Only this time he was doing it in person.
XV
WHAT IMPRESSED RICHARDSON most about General Raffaele Montuori was neither his rank and beautiful uniform nor the fact that his arrival scared little Rat face out of his cardboard shoes, but the simple white and blue of the British Military Cross embedded in his rainbow display of decorations. All the others might mean something or nothing, but the MC didn't come up with the rations.
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That was what the book had said about Montuori, of course: he was an old timer close to retirement, but still a hard man, a throwback to days of the Roman legions whom even Sir Frederick had treated with a deference which wasn't purely diplomatic. But it was still a good thing to be reminded of it by that ribbon.
Not that Narva conceded him any special treatment.
'General—this is an unexpected honour,' he said formally.
'But you are welcome in my house.'
'Signor Narva—' Montuori bowed '—it grieves me that you have been disturbed in this way, at this hour.'
'I understand the necessity for it, General.'
'Nevertheless we are grateful for your co-operation.'
Richardson had the feeling that the two men were communicating very different messages to each other than their apparent platitudes suggested.
'It is freely given.'
'That is understood.' The General paused. 'Though I would expect no less in the circumstances.'
So that was the way of it: Narva had served notice that he had talked because he chose to talk, and Montuori had indicated that he would have had to talk whether he liked it or not. But being practical men in temporary agreement neither was prepared to make an issue of the matter.
'Signor Narva has been extremely helpful.' Boselli's head dummy2
bobbed. 'He has been helpfulness itself.'
Momentarily the General's eyes left Narva's face. But they settled not on Boselli, but on Audley.
'In that case it would be unreasonable to take more of your valuable time, signore,' said the General. 'But if I might be permitted to speak privately with these gentlemen we may then be able to leave you in peace—'
Any similarity between Superintendent Cox's retreat from Sir Frederick's room and Narva's retirement was purely accidental, Richardson decided as he watched the General pour himself a generous glass of Caprese. Anyway, what mattered now was the man who remained, not the one who had gone.
The General turned towards them.
'More wine, Dr. Audley?' he said in almost unaccented English.
'Thank you.' Audley held out his glass.
'Captain Richardson?'
'Thanks, General. But I don't use the rank now.'
'Indeed? Why not?'
'I don't wear the uniform.'
'Your mother must be disappointed.'
Richardson held his glass steady. 'What makes you think so?'
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'She always intended you to follow in your father's footsteps.
Assault Engineers—is that not so?'
'You know my mother, sir?'
'My dear boy—there was a time after the war when I might have become your stepfather.' Montuori smiled. 'You will be so good as to remember me to her, perhaps?'
'Of course.' Richardson nodded. 'It's a small world.'
'Yes, I have always found it so. And never more so than now. . . . Would you not agree, Dr. Audley?'
'I think the probabilities usually even out the improbabilities in the end, actually.'
'A somewhat unromantic view. But you may be right—I gather you usually are—stop hovering, Pietro!'
Boselli blinked nervously. 'Sir—I—I was wondering about Villari—'
'And I am wondering about Ruelle. Did Signor Narva's helpfulness extend in that direction?'
Boselli shook his head. 'No, sir. But we did not expect him to know anything—in that direction.'
Richardson looked at the little Italian with renewed interest.
He had kept as quiet as a church mouse during Audley's duel with Narva, almost as though he wanted no part of it. And his present nervousness was obvious. But they knew better now—
that the quietness was a deceptive front and the nerves were those of the hunter at the smell of his quarry, Ruelle.
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'That is true,' admitted the General, eyeing Audley speculatively. 'One of your probabilities, Dr. Audley.'
