Free Death of an Englishman by Magdalen Nabb

at his usual table and was reading an English newspaper throughout the meal …'
    They remembered the irate old man in the library: 'He used to steal the newspaper, walk out with it in his overcoat pocket.'
    'Doesn't seem to have liked spending money,' murmured the Chief Inspector.
    'A foible perhaps,' returned the Captain politely. 'It often happens … people who live alone … it need not necessarily have a bearing on the case but we need to build up a picture of his life and habits. What we do need to know, more than anything, is what contact he had with people other than his lawyer.'
    'He doesn't seem to have had any.'
    'But he had. A number of them. The people whose fingerprints were found in the flat. There is also the question of the money, which, you will remember, was in various currencies and which didn't pass through any bank in Florence—at least, not in his own name. Let's consider the fingerprints first.' He extracted the report from the file. 'The problem with these prints is that, according to his neighbours, Mr Langley-Smythe was never known to have a visitor, and yet we found prints on all his furniture and his pictures—prints of seven different people, altogether. Now, he may have had one visitor without anyone noticing, but not seven, I don't think. There were other prints, too—older, unidentifiable ones.'
    'What you're saying is that these are not prints of someone who broke in … You've checked, anyway?'
    'With Records, naturally. Only one person has been identified. A local greengrocer by the name of Mazzocchio. He has a van and does occasional small removal jobs on the side. One conviction for receiving, small stuff.'
    'In that case,' said the Chief Inspector, relaxing a little, 'it's quite possible that Mr Langley-Smythe had just bought some furniture and this chap Maz —Maz … whatever you call him delivered it?'
    'Quite possible.'
    'In which case there ought to be at least some furniture which has only his own prints, am I right?'
    'Quite so. His desk and the two leather chairs with it, and an armchair—and the other rooms, too, of course; the different prints were found only in the living-room.'
    'So Mr Langley-Smythe treated himself to some new furniture. We could be wasting time on this.' The Chief spoke as if to one of his Inspectors, forgetting that he wasn't in charge of the case.
    'We could.' The Captain was unperturbed. 'But I don't think so …' Sooner or later, he would have to be told about the bust. Perhaps the simplest way was to let him see it for himself. 'We're about to revisit the house —I wonder if you would care to accompany us? As a matter of fact, there's an English lady on the top floor, a Miss White, who speaks no Italian. She would, I'm sure, respond better to you than to us, if you would care to … ?'
    'Oh yes, certainly. We'll handle that for you.'
    'Thank you. We have spoken to her already, of course, yesterday, but only very briefly … since we were expecting your arrival … I hope I wasn't being presumptuous … ?'
    'Not at all, not at all.' The Chief was delighted. 'As I've said, we're not to be considered to be here in any official capacity but any help we can give …'
    'You're very kind.'
    Carabiniere Bacci closed his brown eyes in a thankful prayer for a second after translating this. The Captain was ringing for his Brigadier. 'I've ordered lunch in the Officers'Club.' As the Brigadier entered he rose, and then became aware, without turning, that Carabiniere Bacci was standing to attention behind him, rigid with expectation and apprehension. 'If you gentlemen have no objection,' he added, as the Brigadier took the file and saluted, 'Carabiniere Bacci will join us, as interpreter.'
    And once again Carabiniere Bacci was convinced that the young Englishman,who watched the proceedings with an ironic smile and never spoke, had winked.

CHAPTER 2
     
    Two squad cars took them to Via Maggio after lunch; one containing the Captain and a rather mellowed Chief