‘My feeling is that he is in trouble with the police. Perhaps he was recognized. Perhaps the woman who threatened him has some hold over him. I am sure he has bolted. We shall not be troubled by him again, my poor love.’

‘And our secret—our secret, Gerrit?’

‘Remains our secret.’

The Baron’s winged smile tilted his mouth. He opened his eyes and put his head on one side. ‘And as for our financial disaster,’ he said. ‘It is vanished. Look.’

He unlocked a cupboard, removed from it the great satchel in which he carried his photographic equipment, unlocked that and displayed a large sealed package.

‘Such a business it was,’ he said, ‘getting it all together. And now—back to Geneva and lock it all up again. What a farce!’

‘What a farce,’ she echoed obediently.

He put the satchel away, locked the cupboard, turned and opened wide his arms.

‘So,’ he said. ‘And now—! Come to me, my beloved.’

VII

Major Sweet was the last of his party to return to his lodging. He was taken to his room by the second driver, being in a trance-like condition from which he neither passed into oblivion nor wholly recovered. The second driver watched him make a pretty good hash of withdrawing money from his pockets and did not attempt to conceal his own chagrin when given a worse than conservative tip.

Alone, the Major was at laborious pains to retrieve the money he had dropped on the carpet. He was reduced to crawling after it like a botanist in search of some rare specimen.

Having achieved several pieces of cash and two notes he sat on the floor with his back to the bed, stared at his gleanings with astonishment and then, inconsistently, threw them over his shoulder.

He rolled over, climbed up to his bed, fell on it, removed his tie and slept.

CHAPTER 6
Re-appearance of a Postcard Vendor

At seven o’clock Alleyn obeyed his own orders and woke. He ordered breakfast, bathed, shaved and was ready for the day when the hotel office rang to say a car had called for him.

It was Il Questore Valdarno’s car and in it, exuding his peculiar brand of melancholy and affability, was the Questore himself. He welcomed Alleyn and in doing so contrived to establish the awesome condescension of his being there at all. It was a long time, Alleyn understood, since the Questore had risen at this hour, a long time since his association with fieldwork had taken any form other than the august consideration of material pre-filtered by his subordinates.

Alleyn expressed, not for the first time, his deep sense of obligation.