Colonnello Esposito, sitting beside him, took a last deep drag on his cigarette, then ground it out in an ashtray. He'd been quiet during the drive, moving only occasionally to light a new cigarette. Now he, too, glanced out the window.
'A most formidable residence,' he said.
D'Agosta nodded.
Esposito pulled out a fresh cigarette, reconsidered, replaced it, and turned to D'Agosta. 'This Fosco you describe seems a shrewd character. It will be necessary to catch him red-handed, secure the evidence ourselves. We will therefore go in fast.'
'Yes. Good.'
Esposito ran a hand over his brushed-back gray hair. 'He is also clearly one who leaves nothing to chance. I worry that Pendergast may be . ' His voice trailed off.
'If we hadn't waited twelve hours-'
The colonnello shook his head. 'One cannot change the way things are ' He fell silent while the cars passed the castle's ruined outer gate and made their way along the avenue of cypress trees. Then he stirred again. 'One request, Sergeant.'
'What?'
'Let me do the talking, if you please. I will make sure the conversation is in English. Fosco speaks English well?'
'Perfectly.'
D'Agosta was more exhausted than he ever remembered being. Every limb ached, and his skin was scratched and torn in countless places. Only his iron resolve to rescue Pendergast, his fear about what his friend might be undergoing at the hands of the count, kept him going. Maybe he's still alive, he thought. Back in the same cell. Of course he is. He must be.
D'Agosta prayed briefly, fervently, that this would prove the case. The alternative was too dreadful to contemplate.
The cars pulled into the graveled parking area just outside the inner wall. Here, in the deep shadow of the stone buttresses, it was chilly. D'Agosta opened the car door and stepped out briskly despite his aches and pains.
'The Fiat,' he said. 'Our rented car. It's gone.'
'What model?' Esposito asked.
'A Stylo, black. License IGP 223.'
Esposito turned to one of his men and barked an order.
The castle seemed deserted, almost preternaturally quiet. The colonnello nodded to his men, then led the way quickly up the stone steps to the banded doors.
This time, the doors to the inner ward did not open by themselves. In fact, it took five minutes-and increasingly agitated raps by the colonnello -before they groaned slowly open. There, on the far side, stood Fosco. His gaze traveled over the knot of policemen, coming to rest at last on D'Agosta. He smiled.
'Why, my heavens! It's Sergeant D'Agosta. How are you finding Italy?'
D'Agosta did not reply. Just the sight of the grotesque count brought on a rush of loathing. Keep it cool, he reminded himself.
Fosco was puffing just a bit but otherwise seemed his jovial, unflappable self. 'Please excuse my delay in responding. I wasn't expecting any company today.' Then he turned toward the colonnello . 'But we haven't yet been introduced. I am Fosco.'
'I am Colonnello Orazio Esposito of the Nucleo Investigativo,' Esposito said brusquely. 'We have a warrant to search these premises. I would ask you to step aside, sir.'
'A warrant!' Surprise bloomed on the count's face. 'What's it about?'
Esposito ignored him, walking past, barking orders to his men. He turned to the count. 'My men will need access to all parts of the castle.'
'Of course!' The count hastened across the lawn of the inner ward, past the purling fountain, and into the fastness of the dark and brooding keep, putting on a remarkable front of surprise and alarm, mingled with subservient cooperation.
D'Agosta maintained a stony silence, keeping his canvas bag well away from Fosco. He noticed that, this time, none of the massive doors scraped closed behind them.
The count led the way down the central gallery and into a room D'Agosta hadn't seen before: a large and elegant library, its walls covered with ancient volumes, leather spines stamped and gilded. A fire crackled merrily on the hearth.
'Please, gentlemen,' Fosco said, ushering them in. 'Have a seat. Can I offer you sherry? A cigar?'
'I'm afraid there is no time for pleasantries,' Esposito said. He reached into his pocket, withdrew a sheet of paper bearing official stamps, laid it on the table. 'Here is the warrant. We will search the basements and cellars first, then work our way up.'
The count had taken a cigar from a carved wooden box. 'Of course I shall cooperate, but I'd like to know what it's about.'
'Sergeant D'Agosta has leveled very grave charges against you.'
'Against me ?' the count said. He glanced at D'Agosta. 'Whatever are you talking about?'
'Kidnapping, attempted murder-and the accusation that you are still holding Pendergast.'
