The Marshal and the Murderer Read Online Free PDF Page A

plates in biscuit - when they've already been fired once - from a factory and I decorate them. Moretti fires them for me. It's easier and more profitable, you follow me?'
    'I follow you.'
    'Well, as I said, the Swiss girl wanted to learn the whole business, set up her own studio. I could only teach her majolica and that's why once or twice she's been round to Moretti's place, just to keep her hand in at throwing.'
    'You said before he was firing . . .'
    'That's right. That's why - I'm going round there now if you want to know more about it. You could ask him if she was there. I haven't seen her since Friday.'
    'I will.' The Marshall was staring out through a tear in the paper at the bus stop against the dripping black wall opposite. 'If this Moretti's place is just round the bend I imagine she must have got off the bus here just the same. They told me there isn't another stop before the town/
    Berti's sharp little eyes followed his glance and understood.
    'I don't always get here that early. You might not have found me here at this time today if I didn't have to get this stuff round to Moretti.'
    'The girl always caught the bus I caught. Did you give her a key to get in?'
    'I did no such thing.'
    'Then what did she do if you hadn't arrived?'
    'She waited.'
    Again the Marshal looked out of the window at the heavy traffic streaming past under the drizzle. Had Berti noticed that they had begun to talk of the Swiss girl in the past tense? He was bending over now, dusting off his shoes with the rag. All his movements were slow, accurate and continuous. Crouched over like that, he looked more spider-like than ever.
    'If you'll wait a minute I'll just open the car.'
    'But if it's only round the bend . . .'
    Without a word Berti pointed to the stack of plates and went out. He backed the car round to the door and opened the boot. When he came back in the Marshal said, 'Do you want some help?'
    Berti only grinned slyly. 1 don't think you could manage.'
    Only as Berti lifted the plates did the Marshal realize that the white surface on which the designs were painted consisted of a thick layer of fine white powder of which the brushstrokes had disturbed not a grain.
    'Raw glaze. You need experience to handle it.'
    When the pots were packed and the Marshal was settled in the passenger seat Berti went back to lock up. Through the rear-view mirror the Marshal saw him pause just inside the door, staring towards the wall intently, then take a comb from his pocket and run it carefully through his thick grey hair.

Two
    They drove through the rain in silence for twenty yards or so. Berti drove very slowly and with what seemed exaggerated care, glancing every few seconds into his rear-view mirror. No doubt, the Marshal thought, he was worried about breaking his plates if he had to brake suddenly.
    'That's Moretti's place.' It was on the left like Berti's studio and, as he'd said, just round a curve in the road. "1*11 have to turn round here.' He drove into a lay-by in front of the gates of an enormous old house that stood well back from the road almost opposite the factory, its stuccoed facade stained dark yellow in the rain.
    'Robiglio,' he remarked with a snigger, 'and his seven-lavatory mansion,' and glanced at the Marshal as he changed into first. When the Marshal offered no comment but maintained a pop-eyed silence he lifted his hand and rubbed the thumb and forefinger together. 'A millionaire.'
    When a space appeared in the traffic he nosed out slowly and turned to park in front of Moretti's ramshackle factory which had a high terrace giving on to the road with steps leading up on each side of it. A big stocky man wearing a knitted cap and with a piece of sacking over his shoulders was up there heaving some bulging plastic bags about in the rain.
    Berti got out of the car and called out: 'Moretti in?'
    The man pointed to their left and went on heaving the bags. The Marshal got out and they climbed the wet stone steps.
    'In his office,' Berti