clambered up it. He found the volumes and brought them down. 'Cozarelli is the better of the two.'
'I'm interested in the history of the wards,' Don said, taking the book. He examined the index. There was no mention of either Genga nor Vaga. 'I want to find out how the wards acquired their names, who their leaders were and so on.'
Pedoni pushed his glasses more firmly up his fat nose.
'Mariano has a chapter covering that, I believe.'
Don began to examine the second volume.
'I was in the Cathedral library yesterday,' he said casually, 'and I was surprised to see a picture there depicting Piccolomini at the court of James I. How was it that Piccolomini got over to Scotland?'
Pedoni beamed. Don had already discovered, the little bookseller liked nothing better than to air his knowledge' of the great men of Siena, and for the next twenty minutes, he gave Don a detailed history of the life of Piccolomini.
'It was when he was elected pope in 1458 that the Sienese noblemen were re-admitted to a share in the government,'
Pedoni was saying when Don, seeing his opportunity, interrupted him.
'That would be in Jacopo Genga's time, wouldn't it?' he asked. 'I was reading in one of the books I got from you that he grabbed power from a rival.'
Pedoni's little black eyes turned cloudy.
'I don't recall Jacopo Genga,' he said.
'He and this other fellow were candidates for the leadership of the Tortoise ward. He wasn't elected and he plotted against this other fellow - Vaga I believe his name was.'
Pedoni shook his head.
'An obscure piece of history, signore. I know nothing about it'
'It doesn't matter,' Don said, concealing his disappointment. He picked up Mariano's history. 'I'll take this. It may give me what I'm looking for.'
'I may be able to find exactly what you want,' Pedoni said as he gave Don change from a five-thousand lira note. 'If you will let me have your name and address, signore, I will send you a card if I am successful.'
'Don't bother to do that,' Don said, moving to the door. 'I'll be in again.'
'It is no bother, signore,' Pedoni said, opening the door. 'Besides I would like to send you my monthly lists. You are staying at the Continental Hotel perhaps?'
Don looked at the little man. There was a scarcely concealed tenseness about him that put Don on his guard.
'I'll be in again,' he said. 'Good night.'
Pedoni stood for a long moment watching Don edge his way through the slow-moving crowd that packed the narrow street, then he shut the door, pulled down the blind and turned the key in the lock. He went quickly down the aisle to his office.
The office was small and lined with books from floor to ceiling. A desk, littered with papers and books and lit by a green-shaded lamp, stood in the middle of the room.
Pedoni paused in the doorway and looked at the girl with the Venetian red hair who sat behind bis desk, her face white and tense.
'That could have been the man who followed me last night,' she said.
Pedoni flinched.
'Do you think he is from the police?' he asked, coming over to the desk.
'Don't talk like a fool. Does he look like a policeman?' She got to her feet and began to move slowly about the crowded room. 'He may be the man who followed me in London. He has the same build.' She paused, then picked up the telephone receiver. She called a number, waited a moment, then said, 'Willie, there's a job I want you to do. Look out for a tall, heavily-built American, about thirty-five, dark, small moustache and a Z-shaped scar on his right cheek. He's wearing a bottle-green linen suit: no hat. I want to know who he is and where he is staying. Keep with him. Find out if he is alone or with others. If you are quick you might pick him up right away. He's only just left the shop.'
She replaced the receiver, snatched up her coat that was lying on a chair and slipped it on.
'I must get back,' she said. 'This could be dangerous.' The alarm in her eyes sent a twinge of fear through Pedoni that quickened the beat of his heart.
Chapter Vll
CORNERED
Felix - no one except the French police knew him by any other name - was indulging in his favourite pastime. He was standing before the big mirror above the fireplace, admiring his reflection. He was as handsome as any movie star could hope to be. He had dark, glossy hair, wide-set, dark-blue eyes, clean-cut features, a deeply tanned complexion and magnificent teeth that he took trouble to show when he laughed; a difficult feat as his upper lip was a shade too long, and unless he made the effort to curl it back, the effect of his gleaming white teeth was lost. His mouth was thin and cruel and this, combined with his better features, gave him a reckless, dashing appearance that most women found irresistible.
He was thirty-two years of age. Six of these years had been spent in prison. Before he was caught, he had roamed the French Riviera, plundering the villas of the rich. His success had been phenomenal. In sixteen months he had cleaned up fifty million francs, most of which he had lost at the Monte Carlo Sporting Club in two feverish
