'I'm not interested in what happened on the following morning,' Carlotti said. 'I just want to know what happened on the 29th.'
'Okay. I was right here working on my novel. I worked all the afternoon and evening up to three o'clock the following morning. I didn't move out of here.'
He looked down at his highly polished shoes.
'Perhaps someone called on you?' he asked hopefully.
'No one came near me, because I was thought to be in Venice.'
'Perhaps someone telephoned you?'
'No one did, for the same reason.'
'I see.'
There was a long, awkward pause while he stared at his shoes, then he suddenly looked up. Meeting his eyes was like having a blow-lamp across my face.
'Well, thank you, signor,' he said, and got to his feet. 'This is a complicated business. It is only by making inquiries and asking questions that we shall eventually arrive at the truth. I am sorry if I have taken up too much of your rime.'
'That's okay,' I said, aware that my hands were clammy and my mouth was dry.
'If there is anything that I think you can help me with, I'll be in touch with you again.' He moved to the door. Then he paused to look at me. 'Is there anything you would wish to add? Anything that may have slipped your mind that might help me?'
'My mind's not all that slippery.'
He stared at me.
'I don't think you should treat this matter flippantly, signor. It is, after all, a murder investigation. Perhaps you will think about it. Some idea may occur to you.'
'Sure. If it does, I'll call you.'
'I'd be glad if you would.'
He nodded and, opening the door, he went into the hall. I was feeling so shaken I didn't trust myself to escort him to the front door. He found his own way out. When I heard the front door shut behind him, I stubbed out my cigarette and, getting to my feet, I walked over to the window.
I watched the traffic swirling around the Forum. There were a few dark clouds creeping up behind the stark outline of the Colosseum: a sure sign that it was going to be a wet night I saw Carlotti get into the police car and drive away.
I remained motionless, my mind crawling with alarm. I might have known Carlotti wouldn't have missed the significance of the missing films. This was something I couldn't keep from
Chalmers.
I had a sudden feeling of urgency. I had to find this mysterious X before Carlotti found me. I didn't underrate him. Already he was getting too close to me for comfort.
The telephone snapped me out of my mood. I picked up the receiver. It was Gina.
'You said you would call me yesterday,' she said. 'I've been waiting. What is happening, Ed?'
I did some quick thinking. I couldn't confide my troubles to her now Carlotti had told me this was a murder case. She might get hooked in as an accessory if she knew I was Douglas Sherrard.
'I'm right up to my ears at me moment,' I said. 'I'm on my way out. Give me a couple of days, and you'll hear from me.'
'But, Ed . . . what was it you were going to tell me? Can't we meet to-night?'
'I'm sorry, Gina, but not to-night. I can't stop now. I'll call you in a couple of days. So long for now,' and I hung up.
I waited a moment, then put a call through to New York. The operator said there was a twohour delay.
There was nothing for me to do but to sit down and mull over the information I had got from Matthews and to consider the threat that was beginning to develop from Carlotti. After a while I got tired of frightening myself and turned on the radio. Maria Meneghini Callas was giving a recital of Puccini's songs. Her dark, exciting voice carried me out of my troubles for the next hour. She was in the middle of Sola perdma, A
Chalmers came on the line after only a two-minute delay. 'What have you got?'
Even at that distance I could hear the iron in his voice.
'I've just had Carlotti here,' I said. 'He's now decided it looks like murder, and he'll tell the coroner so.'
There was a pause, then Chalmers said, 'How did he got on to it.'
I told him about the camera and the missing films. I told him how I had taken the camera, had found the scrap of film in it and how the camera had been stolen before I could hand it back to the police.
The news seemed to stun him, for he was hesitant when he began to talk again.
'What are you going to do, Dawson?'
'I'm trying to get a list of Helen's men friends,' I said, and told him I had got an inquiry agency on the job. 'Carlotti's working on the same angle. He seems to think your daughter had a number of men friends.'
'If he tries to stir up a scandal about the girl, I'll break him!' Chalmers snarled. 'Keep in touch with me. I want to know what you're doing . . . understand?'
I said I understood.
'And talk to this coroner fella. He promised me he'd fix this pregnancy business. I don't want that to come out. Get tough with him, Dawson. Throw a scare into him!'
'If this turns out to be a murder case, Mr. Chalmers,' I said, 'there's nothing we can do about the verdict.'
'Don't tell me what we can't do!' he bawled. 'Talk to this punk. Call me back to-morrow at this time.'
I said I would, and hung up.
I put a call through to coroner Maletti. When he came on the line I told him I had been talking to Chalmers, who was anxious to be assured that the arrangements he had made would stand. Maletti was full of oil and soft soap. Unless further evidence came to light, he said, il Signor Chalmers need not disturb himself about the verdict.
'You'll be the one who's disturbed if the verdict's the wrong one,' I said, and slammed down the receiver.
By now it was dark and rain showed on the windows.
It was time, I decided as I went into my bedroom to get my raincoat, to pay a visit to the villa Palestra.
III
I left my car in the parking lot at the Stadium and walked up viale Paolo Veronese until I came to double wrought-iroN gates, set in an eight-foot high stone wall that surrounded the acre or so of garden in which the villa Palestra stood.
By now it was raining hard, and the long street was deserted. I pushed open one of the gates, moved into a dark driveway, screened by cypress trees and flowering shrubs.
