. ‘Or have I made a muddle? Or am I merely being impertinent?’

A rabid oath, instantly stifled, burst from Major Sweet. He shouted, ‘I beg your pardon,’ and glared at a wall-painting of the Foolish Virgins.

‘Oh dear,’ Kenneth said, still to Grant. ‘Now the Major’s cross. What have I said?’ He yawned again and dabbed at his face with his handkerchief.

Grant gave him a comprehensive look. ‘Nothing to the purpose,’ he said shortly and walked away. Mr Mailer hurried into the breach.

‘Naughty!’ he tossed at Kenneth and then, vindicating Grant to his disconcerted customers, told them he was unbelievably modest.

Lady Braceley eagerly supported this view as did the Van der Veghels. Grant cut short their plaudits by adopting, with a great effort, it seemed to Alleyn, a brisk and business-like air and by resuming his exposition.