'I've never met him.”
'You should hurry if you want to. He won't be around much longer. Can't say I ever liked him. He didn't know what to do with the young, except deliver monologues at them. But it may be that he's mellowed since he hit ninety. At least he must have given up chasing after everything female that comes within four miles of him.”
'I didn't know that was part of his reputation.”
'Oh, Lord, yes. Quite incorrigible he was. Not a man to take no for an answer. The poor student who was here eventually fled the house, he was such a pest. Poor girl.
Pity; she was a pretty young thing. And recently married, as well, if I remember rightly.
Not that details like that ever stopped Bulovius. You seem remarkably interested in this, if I may say so.”
'A friend now owns the picture,' Argyll said. 'So when I found your father's mark on the back, I thought I'd find out about it for him. I take it he's not in possession of stolen goods?”
'No, no. It was recovered, as I say. And then sold along with everything else.”
'I'd like to know more about the theft. Spicy details like that always add a little cachet to a picture.”
Stonehouse considered this. 'I can't help you. The only people who might would be this young girl ...”
'Name?”
'Can't remember. She was only here for a few days. Mainly lived in Poggio di Amoretta. That's a village near here. Close to where you must have got off the bus, in fact. Then there's the investigating magistrate ...”
'Name?' Argyll said hopefully.
'Ah, now, I remember that. His name was Balesto. I remember him because I read that he died about six months ago. I'm now at the age when I find obituary columns quite fascinating.”
'Ah.”
'Bulovius, of course. He's still alive. Just.”
'What about the policeman?”
Stonehouse squinted at him, his head held to one side. 'Policeman,' he said. 'Can't say I paid too much attention to him. Let's see now.' He made a Herculean effort to remember the trivialities of the people he had met.
'No. Can't remember,' he said. 'There were two of 'em. One old, fat, and stupid.
Trying to ingratiate himself. Wanted to be invited for dinner, I think. The other was young, gangling, and had hair that was much too long. I remember wondering how he got away with it.”
'And the names? I don't suppose you remember either of them?”
Another shake of the head. 'No. However, I believe you will find it in my father's papers at Buonaterra. This man kindly gave some advice about protecting the villa and wrote it all down for my father to send to the insurance company. Look in there, and you'll probably come across it. And there'll be the report on the theft there as well.”
Argyll had reached a dead end, and knew it. So he turned the discussion on to Stonehouse's father, his collection, what it was like being brought up in a Tuscan villa after the war—better than an English school, it seemed, although he sort of knew that already— all the sorts of subjects Stonehouse loved talking about.
He left an hour and two bottles later, and wove his way back to his bed. He had rather enjoyed himself.
The next day, Argyll went back to Rome, but only after reading the insurance file and the police report it contained. A summary only, little more than the initial deposition by Stonehouse and an account of the picture being found. He also discovered from the files that the policeman who had recovered the painting was a youthful, inexperienced, tall, gangling, long-haired Taddeo Bottando.
9
Long-haired and gangling?' Flavia gurgled. 'There aren't any photographs, are there?”
'I'm afraid not. But it must have been his first brush with art, more or less.”
'Heavens. I must ask him about it.”
'So must I. It would fill in a few details about that picture.”
Flavia, he noted, was a wife transformed. Enthusiastic embrace, beaming smile, everything a weary husband could want on his return home after a voyage. He was most surprised.
'Action at last,' she said. 'It was sitting around all the time that was getting to me.
And this damnable stomach of mine.”
'No better?”
'Not really. But not at all important. The thing is, this evening I hand over the money, and get the picture back. Then I can get to work properly.”
'So? Tell me.”
'Midnight. Down the Appian Way. Very dramatic. Just me, although Bottando has offered to drive. Very exciting.”
'Too exciting. Don't you think it's a bit dangerous?”
She shrugged. 'Not really. Not if he wants the money. And he works alone, and has no reputation for violence.”
'I thought you said he was a terrorist.”
'Not a real terrorist. I mean, he uses guns that play Verdi.”
'What if he has one that doesn't play Verdi?”
Flavia shrugged.
'Flavia, I'm serious.”
'So am I. I want to get this over and done with. I can't take anyone else because they'll figure out what's going on and talk. I can't delay it, even if there were any point in delaying. Don't worry, Jonathan. Bottando will protect me. He knows what he's doing.”
'He's sixty-five,' Argyll pointed out. 'And horribly overweight. Not much use, in my opinion. What would he do in case of trouble? Roll on them? Please let me come with you.”
'No.”
'Flavia ...”
'No. Absolutely not. If you must worry, do it here.' She picked up her coat. 'I won't be long,' she said as she opened the front door. 'Promise.”
'You see,' she said brightly four hours later as she bounced through the door. 'I told you.”
Considering that they had been four of the longest hours of Argyll's life, this was almost too much. He had not only not slept—it was now nearly two in the morning—he had paced. And groaned. And imagined all sorts of terrible things.
'You could have phoned.”
Flavia looked upset. 'Sorry,' she said. 'I should have. I forgot.”
Then she peered at Argyll. 'Oh, Jonathan. Have you been worrying?' And she gave him a big apologetic hug to make matters better.
'Well, I don't know about that . . . ,' Argyll huffed.
'Don't you want to hear what happened?”
'I suppose,' he said, determined not to give way either easily or gracefully.
'It was a triumph . . .”
'Hmm.”
'A vast success.”
Argyll sniffed haughtily.
'And a textbook example of how to do it. Almost.”
Argyll glared at her, then relented. 'Oh, very well, then,' he said crossly, and threw himself on the sofa. 'Go on.”
Flavia took off her coat and sat cozily beside him. Then stood up again and poured herself a large glass of whiskey, and then went to get some water for it. She liked ice in it, too, but refrained for fear of damaging Argyll's sensibilities. It was good whiskey, after all.
'I picked up Bottando,' she began eventually, 'and off we went, and arrived about ten minutes early. The Mausoleum of Herodias, do you know it?”
Argyll nodded.
