Free North from Rome by Helen MacInnes

he was both cordial and pleased to see Lammiter, even at this odd calling-hour. “Come in,” he said. He was hastily dressed in shirt and trousers. “Sorry, we were just finishing a siesta.” He looked a little embarrassed. He raised his voice to keep his wife safely wherever she was. “Okay, honey. Just a friend. We’ll be in the living-room.”
    “I shan’t keep you, long,” Lammiter said, following Ferris from the little hallway into a high-ceilinged room. “And I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t realise what time it was.” His watch told him it was half-past three.
    “We’ve been here long enough to adopt the Roman habits,” Ferris explained with a grin.
    “All of them?”
    They both laughed. Lammiter was looking round the room with interest. It was furnished in the usual Italian way, but Ferris had added a lot of his own things: books, as you’d expect, plenty of books, on archaeology, Etruscan art, history; large photographs of columned temples, a sculptured torso, a typewriter, and a desk piled with note-books and manuscript.
    “We like the view,” Ferris said, pointing to the window, and quickly picking up a black lace brassière lying over the arm of a chair, he retreated towards the bedroom. He came back, fastening his cuffs, and trying to assume control of the interview. “Writing a new play?” he asked.
    Lammiter said, “I keep trying to settle down to work. But I’ve had a bad attack of distraction. Today—well, I’ve decided to clear up the current batch of problems, and then, perhaps, I’ll have some peace to settle down to a hard job of work.”
    Ferris lit a cigarette and dropped the match carefully into a pot of flowers. “What’s on your mind?”
    “I want to get in touch with Bunny.”
    “Well—go ahead!” Ferris pointed. “The telephone is in the hall.”
    “Would you call for me? I’ll wait here. I don’t want to call and then find he isn’t there.”
    Ferris glanced at him with a slight look of surprise, followed by amusement. “And then have someone insist that you leave your name? It is odd, isn’t it, how a reasonably honest man feels impelled to answer truthfully on the telephone?”
    Lammiter grinned. It was pleasant to be judged an honestman, even reasonably so. “You were in O.S.S.?” Ferris looked as if he might have been World War II vintage.
    “No. Navy. But I enjoy a good Hitchcock.”
    “Oh—I’m not on any hush-hush job. Nothing like that.”
    “Of course not.” Ferris smiled broadly. “You sound like a real pal of Bunny’s. He’s always engaged in some quip or merry prank.”
    Lammiter liked Professor Ferris’s flexible use of language. He also liked the prompt way Ferris moved into the hall and put the call through. He had to make two calls: one to the Embassy, one to a private address. In both cases he left his own name, a sure sign of failure.
    “Bunny’s said to be in Naples,” he reported when he returned, “but he’s expected back some time today. I left word for him to phone me fastest. Where can I have him reach you when he does get back?”
    “I don’t know. I’ve practically checked out of my hotel. There’s just the luggage to collect and the last bill to pay.”
    “You’re leaving Rome?”
    “Well—no. Not actually.” He hesitated. “I just want to keep some people guessing.”
    “Oh?” Ferris would make a good dean of students. Lammiter found he was clearing his throat nervously, almost ready to tell the whole story.
    “Oh, just some people. Some people who seem pretty eager to have me leave.” He grinned suddenly. “Don’t ask me why. I’m staying to find out the answer for myself. But I’d like it to appear that I really was going back home—and when I do stay, I’ll make it look like a sudden impulse.”
    Ferris nodded. He was bewildered but polite.
    “So—” Lammiter rushed on, “I’d like to keep telephoning you here, to see if Bunny has been run to earth. I’d like his advice on