Free When in Rome by Ngaio Marsh Page A

Baron Van der Veghel developed a playful streak. Holding his camera at the ready and humming a little air, he outstripped the party, turned a corner and disappeared into shadow.
    Mr Mailer, at this juncture, was in full spate. ‘We approach another Etruscan piece,’ he said. ‘Thought to be Mercury. One comes upon it rather suddenly: on the left.’
    It was indeed a sudden encounter. The Mercury was in a deep recess: an entrance, perhaps to some lost passage. He was less strongly lit than the Apollo but the glinting smile was sharp enough. When they came up with him, a second head rose over his shoulders and smirked at them. A flashlight wiped it out and the echoes rang with Baron Van der Veghel’s uninhibited laughter. Lady Braceley gave another scream.
    ‘It’s too much,’ she cried. ‘No. It’s too much!’
    But the elephantine Van der Veghels, in merry pin, had frisked ahead. Major Sweet let fly anathema upon all practical jokers and the party moved on.
    The voice of the subterranean stream grew louder. They turned another corner and came upon another railed well. Grant invited them to look up and there, directly overhead, was the under-mouth of the one they had already examined in the basilica.
    ‘But what were they for,’ Major Sweet demanded. ‘What’s the idea? Grant?’ he added quickly, apparently to forestall any comment from Mr Mailer.
    ‘Perhaps,’ Grant said, ‘for drainage. There’s evidence that at some stage of the excavations seepage and even flooding occurred.’
    ‘Hah,’ said the Major.
    The Baroness leant over the rail of the well and peered down.
    ‘Gerrit!’ she exclaimed. ‘L-oo-ook! There is the sarcophagus! Where Simon sat and meditated!’ Her voice, which had something of the reedy quality of a schoolboy’s, ran up and down the scale. ‘See! Down there! Belo-oow.’ Her husband’s flashlight briefly explored her vast stern as he gaily snapped her. Heedless, she leant far over the railing.
    ‘Be careful, my darlink!’ urged her husband. ‘Mathilde! Not so far! Wait till we descend.’
    He hauled her back. She was greatly excited and they laughed together.
    Alleyn and Sophy approached the well-railing and looked downwards. The area below was illuminated from some unseen source and the end of a stone sarcophagus was clearly visible. From their bird’s eye position they could see that the stone lid was heavily carved.
    As they looked, a shadow, much distorted, moved across the wall behind it, disappeared, and was there again, turning this way and that.
    Sophy cried out: ‘Look! It’s—it’s that woman!’ But it had gone.
    ‘What woman?’ Grant asked, behind her.
    ‘The one with the shawl over her head. The postcard-seller. Down there.’
    ‘Did you see her?’ Mr Mailer asked quickly.
    ‘I saw her shadow.’
    ‘My dear Miss Jason! Her shadow! There are a thousand Roman women with scarves over their heads who could cast the same shadow.’
    ‘I’m sure not. I’m sure it was she. It looked as if—as if—she wanted to hide.’
    ‘I agree,’ Alleyn said.
    ‘Violetta is not permitted to enter the basilica, I assure you. You saw the shadow of someone in another party, of course. Now—let us follow Mr Grant down into the temple of Mithras. He has much to relate.’
    They had completed their circuit of the cloisters and entered a passage leading to a spiral iron stairway. The ceiling was lower here and the passage narrow. Grant and Mailer led the way and the others trailed behind them. The head of the little procession had reached the stairhead when Lady Braceley suddenly announced that she couldn’t go on.
    ‘I’m frightfully sorry,’ she said, ‘but I want to go back. I’m afraid you’ll think it too dreary of me but I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stay in this awful place another moment. You must take me back, Kenneth. I didn’t know it’d be like this. I’ve never been able to endure shut up places. At once. Kenneth! Where are you! Kenneth!’
    But