He pretended to consider the question. 'Pretty quiet today.'
The man nodded. 'It is the mezzogiorno, though.'
'I reckon we must be the only ones here,' Boselli surveyed the scene with a dissatisfied sniff, as though it didn't surprise him now that it was no tourist attraction. 'Except for him, at least,' he nodded towards the detective in the distance.
The conflict in the refreshment man's expression suggested that he was torn between loyalty to Ostia Antica and the proposition that the customer—especially the would-be customer—was always right.
In the end he compromised, as Boselli had hoped he would.
'Almost the only ones, signore,' he said.
'You mean there are others here?' That was just the right note of not-quite-polite disbelief: 'I haven't seen anyone.'
'Oh, yes—' the refreshment man was on his honour now. He stepped out into the sunlight and stared down the Decumano Massimo —'just a few minutes ago there was a foreign couple
—a big bull of a man and a woman in a big hat, slender like a model-girl—'
'Well, they seem to have disappeared,' murmured Boselli.
'Perhaps they knew where to go—where the best things to see are, eh?'
'But there is much to see, signore!' The refreshment man spread his hands. 'Behind here there is the Piazzale delle dummy2
Corporazioni— they come from all over the world to see the mosaics there—and—' He stopped suddenly as though it had dawned on him that only a barbarian could have come so far and remained unmoved by his surroundings.
'Where did they go, then, the foreigners,' persisted Boselli, like a man who has had what he believes to be a sharp idea which he intends to pursue to the exclusion of better advice.
The man shrugged, disillusioned. 'I think maybe they turned off to the right, to the House of Diana or maybe the Temple of Livia. Or they may have gone to the Museum—but it is closed now.'
Boselli acknowledged the information with a nod as he heard Villari's footfall on the stair.
But the man was a trier. Even as Boselli turned away from him he called out: 'You want for me to get you that drink now, signore?'
Boselli raised a negative hand. He wanted a cool drink, it was true, but it would only make him want to urinate more than he did already —it was that damned drink he had had back at the fountain in the city which was already beginning to discomfort him. Nevertheless— he had made progress, and a good deal more of it than had Villari, who appeared round the corner of the theatre with a face like thunder.
'They went—'
Villari cut him off. 'I heard. Come on.'
He strode off, bristling. Not a word of approbation, thought dummy2
Boselli hotly, panting after him—not even an encouraging look could he manage. It was childish, even allowing for the fact that Villari had always worked alone in the past, but more than that it might soon become positively dangerous and he could not afford to allow it to go on much longer.
A few metres farther on Villari stopped to examine the map again.
But this time Boselli closed up on him and craned over his shoulder.
'The House of Diana—which is that?' he asked. The map was crudely drawn, and although the streets were named the buildings along them were numbered according to a key which was under Villari's thumb on the far side. 'And the Temple of Livia—'
Villari refolded the map just as Boselli had managed to identify a
'Signor Villari, this is ridiculous—' he began.
'Be quiet!'
It was not the order that stopped Boselli, but the fact that Villari had embarked on a curious sequence of hand signals to the detective ahead of them. But curious or not, the detective seemed to understand what he was trying to convey, for he bobbed his head before starting off again.
'Now—' Villari turned back to him '—what the devil is the dummy2
matter?'
Boselli swallowed, then nerved himself. 'I cannot—Signor Villari —I cannot continue like this, not knowing what is happening. You do not tell me anything—and you do not show me anything—' the words foamed out as though a dam had broken '—you ignore me, you treat me like a child! I must insist—'
'Insist?' Villari showed his teeth.
'Yes, signore—insist!' Boselli was desperate now. 'If things go wrong—General Montuori spoke to both of us— if things go wrong then I shall be held responsible just as much as you
—'
He paused, aware that his voice was rising towards a plaintive squeak.
'If there is nothing for me to do here, then I will return to the city,' he said firmly. 'And I will report to the
