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from their conversation, were seated at the next table, quite close to theirs.
    â€”
    W ell,” Hedy said when they were on coffee, “I must say, Stone, there’s never a dull moment being with you.”
    â€œI try to keep things interesting,” he replied.
    â€œAnd I’ve gotten half a new wardrobe out of it, as well. What’s next?”
    â€œOnly time can tell.”
    The woman of the couple at the next table, much younger than her companion, got up and headed toward the ladies’ room.
    â€œExcuse me,” the man said to Stone. He was in his sixties, Stone reckoned, suntanned, well-barbered, and dressed in elegant resort clothing. “I couldn’t help noticing your car this afternoon.” His English was lightly accented, with overtones of New York.
    â€œIt was noticeable, wasn’t it?” Stone admitted.
    The man offered his hand. “My name is Leonardo Casselli.”
    â€œI’m Stone Barrington.” He shook the hand and found it soft but strong. “This is Hedy Kiesler. Your name has a familiar ring. Where might I have heard it?”
    â€œApparently, you read New York’s trashier newspapers,” Casselli said.
    â€œAh, Leo Casselli.”
    â€œAmericans tend toward diminutives,” he said. “Please call me Leonardo.”
    Leo Casselli had been known in New York as a Mafia don for many years, until he either fled to Italy or was deported, Stone didn’t remember which. “As you wish,” he said.
    â€œI know your name, too,” Casselli said.
    â€œI’m surprised,” Stone said.
    â€œWe had a mutual, ah, acquaintance in the late Eduardo Bianchi.”
    That did not surprise Stone, since (1) his good friend Eduardo had had a wide circle of acquaintances, and (2) his circle had included some of the Italian-American demimonde. “A lovely man,” Stone said.
    â€œHe was that,” Casselli agreed, “to those he liked and respected. To others, well . . .”
    â€œLike most of us.” Stone wondered to which group Casselli had belonged.
    The young woman returned to the table, and Casselli rose before she could sit down.
    â€œYou must excuse us,” Casselli said, “we have another engagement. It was interesting to meet you. And your car.”
    â€œGood evening to you,” Stone replied.
    â€œPerhaps the car was a warning,” Casselli said. “Perhaps you should heed it.” Then, without another word, he left.

8
    S tone and Heddy went back to their suite; Stone called Dino.
    â€œSo,” Dino said, “is your Italian adventure improving?”
    Stone had to think about that for a minute.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œSort of,” Stone was finally able to say.
    â€œDefine ‘sort of.’”
    â€œWell, we got most of our stuff back.”
    â€œThe Italian cops caught the thieves?”
    â€œNo, the thieves returned the car, with our stuff still inside it.”
    â€œWell, that’s a win-win, isn’t it?”
    â€œNot exactly.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œThe car was a total loss—the thieves set it on fire. In front of our hotel.”
    â€œDid you report that to the police?”
    â€œWe didn’t have to, they turned up almost immediately. Their big action was to revise the police report to exclude the items returned.”
    â€œOkay,” Dino said. “That makes sense. Anything else?”
    â€œNothing. They ventured no information on the thieves or their motive.”
    â€œI see,” Dino said, clearly not seeing.
    â€œSomething else, though: at dinner I found myself sitting next to Leo Casselli.”
    â€œCasselli? He got deported, didn’t he?”
    â€œDeported to Italy. He may have self-deported, I don’t remember.”
    â€œAnd how did you come to be seated next to him?”
    â€œLuck of the draw, I guess. He was there with a very young lady.”
    â€œAnd did you and Casselli