DEATH OF AN ENGL ISHMAN U M88 a very incorivenient time for murder. Florence was full of Christmas shoppers and half the Police force was already on At first it seemed quite an ordinary murder. Of course, there are’ always a few mysteries, In th; theme Bead Butllthetime he annwceeeesa me their noses. They just couldn't an it Te was, after all,'a very ordinary murder. OXFORD BOOKWORIMS take students through six stages towards real reading in English. Each one has hece chosen for its enjoyment value and its quality of writing, Cover illustration by Chris Chaisty OXFORD UNIVERSITY pRess ores a ear y 5 o QIEN Uafepseyy ~ NVWHSITONG NV 30 HIvaa auosxo, Magdalen Nabb OXFORD BOOKWORMS 4ake DEATH OF AN ENGLISHMAN Stage 4 Qn. a foggy December morning in Florence, an Englishman is found dead, shot in the back, in his apartment. So who shot him, and why? Who are the suspects, what are the clues? First, the police find a stolen antique in the Englishman’s flat. The litele girl from a flat above says that she heard two bangs in the night — but children are not always reliable witnesses. ‘And then there is Miss White, who lives on the top floor and who also heard noises in the night ... Carabiniere Bacci is training to be a police officer. He is serious, enthusiastic and very inexperienced. He thinks that the Captain, who is careful and correct, is the perfect police officer. Young Bacci would learn more from the Marshal, who is not well-educated but who is wise and sympathetic, and notices small details. But the Marshal has “flu and lies in bed, having feverish dreams ‘Magdalen Nabb (1947-~) is a writer and journalist, who has lived for many years in Italy. She has written several well-known detective novels. Death of an Englishman was her frst novel. AWA LUISA Vaseoncelas de Carve —_— OXFORD BOOKWORMS Series Editor: Tricia HedgeOXFORD BOOKWORMS For falls of titles in allche Oxford Bookworms series, please refer the Oxford English catalogue. ~ Black Series ~ ‘Titles available include: SStage 1 (400 headwords) “he Hlephane Mas Tim Vicery “The Monkey's Paw W.W.Jecobs Under the Moon Rowena Akinem "The Phantom of the Opera Jenifer Bassett 3 Stage2 (700 headwords) *Sherlosk Holmes Shor Stories Sir Arthur Conan Doyle ‘sVoodco Island. Michael Duckworth “New Yorkers O.Henry short etries) ~~ stage 3 (1000 headwords) *Skyjackt Tine Vieary Love tory Erich Segal ‘Tooth and Claw Sabi (shore sto:is) ‘Wyat’'s Hurricane Desmond Bagley 3a Stage 4 (1400 headwords) "The Hound ofthe Baskervilles Sir Arthur Conan Doyle ‘Three Men in a Boat Jerome K. Jerome ‘The Big Sleep. 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Defoe "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland Lewis Carroll ‘Too Old to Rock and Roll Jan Mark (shore stories) ‘pSStage 3 (1000 hesdwvords) "The Prisoner of Zenda Anthony Hope “he Secret Garden Frances Hodgson Burnett (nthe Edge Gillin Cross eps 4 1400 headin TYveanusntand Robert Lows Stevenson Gulivers Travels Jonathon St Ault fo Cites Chere Diches ShesverSword fn Sertir OXFORD BOOKWORMS COLLECTION Fiction by well-known authors, both classic and modern, ‘Texts are not abridged or simplified in amy vay. Titles available include: From the Ceadle tothe Grave (short stores by Saki, Evelyn Waugh, Roald Dabl, ‘Susan Hill Somerset Maugham, H. E Bates, Frank Sargeson, Raymond Carver) Crime Never Pays (short stories by Agatha Christi, Graham Greene, Ruth Rendell, Angela Noel, Dorothy L. Sayers, Margery Alirgam, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Patricia Highsmith) Death of an Englishman Magdalen Nabb Retold by Diane Mowat OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESSOxford University Press Great Clarendon Stree, Oxford OX2 6DP Oxford New York ‘Athene Auckland Bangkok Bogota Bombay uence Aires Calcutta Cape Town Dares Salaam Delhi Flocence Hong Kong Istanbul Karachi Kuala Lumpur Madras Madrid Melbourne, Mexico City Nairobi Paris Singapore Taipei Tokyo Toronto and astociated companies in Berlin Ibadan ‘oxrono and oxroRD ExcuiSH are trade marks of Oxford University Press SBN 019 421669 1 Original edition © Magdalen Nabb 1981 First published 1981 by Wiliam Collins 8 Co Led “This simplified edition © Oxford University Press 1992 First published 1992 Sixth impression 1996 No authorized photocopying All sights ceserved. No part ofthis publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, imany form ot by any means, electronic, mechanic photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior ‘written permission of Oxford University Press “This book i sold subject co the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold hired out, cotherviee dreulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which eis published and without a similar condition including this ‘condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser Ilysteated by Chris Chaisry “Typese by Wyvern Typesetting Led, Bestol Printed in England by Clays Le, St ves ple 1 The murder It was dark in the, small office. There was only the red night light which Stood by the telephone on the desk. Along one white wall there was a narrow bed, and Carabiniere Bacci was lying on it. He was doing night duty, and he was asleep. He was very young, and he slept deeply. Outside the building where he slept, the old city of Florence was also quiet and peaceful, as it waited for the next foggy December day. Suddenly the telephone rang loudly, and it continued to ring until Carabiniere Bacci woke up. He jumped out of bed and picked it up quickly, so that it wouldn’t wake the Marshal. A small, unhappy voice said, ‘Marshal Guarnaccia, Marshal ... you must come quickly — it’s the Englishman — he ...” ‘Just a’ moment.’ Carabiniere Bacci felt about for the main light switch and picked up a pencil. ‘Marshal ... ?* “This is not Marshal Guarnaccia. This is Carabiniere Bacci. Who’s that?” There was a pause, then the voice continued obediently, ‘Cipolla, Gianpaolo Maria. I'm speaking from Via Maggio, number fifty-eight.” ‘And is that where you: live?” ‘No. I live in Via Romana, number eighty-three.’ “And what are you doing in Via Maggio in the middle of the night, then?” asked Carabiniere Bacci coldly. There was another pause, and then the small voice2 Death of an Englishman The murder 3 said, ‘But ... I work here. I'm the cleaner.’ ‘And there’s been a crime there?” “Yes. It’s the Englishman ... Can’t I speak to the Marshal? I know him. He lives next door to my sister.’ ‘Stay where you are,’ Bacci ordered. ‘Pil be with you in five minutes.’ Quickly, Carabiniere Bacci pulled on his coat, and then he hesitated. He looked towards the back door where his gun was, The Marshal had a feverish cold, which was probably “flu, and was in bed upstairs in his flat, and this ‘was why Carabiniere Bacci had been sleeping in the office. The Marshal had said it wasn’t necessary, but Carabiniere Bacci was training to be an officer. They called him ‘the perfect student’. Quietly, he took down the gun. Pethaps he ought to wake the Marshal? Or telephone Headquarters? But if he did that, they'd send an Officer... and Bacci had never visited the scene of a crime However, the Marshal had said, ‘If anything importaht happens, wake me up.’ Perhaps this wasn’t important... Carabiniere Bacci did not like the Marshal. First, he was from Sicily, and Carabiniere Bacci, because he himself was a northern Italian, suspected that the Marshal was friendly with the Sicilian Mafia. And second, the Marshal was too large and fat, and when he was in the sun, his eyes watered so badly that tears ran down his face. Then the Marshal had to put on his dark glasses. Carabiniere Bacci didn’t like this at all. ‘No,’ he thought. ‘I won’t wake the Marshal. Pll go myself. It isn’t far. I’ll be there and back in ten minutes.’ it’s morning ... It was a wet December morning, and thick, yellow fog rose off the river. Carabiniere Bacci trembled with cold inside his heavy coat. He crossed the square and walked towards. Via Maggio. The streetlights were still on, but the tall buildings along Via Maggio were just ghostly shapes in the fog. Carabiniere Bacci looked carefully at the numbers, and finally he came to number fifty-eight. The tall, heavy, wooden doors were locked, and there was no light from the closed shutters on the windows. Carabiniere Bacci realized then that he had forgotten to ask the name of the Englishman. On the ground floor of the building there was a bank and a shop. The shop was. at the end of Via Maggio and looked onto a little square. Carabiniere Bacci looked at the names on the door- plate ... Frediani ... Cipriani ... Cesarini ... no. A. Langley-Smythe — that was it, on the ground floor right « but the ground floor? People didn’t normally live on the ground floor. On the top floor left, there was another English name: Miss E. White, and next to it, the name (Landor). Carabiniere Bacci rang the ground-floor bell, but there was no answer. He rang again. Nothing. Perhaps it was a trap! Just then he heard footsteps. They were coming round the corner, slow, heavy steps. A dark figure came towards him out of the fog. It was the private night-guard —a man who was employed by the people in the street to walk round checking the buildings at night. ‘Let me into the building,’ Carabiniere Bacci said,Death of an Englishman A dark figure came towards Bacci out of the fog. The murder i) ee when the guard reached him, ‘There’s something wrong in there.’ “There was nothing wrong when 1 went round before. And I checked every flat.’ But the‘guard took a key and unlocked one of the big doors. ‘Well, I've finished for tonight. I'm going home now,’ he said. He walked away into the fog. Carabiniere Bacci pushed the door with his shoulder, and it opened enough to let him go in. A‘ wide; ‘stone ‘pasédge led ‘to two high, wooden gates. They were probably the gates to the inside courtyard, but they were locked. On the right was the back entrance to the bank. Carabiniere Bacci walked round a corner to the left and into a smaller passage where there were some wide, stone stairs. On the right of the stairs there was a lift and a door. Yellow light was showing under the door. The name outside was A. Langley-Smythe. With one finger Carabiniere Bacci pushed the door gently until it opened. On a dusty desk there was a yellow lamp. Beyoiid it, the room was dark and, at first, Carabiniere Bucci didn’t see Langley-Smythe. He did see a very small, white-faced man in a black cotton overall. He was sitting up straight in an armchair. Carabiniere Bacci rang the Marshal. eut0,Why didn’t you wake me up?” the Marshal asked ‘crossly. ‘Well, you were wrong. Who? What’s he doing there? Yes, ’'m sure he looks strange. His wife’s dying! Perhaps she’s dead by now. Keep him there until I arrive. And don’t touch anything?”6 Death of an Englishman The murder 7 The Marshal felt very ill now, but he rang Headquarters. He found some aspirin in the bathroom, and he took six of them, with four glasses of water, but he felt no better. Tomorrow he wanted to travel home for Christmas, to his wife and childrén. He couldn’t stay in Florence alone and ill. He must get to Sicily. He stepped outside. A watery sun was just breaking through the morning fog and tears began to flow from the Marshal’s eyes. He pulled a pair of dark glasses from his coat pocket and put them When the Marshal reached the ‘Englishman’s flat, it was full of people. He pushed his way in. ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ he said softly. But he wasn’t looking at the body of A. Langley-Smythe. He was looking out through the window into the courtyard at the sad figure of the little cleaner in his thin, black overall. The cleaner was picking up bits of rubbish and putting them into a big black bag. His face was a greenish-white. ‘He looked so ill ... He cleans the courtyard once a! Fe ee ee ees eee Carabiniere Bacci explained. ‘I thought ... well, it’s better to have something to do. It stops you from thinking too much ~ and you said his wife was ill...’ ‘She's dead,’ the Marshal said. He had called in at the house of the cleaner’s sister on his way to Via Maggio. The cleaner’s wife had died during the night. ‘The people who had been looking at the body were beginning to move away, and the Marshal was feeling worse. The Captain from Headquarters came out of the bedroom. He wasn't pleased. He now had a lot of extra work and there was very little time before the Christmas holidays. And there was no possibility that Langley- Smythe had killed himself. He had been shot once in the back, and the weapon had not been found. The doctor closed his bag and he, too, was ready to leave. The Marshal turned to him hopefully. ‘Could you possibly give me something for this “flu?” he asked. ae pote pow The doctor looked closely at him. ‘You ought to be in bed,’ he said. Quickly, he wrote out a prescription. ‘Here, take this medicine, and get some rest,’ he said. Just then, one of the men who was searching the flat called, ‘Captain ...° The Captain went over to look. The man was holding a beautiful antique. It was the head of an angel, made out of blue and white majolica. There was an official government seal round the neck. ‘Oh, no ...’ the Captain said softly. ‘This could mean trouble, We'll have to get someone from the museum to check this.” The two men who were waiting to carry the body out came over to the Captain. “Can we move him yet?” they asked. “Yes, you can take him now,’ the Captain replied. A. Langley-Smythe was a big man, and the men had some difficulty when they tried to move him. The Marshal noticed that, under his dressing-gown, Langley- Smythe was wearing trousers. The Captain and his men had gone back into the Englishman’s bedroom and the Marshal and Carabiniere8 Death of an Englishman The murder 9 Bacci were now alone in the living-room. ‘Carabiniere Bacci.” “Yes, sir?” ‘want you to do something for me.’ "Yes, sir.’ ‘Go and get this medicine for me from the shop in the square,’ the Marshal said. He held out the prescription which the doctor had given to him. "Yes, sit, Bacci replied. He took the prescription carefully between two fingers and left. Alone in the room, the Marshal looked at everything around him, with his large, watery eyes. The room had too much furniture in it. All of it was antique and looked very valuable, but many of the pieces were too large for the room. They didn’t seem to béfong there. Everything was dusty and untidy — the room felt more like an antique shop than a home. But some of the pieces were very good indeed. A rich man, then? But why was he living on the ground floor? The Marshal stared out again at the empty courtyard. Just then Carabiniere Bacci returned, and together they waited for the Captain. He came out of the bedroom, and gave the keys to the guard on the door. ‘Lock up when they’ve all gone,’ he said. They stepped out into the passage. In the shadows, they saw a small figure. It was Cipolla. He was waiting patiently for them, and he was still holding his black rubbish bag. 95y4000 “The cleaner,’ the Marshal whispered to the Caprain ‘He found the body, but his wife died last night, so . — une ‘Put down that bag of rubbish and come with us to the police station,’ the Captain said to Cipolla. ‘It isn’t rubbish, Marshal,’ Cipolla said. He was afraid to speak to the Captain. ‘These are the things I picked up from the courtyard. People drop all kinds of things out of their windows — clothes-pegs, toys, bits of washing ... They collect them later from my bag...’ “Put the bag where you usually put it,’ the Marshal said gently. ‘We'll get you a coffee and a “grappa”” on the way.’ The little man put his bag of rubbish on a hook by the lift door, and followed the others to the café. When they arrived at the police station, however, the Marshal was feeling very feverish and he had to go up to his flat and lie down. So it was the Captain who questioned the cleaner and Carabiniere Bacci took notes. Cipolla had arrived at the apartment building on December 22nd at six o'clock in the morning, to start his cleaning. He had a key to the gates of the courtyard, but not to the front door to the street. However, the bank cleaners usually left it open for him, though he hadn’t seen them that morning. When he saw the door of the Englishman’s flat open, he went in. He phoned the Marshal because he knew him. The Marshal lived next door to Cipolla’s sister. When he had telephoned, he sat down to wait. When Cipolla had finished, the Captain gave some orders to Carabiniere Bacci and then left. Bacci was very pleased. To him the Captain was the perfect officer, and Bacci was happy working for him, with the Marshal out of the way in bed.10 Death of an Englishman Cipolla followed the others to the café. The questions begin cE The little cleaner still stood there. ‘You can go home now,’ Carabiniere Bacci told him. For a moment Cipolla hesitated, and then he stepped out into the cold. He was trembling in his thin cotton overall. © “> Aeenenyy , a The questions begin By three o’clock in the afternoon it was already getting dark. Carabiniere Bacci, who was still wearing his heavy coat, picked up the telephone to ring the Captain. But, just then, the Marshal called him. Carabiniere Bacci went up to the bedroom. ‘What's happening? the Marshal asked. Carabiniere Bacci explained that he had spent most of the morning at the British Consulate. He had gone there to report the death of the Englishman, and a very pretty English girl had helped him. The news of Langley- Smythe’s death had now been passed to his family in England. Carabiniere Bacci also said that he had been to see the night-guard. The guard said that every time he passed the door to the ground-floor flat, it was closed. But the Marshal was nearly asleep again, and Carabiniere Bacci returned to the office. The phone rang. Tt was the Captain. “How's your English? he asked. ‘Quite good, sir,” Carabiniere Bacci replied. ‘Then be in my office in one hour. Langley-Smythe’s family is quite important, and two Scotland Yard12 Death of an Englishman TTT The questions begin 13 detectives are coming from England, to offer their help. They'll be here this afternoon.” The two men were Chief Inspector Lowestoft and Inspector Jeffreys. The Chief Inspector was there to prevent any trouble for the Langley-Smythe family. Jeffreys had been sent because he spoke some Italian. He and the Chief Inspector didn’t like each other. The Captain welcomed them. Then, with the help of Carabiniere Bacci, he informed them that Langley- Smythe had been shot once, in the back. The shooting had happened in the early hours of the morning, and the weapon had not been found. Nothing had been stolen, though there were a lot of valuable things in the apartment. There was also a lot of money — almost half a million pounds ~ in a safe in the bedroom wall. Although the safe was open, the money had not been taken. The Englishman had a numbered bank account in Switzerland as well. Unfortunately, the Captain also had to explain that tht majolica head of an angel, which was found in the Englishman’s flat, had been stolen. It had been taken from the house of an American woman who was away in ‘America. Langley-Smythe certainly hadn't bought it legally because the Government checked all sales of national antiques and kept a list of legal buyers. ‘The Captain was very polite, but it was becoming clear to the two Scotland Yard men that there were many questions about Langley-Smythe which had to be answered. They all agreed to meet the next morning. The Englishmen would talk to other English people who lived in the city, while the Captain questioned the people in the other apartments in Via Maggio. The streets were full of noisy traffic and crowds of Christmas shoppers. When the Captain and Carabiniere Bacci reached. number fifty-eight Via Maggio, they walked up to the first floor. There was only one flat there, The name outside was R. Cesarini, Antique- Dealer, Carabiniere Bacci rang the bell. They waited in silence. A young foreign woman, the maid, openéd the door. ‘Carabinieri. We'd like to speak to Signor Cesarini," said the Captain. “He's in the shop,’ she answered. ‘Well, we'd like to speak to you, then,’ the Captain said... yw She let them in, but she couldn't tell them much, She didn’t know the Englishman, and had seen or heard nothing strange. ‘Is Signor Cesarini married?’ *Yes. Married.” ‘And his wife? Where is she?” ‘In Calabria, with the children Signor Cesarini will go in two days. She could tell them nothing more. On the second floor there were two flats. First they tried the door which said ‘Cipriani’. It was opened by a fat little girl with short black hair and big round eyes. She tan‘to find her mother. After a moment or two, Signora . for Christmas.14 Death of an Englishman Cipriani appeared with the little girl’s older sister. The Captain explained that the Englishman had been murdered, but the mother had heard nothing unusual in the night. She asked her daughters if they had heard anything. After a time, the older girl said, ‘No, mother. I didn’t hear anything.’ Everybody turned and looked at the litle girl. “Come, Giovanna,’ her mother said. ‘These men are Carabinieri. It’s very important to tell them if you heard anything,” The big round eyes stared at the two men with interest. Suddenly she opened her mouth. ‘Bang!’ she said. And then, before they could say anything, Giovanna gave a big smile and added, ‘Bang! That’s what I heard, Mamma.’ az The questions continue Giovanna had heard two bangs. Had Langley-Smythe shot and either missed or wounded his visitor first? Had the visitor then got hold of the gun and... ? But Langley- Smythe was shot in the back. Surely, he wouldn’t turn his back to a visitor who was holding a gun? Also, there was no second bullet in the room, nor anybody else’s blood. And the report from the doctor said that there was no sign on the Englishman’s hands or clothes that he had used a gun himself. The questions continue 4s By now Signor Cipriani had returned home. Giovanna had refused to talk linless shé could sit on’ Carabiniere Bacci’s knees. She Was" now wearing: his hat and kept trying to take his gun. Carabiniere Bacci, his face red and uncomfortable, felt that he was holding a small bomb on his knees. imAoe a ‘Giovanna, my sweet, my little love,’ her father begged, ‘are you sure?” But the little love was absolutely sure. Bang. Then another bang. Two bangs. She looked up into Carabiniere Bacci’s face. ‘Can I play with your gun’ she asked. ‘No! Carabiniere Bacci answered. ‘Little girls don’t like guns.” ‘Little girls do like guns,’ Giovanna replied. ‘I've got two. One of them is pink and shoots water ...” said her father ‘Giovanna! This is very serious,’ desperately. The Ciprianis had invited people to dinner, and just then the door-bell rang. The maid picked up the house phone, and then pressed the electronic switch to open the front door downstairs. The door opened and then there was a bang. The visitors had closed the door behind. them, ‘There,’ Giovanna said. ‘Bang!’ The Captain and Carabiniere Bacci closed their eyes. “You heard the big door close?” the Captain began again patiently. ‘Perhaps the second bang was the door, too? ‘No,’ Giovanna answered, after a while. ‘It was a gunGiovanna was now wearing Bacci’s hat and kept trying to take his gun. The questions continue 17 bang.’ She took off the big hat and looked at it closely. ‘Are you sure it was a quarter to three?” the Captain continued. ‘She’s very clever,” her father said. ‘She can tell the time, and she has a little clock by her bed.’ ‘The Captain asked, ‘May we see her bedroom?” Signor Cipriani took them there himself, but they found nothing — only a little toy gun. Next they went to the other flat on the same floor. A judge lived there with his housekeeper. But the judge couldn’t tell them anything. He and his housekeeper had been in the flat all night and had heard nothing. They didn’t know the Englishman very well, but he didn’t have many visitors. wv The Captain and Carabiniere Bacci climbed up to the two flats on the top floor. Signor Cipriani had told them that the Fredianis had gone to spend Christmas in America. Their neighbour was Miss White, and she-was English. Miss White’s door was open. “Don’t be afraid! Come in!’ a voice called in English. They looked at each other and stepped in. On the wall in front of them, there was a painting of an old man, and below it was a sign — ‘Walter Savage Landor, Poet. Born Warwick 1775, died Florence 1864,” Miss White was a small lady of about sixty, and she had turned her flat into a little museum about Landor. She was delighted because she thought that the Carabinieri had come to visit her museum. She began to talk — and she didn’t stop. However, she didn’t speak a18 Death of an Englishman The questions continue 19 word of Italian. Carabiniere Bacci tried to explain why they were there, but his English wasn’t good enough. Very carefully, le thought out what he wanted to say, but Miss White only replied, ‘Oh, you speak a little English, do you? And then she continued talking, fast and enthusiastically, about Landor. As they left, the Captain said angrily, ‘You told me that your English was good!” Carabiniere Bacci, his face red and ashamed, apologized unhappily. He was sent back to the station, and the Captain went to see Cesarini in his shop. When Carabiniere Bacci arrived back, the Marshal was awake, and wanted to know what had been happening. Carabiniere Bacci told him, and, for once, he felt that the Marshal was on his side. “Don’t worry,’ the Marshal said. ‘The Captain won’t be angry for long. He'll probably ask the Scotland Yard men to question Miss White. But try not to annoy him again. He’s a serious man, a good officer. Watch him and‘ listen to him, and don’t try to be too clever.’ He paused. ‘Now ... you're sleeping in the office again tonight. If you hear about a lot of dead bodics, you will let me know? "Yes, sir,’ said Carabiniere Bacci sadly. But there were no phone calls and he slept peacefully on the narrow bed all night. For a long time the Marshal lay in his bed and looked at the photograph of his two little sons. ‘Ill be on that train home tomorrow,’ he said. At last, he fell into a restless, feverish sleep. ‘If you hear about a lot of dead bodies in the night,’ said the Marshal, ‘you will let me know?" t ie4 The fingerprints The next morning, the Chief Inspector and Jeffreys visited the English Library and the English church. Langley-Smythe had not been a church-goer, and so nobody knew very much about him at the church. At the library they learnt that Langley-Smythe had borrowed two books and had not yet returned them, and that he used to steal the library copy of The Times newspaper. And that was all they managed to discover. ‘Well, I suppose we'd better go along to the Carabinieri place,’ the Chief Inspector said, finally. ‘When they arrived there, the Captain and Carabiniere Bacci were waiting for them. ‘We've talked to people at the church,’ the Chief Inspector began, ‘and we've been to the English Library, but 'm afraid we haven’t got much information for you, Mr Langley-Smythe didn’t have any friends.’ ‘ ‘Well,’ the Captain said carefully, ‘we've learnt a number of things. The weapon used was a 6.35, and the bullet went in on the left side of his back. There was very little blood, and he died almost immediately ~ at about three a.m. A child who lives in the building heard the shot. Mr Langley-Smythe had been drinking wine and whisky, but he wasn’t drunk. He was in quite good health for a man of sixty.’ “Excuse me...’ ‘Certainly? “Do we know where he ate, or who was with him on The fingerprints 21 that last evening?” “Yes, we do. My men discovered that he always ate at about half-past eight in a little restaurant called the “Casalinga”. Langley-Smythe had the same table every night — a table for one, in a corner. He drank quite a lot of wine, but he was always alone. He usually read an English newspaper while he was eating.” The English detectives mentioned the newspaper Langley-Smythe stole from the library. The Captain continued, ‘Now we need to find out more about the people he knew.” “I don’t think he knew many,’ the Chief Inspector said, “But he did,’ the Captain replied. ‘Because there were fingerprints on his furniture and on his pictures. His neighbours say he didn’t have any visitors, but we found the fingerprints of seven different people in his flat. One of these people was the local greengrocer. He’s already been in trouble with the police for receiving things which were stolen.’ “Perhaps Langley-Smythe had just bought some furniture, and the greengrocer brought it to his flat,’ the Chief Inspector said. ‘That's quite possible,’ the Captain answered. ‘But we're going back to the apartment this afternoon. Would you like to come with us? In fact, there’s a woman on the top floor who’s English.’Her name’s Miss White, and she doesn’t speak Italian, I'm sure she’d prefer to talk to you...” IOr F “Of course,’ the Chief Inspector said. ‘We'll do that for you.’22 Death of an Englishman Miss White 23 an BART Carabiniere Bacci, closed his eyes fratefully for a second. He wondered if the Captain was still angry with him. Would“he’be invited to lunch with the English detectives? ‘Perhaps you'll have lunch with us now,’ the Captain said to the Chief Inspector. ‘And, if you don’t mind, Carabiniere Bacci will join us, since he speaks English.” Carabiniere Bacci was sure that the younger English detective, who had said nothing, winked at him. Ss Miss White ‘Two cars took them to Via Maggio after lunch. Inspector Jeffreys and Carabiniere Bacci travelled in the second car, without their chiefs. conversation, but Carabiniere Bacci, was a very serious young man. They carhé from very’different worlds. Bacci was from a Florentine family which had been quite rich until his father died. Jeffreys was from a family without much money. On the way to Via Maggio they passed a blue and white police car and Jeffreys was surprised when the two drivers did not wave to each other. Bacci explained that the Carabinieri and the Police were quite separate, and did not work together. Jeffreys clearly thought this was strange. ‘When they reached the apartment building, the streets Jeffreys tied hard to make , were wet and empty. Most of the shops had already closed for the afternoon. The two men followed their chiefs along the dark passage and into the Englishman’s flat. It was cold, and the only light'was the little lamp on the desk. There were signs that Langley-Smythe had lain on the bed while he was waiting for his visitor. Jeffreys noticed the two books he had borrowed from the library. One of them was lying on the bed and the other was on the little table next to the bed. It was clear that Langley- Smythe had been waiting for somebody before he died. However, he was not expecting trouble. The safe was open and he had turned his back to the visitor. Nobody had wanted to steal the money because it was still in the safe. ‘Well,’ the Chief Inspector said, ‘perhaps they were doing some kind of business and something went wrong . . “Yes ...’ the Captain began. ‘Look,’ he added suddenly, ‘perhaps we could save some time. Carabiniere Bacci could take Inspector Jeffreys up to see Miss White. She probably didn’t see or hear anything because she’s on the top floor, but...” So Carabiniere Bacci and Inspector Jeffreys went up to visit Miss White. On the way, Bacci tried to explain to Jeffreys that Miss White was a little strange, but he found that he hadn’t enough English to describe her. Miss White's door was open, but they rang the bell anyway. 3 ‘Come in, come in! It’s free!” a voice cried. Carabiniere Bdcci watched Jeffreys’ face.24 Death of an Englishman ‘Is it some kind of museum? the Inspector whispered to him. But before Bacci could reply, Miss White appeared. She was delighted to see Carabiniere Bacci again. ‘Oh, good!’ she cried. ‘You've brought a friend. Tell him to learn some English,’ she added loudly, ‘before it’s too late. He’s probably ... what?” She looked at Jeffreys. ‘Thirty ... thirty-three?” ‘I'm thirty-two, Miss White,’ Inspector Jeffreys replied. He tried very hard to sound English, but Miss White was still talking loudly and enthusiastically. ‘Too old,’ she said. ‘Your young friend here has the right idea. You must learn when you're young. Now, write your name in the visitors’ book,’ she added. ‘Detective Inspector Ian Jeffreys, New Scotland Yard, London,’ Jeffreys wrote — and Carabiniere Bacci left them. ‘Well,’ Miss White said a little later, ‘I’m not surprised someone murdered him.’ “Why not?’ the Inspector asked. ‘He was a terrible man,’ she answered. ‘Not at all polite. He wasn’t interested in my museum at all, And dirty — he changed his furniture more often than he changed his clothes!” ‘Did he change his furniture often, then?” “About once a month.’ ‘But none of the other people in the building has said anything about this ...” “Well, they probably didn’t see him. He always did it Miss White 25 it \26 Death of an Englishman The suspect 27 about three o’clock in the morning. Nobody is allowed to do it in the day — there’s too much traffic and the streets are too narrow for big vans.’ ‘How do you know about this?” “Well, I saw him, of course,’ Miss White said. She took Jeffreys over to the window. ‘Look down there,’ she said. It was getting dark, but, below, there was a light from.a window of the Ciprianis’ flat, It was the girls’ bedroom. On the ground floor, Jeffreys could see through the window into Langley-Smythe’s flat. The Captain and the Chief Inspector were looking out into the courtyard. “You see, nobody looks up,’ Miss White continued. “They always look down or across. But noise comes up. That’s why people who have money live on the first floor. And nobody lives on the ground floor ~ that’s for offices and shops. Anyway, they used to make a terrible noise, and sometimes I couldn’t sleep and-I got up and watched them.” ‘And what did you see?” ‘Oh, they were moving furniture, and paintings. And, do you know, I think one of the men was my greengrocer. There was another man, but I didn’t know him. There was somebody else who came sometitnes. I thought perhaps I recognized him ... but, no, I didn’t really see him very well. Mustn’t make trouble. Only saw the back of his head. The night the Englishman was murdered, I heard something, but I didn’t get up. Perhaps it was the shot that woke me, But after four years I didn’t really think about it.” ‘Four years? And you never told the police?” ‘I couldn’t! They'd think I was mad if I said I saw my greengrocer moving furniture in the middle of the night.’ “But you heard the shot?” ‘I don’t know. Can’t say yes, can’t say no.’ As soon as he could, Jeffreys said goodbye and ran back down the stairs to report to the Chief Inspector. No one was speaking when he entered the room, but Jeffreys could feel the excitement in the air. 6 The suspect ‘Well,’ the Chief Inspector said, ‘if Langley-Smythe wanted to export valuable antiques, why didn’t he become a regular antique-dealer? Was he just trying to avoid paying the taxes?” “Ab, no,’ the Captain explained. ‘It was more than that. Anyway, nobody can start a business so easily in Italy. You must have experience and the right official papers from the national government, and the city government ...” With Carabiniere Bacci’s help, the Captain went on to explain the problems of exporting antiques. ‘Many people used to steal valuable antiques and old paintings from Italy,’ he said, ‘so now you need a permit from the government to export each one — and you have to pay a very high tax. Often, the permit is refused, and You cannot move an antique without this permit. The only antiques you can take out of the country legally are28 Death of an Englishman rs The suspect 29 the ones which came in with a temporary permit. For example, people from other countries sometimes lend us paintings. These things are naturally allowed to leave the country again ~ even if they are Italian. So, a dishonest dealer can send antiques out of the country secretly, and then bring them back in legally, with a temporary permit. The buyer can then take them out of the country again legally. Official dealers are checked from time to time, but a secret dealér, of course, is not checked. He needs only a place to hide the antiques, and a dishonest friend in Customs, who will let the antiques go out of the country and give them a perfectly legal permit as they come back in. But that’s all the secret dealer can do. The buyer must have a bill of sale with the name of an official, legal antique-dealer on it.” ‘So,’ the Chief Inspector said. He had been listening very carefully. ‘That’s what Langley-Smythe was doing. That's why there are all these fingerprints on his, furniture! And that’s why there are so many antiques in ‘ his flat. Now we have to find, Mr X, the legal dealer, Mr Y, the dishonest customs officer, aud the thieves who stole the majolica head at the beginning.” “We needn’t worry about the customs officer and the thieves,’ the Captain replied. ‘We have Carabinieri in Rome who can find them more easily. I want the dealer.’ “The other man that Miss White saw but doesn’t want to name,’ Jeffreys said. ‘Do you have a suspect?” he added. “Yes, I do, the Captain answered, ‘but I need proof. Tve already got men: checking the business books of the legal antique-dealers in the city. Perhaps one of them is exporting more than normal. I don’t waitt to arrest the greengrocer yet and warn the dealer: Don’t forget, the dealer may be the murderer!” They had almost forgotten this. The arrangement had worked perfectly for years — but now the Englishman was dead. Why? They were silent for a moment. ‘Why don’t you arrest your suspect?” the Chief Inspector asked after a time. ‘You could arrest him for something quite small. You could arrest the greengrocer, too. Pethaps somebody would talk.’ ‘I can’t do that,’ the Captain answered. ‘First, I must have proof. We can only keep him for forty days. The proof must be very strong before I arrest him.’ The four men sat there for some time, ‘and discussed again the facts that they knew. F Langley-Smythe had been expecting a visitor. He waited for him in his bedroom and he was still wearing his clothes under his dressing-gown. The night-guard came round at three o’clock in the morning. That was why Langley-Smythe waited in his bedroom and not in the living-room. He didn’t want the guard to see a light under the door. Langley-Smythe heard the big door close with a bang behind the guard. Then the men came to take the furniture away. ‘But did Langley-Smythe come out to open the street door? Carabiniere Bacci said. ‘There’s no electronic switch for the door in his room.’ The Captain said slowly, ‘My suspect is in the building. I think he opened the door with his own switch. Then this30 Death of an Englishman “Why don’t you arrest your suspect?” the Chief Inspector asked. The suspect 31 person came downstairs and went into Langley-Smythe’s flat with the other men. When they got inside, somebody shot the Englishman.’ ‘But not immediately,’ the Chief Inspector reminded them, ‘He was shot in the back when he was going into his bedroom. We need to know why he was going into the bedroom,’ ‘To the safe?” Jeffreys asked. ‘But why? Not to get money out. The dealer paid him. Money would go into the safe — not out.’ The Captain looked thoughtful. ‘Why did they argue? And why did they leave the furniture here? They'd come to take it away. And why did they leave the angel’s head here? This is an extremely valuable piece, with a government seal. There’s no chance of getting an export permit for it, It’s stolen, and they’d want to get it out of the country as quickly as possible. I imagine that somebody has already paid quite a lot of money for.it. So why ... ?” He stared out into the dark courtyard. On the opposite wall he could see a square of light from a window above. Suddenly he turned to Carabiniere Bacci. “Go up to the Ciprianis’ apartment,’ he said. ‘Find out if that child put the light on when the bangs woke her.’ Then he picked up the telephone on the Englishman’s desk and called Headquarters. ‘I want this message to be sent immediately by radio to all the men who are questioning the antique-dealers. The message is this. “The Langley-Smythe business is closed, repeat, closed. We have no proof, Make sure all the32 Death of an Englishman dealers know this.” Got that? Good. When the men get back to Headquarters, tell their chief to phone me here for orders. Pll need them all night.’ ‘The Captain turned to the others. ‘Cesarini will hear that news very soon,’ he said. ‘Cesarini, ch?” said the Chief Inspector thoughtfully. “The antique-dealer on the first floor. And you think he’s stupid enough to come down here?” “Perhaps. He’ll see that there’s no one here. And he'll want to know what we've been doing...” Just then Carabiniere Bacci appeared at the door. His face was red with excitement and with running up and down the stairs. “Yes, sir,’ he breathed. ‘The little girl switched on her light?” “Then that was why they left,’ the Captain said. ‘The light frightened them.’ The telephone rang, and the Captain picked it up. , “Yes,” he said. ‘I think the dealer may come here to the, flat tonight. We'll go out and eat, and then we'll lock ourselves in here and wait. The dealer’s probably in the building, but there may be two others. If you see them running out, send your men after them. But be careful. ‘They may have guns.’ He put down the telephone. They ate quickly in the little restaurant where the Englishman used to eat. Then they went back to wait in the cold flat. As they sat silently in the dark bedroom, the Captain’s hand went to his gun. Meanwhile, the Marshal was asleep in his darkened The chase 33 bedroom, but it was not a peaceful sleep. He dreamed that he was trying to get home for Christmas, but he couldn’t get on a train. They were all too full, or they didn’t stop. Sometimes he felt that Cipolla, the little cleaner, was near him, in his black cotton overall which was too small for him. Why is he with me? the Marshal thought in his dream. Where is he going? I must ask him. And then he heard himself ask stupidly, ‘Where’s your cleaning brush?” But the little man answered a different question. ‘To the funeral,” he sai The Marshal’s head burned with fever. But whose funeral? he thought. His wife’s? Or the Englishman’s? ‘Ican’t come with you,’ the Marshal cried. ‘Ihave to go home, you see. It’s Christmas.” 7 The chase It was midnight. In the Englishman’s flat, the four men were sitting on uncomfortable chairs, in silence. And in the building everything was silent, too. The men were too tired to speak, so they sat there, with their own thoughts. ‘Their faces were white in the darkness. To Carabiniere Bacci, the others seemed calm and unworried. Was he the only one who was frightened? he wondered. He hoped desperately the wait would not be too much longer. At ten minutes to one there was a noise outside. Someone in the building had opened the street door with a34 Death of an Englishman The chase 35 the electronic switch. But it was early. Some of the other people in the building could come home and see the visitors. The Englishman wasn’t there to let them in, and it was too early to break in, The flat door opened quietly. Someone had a key! The light went on. The four men could see it under the door of the bedroom. Then, slowly, the bedroom door opened. The Captain switched on the light. He aimed his gun at the door. ‘Signor Cesarini,’ he said calmly. ‘We were expecting you.” Cesarini did not move. The two men behind him stood still for a second, and then ran towards the exit. Carabiniere Bacci was on his feet immediately. He looked quickly at the Captain and then ran after the men. The Carabinieri, who were waiting outside, easily caught the greengrocer. But the younger man was small and thin and he ran very fast. Already, he was half-way down Via Maggio. Carabiniere Bacci ran after him as fast as he could. Behind him, he could hear the other Carabinieri starting up their cars and motor-cycles. But they were too slow, and suddenly Bacci realized that the man was running towards a bus. ‘No!" Bacci called. But the bus opened its back doors and the man was on it. Bacci didn’t stop. He knew the bus route and he went a shorter way, turning quickly to the right down a narrow side-street. His legs ached and he was breathing heavily, but ke went on running, The bus driver was happy. It was Christmas. This was his last trip, and he wanted to get home to his wife and children. So, when he saw Carabiniere Bacci, running wildly out of a side-street with his hand up, he drove a litele faster. : The man was the only passenger on the bus now. ‘Did you see that? the driver asked him. ‘The police! They think they can stop a bus whenever they want to.” The man did not reply. At the next bus stop a little crowd of people were waiting for the last bus. A man stepped out and put up his hand. ‘Don’t stop!” the passenger said quietly behind the driver. “But I must stop,’ the driver answered. “Don’t stop!” the passenger screamed, and the driver felt something hard in his back. “Drive faster ... or Pll shoot!” The driver’s eyes were wide with fear. ‘I don’t want to die ... Oh, the children ... and it’s Christmas ...” Suddenly, in front of them there was a police car — right across the road. It was impossible to get past it. ‘Turn!’ the passenger ordered. ‘Ican’t! the driver cried, and then he felt the cold metal digging harder in his back. The driver turned right — there were lights ... a bang «and then darkness. The driver closed his eyes. The Marshal heard the noise in his feverish dreams. “What is it?” he cried.The gun 37 36 Death of an Englishman “Don’t you know,’ said the voice of the little cleaner. ‘It’s the end of the world, Suddenly the Marshal was very angry. ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘It’s not the end of the world! And | you! Get out of my bedroom!” He woke up, drank a glass of water, washed, changed, got back into bed ~ and fell into a peaceful, healthy sleep. Carabiniere Bacci was still running. He knew he could catch up with the bus again by taking the side-streets. Hot and breathless, he thundered on and came out into a | wide street. He stopped to listen. Thé sound of police cars | . was behind him now. Slowly, he ran back towards the | noise and at last found the crashed bus. The Carabinieri had all gone. | It took him an hour to get back to Via Maggio, and | there was no one there either. Bacci felt very miserable. What would the Captain say to him this time? Sadly, | Bacci went back to the office, to write his report — and fell asleep, at the desk, still in his coat, 8 The gun “What did you do with the gun?’ “What gun?’ Cesarini was laughing at them. He looked older than he was with his white hair and moustache. His clothes were expensive and fashionable. Carabiniere Bacci ran wildly out of a side street with bis band up.38 Death of an Englishman They had brought him up to the Captain’s office just after two o’clock in the morning. Now the sun was up. The Captain and the Scotland Yard men were white- faced with tiredness. Cesarini was calm, ‘The Captain repeated, ‘What did you do with the gun?” His men had searched Cesarini’s flat and they were searching his shop now. “You haven't told me what gun.’ ‘Yours. I suppose you have one?” "Yes." “Where is it?” ‘In the shop.” *You have a permit for it?” “Yes.” “What time did you visit the Englishman on Tuesday night?” ‘I didn’t’ ‘All right, then, on Wednesday morning.’ "I didn’t,” ‘What were you going to do there last night?” ‘I told you, I was checking the flat, I own it. I have the right to check it. That doesn’t make me a murderer.’ Of course, they had all forgotten that Cesarini owned most of the flats. Only the Ciprianis’ flat did not belong to him. They had asked the people in the building if they had seen visitors at the Englishman’s flat. Everybody had said ‘no’ ~ because Cesarini wasn’t a visitor! The Captain was now not only tired, but also angry. “What was your business with Langley-Smythe?” ‘I didn’t have any.” ‘Lown the flat. That doesn’t make me a murderer,’ said Cesarini.40 Death of an Englishman The gun 41 “But you're an antique-dealer. You import a lot of furniture.’ “Yes, well, you’ve seen my business books. Everything’s legal.” “Why were the other two men with you last night?” “They're friends.” ‘But their fingerprints are on the furniture.’ ‘So? Cesarini looked bored. Things were not going well for the Captain. Suddenly he asked Cesarini, ‘How much rent did the Englishman pay you for the flat?” ‘Tcan’t remember.’ The dealer took out a cigarette and lit it. “How much?’ the Captain repeated. Then he added, ‘He didn’t pay you any rent, did he?” ‘Why did you ask me if you knew already?” 4s that how it started? Did you offer him a rent-free flac?” . “Why would anyone want to live in a miserable little ground-floor flat if he had to pay rent?” Cesarini answered. Then he asked, ‘Am I under arrest?” ‘No, but I can arrest you whenever I want to. Meanwhile, my men will continue to look for that gun.’ But it was clear that Cesarini wasn’t worried about the gun, so the Captain went back to the furniture. “Why did Langley-Smythe change his furniture and his pictures every month?” “The English are a little strange.’ The Captain was getting nowhere. Cesarini was certainly not worried about the murder. In fact, he seemed angry because they were keeping him from his business. He repeated that he was not in the Englishman’s flat on. the night of the murder. Finally, the Captain sent him away with one of the officers, to have some breakfast. “What about his two friends?” the Chief Inspector asked when Cesarini had left. ‘No,’ the Captain replied. ‘They’re not murderers. We know the greengrocer quite well. The other man is his brother’s son. He didn’t have a gun when he made the bus crash. It was a piece of metal pipe.” “Well, anyway,’ Jeffreys thought, ‘we can all go to bed now.’ But he was wrong. The Captain was going to search the river for the gun, and the Chief Inspector: wanted to watch. It was as cold as ice inside the church of San Felice. The Marshal was there for the funeral of Cipolla’s wife. Before he left the office, he had woken Bacci and sent him along to Via Maggio. He had told him to guard the door of the Englishman's flat for a few hours, so that the other Carabiniere on guard could get a rest. In the church, the Marshal spoke to Cipolla and then went to sit at the back of the church. The church was almost empty, but the Marshal wanted to be at the back in case he needed to leave: He was still ill, and, though he was wearing a heavy coat, he could feel the deathly cold through it. He wasn’t alone at the back. A small woman in a long coat came in. She looked very pleased to see him, and she sat down near him. The Marshal was sure —_——42 Death of an Englishman that he had seen her often before, but he couldn’t remember where. His head began to go round. ‘Here!’ an English voice whispered. ‘Come outside.’ It was Miss White, and she helped the Marshal to stand up. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go out into the fresh air. ‘You need a drink.’ She took him across to the little café. The Marshal remembered that he had seen her there before. In English, she ordered two coffees with ‘grappa’. ‘When the barman brought them, the Marshal asked him, ‘How can you understand her? She can’t speak a word of Italian,’ ‘Oh, she’s been coming in here for years. I've never thought about it, really. She’s a nice lady.” "Yes, she is, the Marshal agreed. ‘Do you know why she was at the funeral?” he asked. ‘Oh, Cipolla’s wife used to work just down the street, in the apartment building at number fifty-eight,’ the barman said. ‘For the Englishman, on the ground floor — only for a few weeks, though.” Just then there was a lot of noise outside. The Marshal went to the door to look. A driver had stopped his van in the narrow street. He was taking out a lot of large boxes and putting them in the road, before he took them into a shop. But no other cars could get past, and all the traffic had stopped. Drivers were shouting impatiently and already a crowd had collected. A traffic policeman artived and tried to make the driver move his van and the boxes. The driver argued with him excitedly. Everybody in the crowd was also shouting, or laughing, or arguing \ The gun Everybody in the crowd was shouting, or laughing, or arguing enthusiastically.44 Death of an Englishman enthusiastically. The policeman was not winning the argument. But at that moment the big, black funeral car began to come down the street from the church. The crowd stopped arguing at once, and everybody began to move the boxes so that the funeral car could pass. Miss White ran out of the café to help. Suddenly there was a shot. People began to scream and to run into buildings and doorways. ‘Over here, Marshal!” someone called, and the Marshal saw the bank guard run into number fifty-eight Via Maggio. ‘The guard ran out again. ‘Ambulance!’ he cried. “What’s happened?” the Marshal shouted. He ran through the door and came round the corner of the passage to the Englishman’s door. Carabiniere Bacci, white-faced, was kneeling by a woman in front of the lift door. ‘“She’s been shot,’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘Right in front of me.’ 9 A new mystery The Marshal pulled off his coat and put it under the woman’s head. She had grey hair. The wound seemed to be at the top of her leg, and there was a lot of blood, but she wasn’t in much pain, “Do you think you can tell me what happened?” the A new mystery 45 Marshal asked gently. ‘It came from in front, so you probably saw ... Was it anybody you know?” ‘I don’t understand ... what happened ...” Then her eyes closed and she lost conscioushess. The Marshal opened the two big doors to the street. “Keep calm,’ he ordered the crowd of people outside. “Stand back! Let the ambulance through!” Inside, the woman was still unconscious, and Miss White was looking after her. The Marshal sent Carabiniere Bacci to fetch the Captain and the English detectives, who were still at the river. They arrived soon after the ambulance. When the woman was carried out, the Captain asked, ‘Do you know who she is?” ‘The Ciprianis’ maid, Martha,’ the Marshal said. ‘She often goes shopping in the square and she usually brings the little girl home from school at this time, but the school closed yesterday for Christmas.” ‘’'m sure the little girl wasn’t with her,’ Bacci said shakily, but the Captain went to check anyway. He found Giovanna safe in the flat. Miss White started to go up the stairs. “Miss White?’ Inspector Jeffreys called. ‘Thaven’t seen Signor Cesarini today,’ she said, without turning round. ‘No,’ Jeffreys answered. ‘He’s police.’ ‘I thought it was him,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t sure. But I didn’t want to lose my little museum, you see. It’s my life” ‘I know ... but, Miss White, please keep your door = er... helping the -__ COOOL EE, _