Death of an Englishman Read Online Free PDF Page B

The business of the stolen bust would have to wait. It would have been easier if there had been just the two of them but with the language problem …
    'Well, that's really as much as I can tell you at this stage. If you wouldn't mind—' he looked at his watch—'I'd like to get back to Via Maggio now and start interviewing the tenants. If we can offer you any assistance with accommodation?'
    'No need, thanks all the same. Nice girl from the Consulate fixed us up at the English vicarage— convenient enough—it's on the same street as the scene of the crime, she was telling us; we haven't been there yet. Hotels all seemed to be full up. Funny thing at this time of year.'
    'Christmas shoppers, Chief Inspector. Florence is a renowned shopping centre for the whole world, as is your own city.'
    'I suppose so. Well, we'll get along to the vicarage. We may as well make a start by having a chat to the vicar. No doubt Mr Langley-Smythe was a churchgoer.'
    'No doubt. I'll order a car for you.' He picked up his internal phone and rang a bell for the escort. 'Might I suggest that we meet here tomorrow? Late morning would be best, perhaps; I should have a full autopsy report by then, and possibly something from Records on the prints … shall we say eleven-thirty?'
    'Right. That'll give us time to make a few inquiries among the English community—with your permission, of course.'
    'By all means. I should be grateful. And if you would then be my guests for lunch?'
    'Well, that went off all right,' said the Chief Inspector, settling into the back of the car. Jeffreys didn't trust himself to speak.
    It was quite dark by now and still raining softly through the mist. As they crossed the river they got a glimpse of soft haloes of pink and yellow light around the miniature shops on the Ponte Vecchio in the distance, and the faint glimmer of what must have been a huge civic Christmas tree somewhere higher up. Their route took them by a complicated one-way system through the popular quarter where the streets, crowded with people, seemed too narrow for the car. The shops were at their busiest at this time of the evening and their wares overflowed on to the pavement. Shoppers milled about in the road, their umbrellas glistening in the dark. Tinsel glittered even in the windows of grocers' shops which were hung with Tuscan hams and fat sausages. Pyramids of tangerines were interspersed with shining leaves. Their driver was continually sounding his horn and they moved at a snail's pace.
    'Wouldn't fancy being a bus driver round here,' remarked the Chief. Jeffreys only grunted, his eyes fixed on all the food that was passing his hungry gaze.
    Via Maggio, although busy, was more sedate. Only an occasional poinsettia standing in a copper bowl in front of the dark velvets and inlaid woods of the antique-dealers' windows gave any indication of the season. At the river end of the street they stopped in front of a fifteenth-century palace that housed the English church on the ground floor and the vicar's apartment on the first.
    Inspector Jeffreys paused to thank the Carabiniere driver in careful Italian. The driver was pleased.
    'If you go out and get lost,' he offered, evidently considering this a likely possibility, 'find the river and the Santa Trinita bridge—there it is, with a statue at each corner, one for each of the four seasons, you can't miss it—then you're home.'
    'Thanks.'
    'It's nothing. See you again.' He drove off across the bridge towards the blurred lights of the city centre.
    The vicar was on the doorstep, rubbing his hands.
    'Come in, come in,' he said, clasping each of their hands in turn, 'Felicity's just making a cup of tea. What a miserable evening!'
    The Captain arrived in Via Maggio with Carabiniere Bacci still in attendance. As they passed the deserted porter's lodge of number fifty-eight he indicated the boarded-up window: 'At one time we could have done most of our inquiring right here—and in a palazzo signorile like