want the house watched, day and night. Do you know anyone we can trust to do this? I shall want a report on who goes in and comes out. There is a cafe almost opposite. It shouldn’t be difficult.”
“That can be arranged,” Giuseppe said. “I know the girl who works at the cafe. She will watch the house until midnight then I will take over. There will be perhaps a little money for her?”
“Pay her what you think,” Don said, taking out a roll of Italian currency. He gave Giuseppe a ten thousand lira note. “This should take care of the use of this room and what you pay her. Okay?”
Giuseppe’s dark face beamed.
“Yes, signore.”
“These two men have seen us together. They mustn’t see us together again,” Don went on. “I have no immediate job for you, but there will be one before long. Go to this cafe right away and warn the girl to watch the house. I am going to talk to il signor Peccati. I’ll see you back here in about two hours or so.”
“I shall be here, signore.”
The two men left the room. Giuseppe hurried away to the Campo del Salizo, while Don made his way towards the Fondamente Nuove.
Stefano Peccati sat in a wheeled chair in a small, gloomy room that boasted only of two chairs, a table and a shabby rug. Peccati’s yellow, wrinkled face was set in a cold, stony agony of grief. His legless torso was upright, and he regarded Don with bright, hard, unblinking eyes.
“I cannot see you today, signore,” he said. “I have just lost my daughter. An old man is entitled to share his sorrow with no one.”
“Yes,” Don said gently, “but I know something about the way your daughter died. I feel you should know about it.”
The old man’s face tightened.
“Who are you? What do you know about my daughter?”
“I am Don Micklem. Perhaps your daughter has mentioned my name?”
“I have seen il signore. You are nothing like him. Please go away.”
“You have noticed the Z-shaped scar on the right side of Micklem’s face?” Don said. “Look, see for yourself,” and he carefully parted the false hair that Benvenuto had gummed to his face and leaned forward. “Do you see it?”
Peccati stared at him suspiciously.
“I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps you will if you will listen to me,” Don said. “Does the name John Tregarth mean anything to you?”
By the change of expression in the old man’s eyes, Don’s question was answered.
“The name is familiar,” Peccati said quietly. “What of it?”
“He is a friend of mine and he has disappeared,” Don said. “I am looking for him. Two men named Curizo and Busso have some connection with his disappearance. I was told by Tregarth’s wife to contact Manrico Rossi who is a business associate of Tregarth. I went to his shop. Your daughter recognized me. She made from a piece of glass Tregarth’s initials. It was done in such a way that only I saw it. This action told me she didn’t want me to speak to her then. I saw her later. She gave an address to go to after I had told her I was looking for Tregarth. Before she could tell me anything further, Busso surprised and knocked me out. When I recovered, I went immediately to 39 Calle Mondello, the address she gave me. It was obviously Tregarth’s hiding place, but he wasn’t there. I found your daughter: she had been tortured and murdered.”
The old man closed his fists and lowered his head.
Don lit a cigarette and walked over to the window to give the old man time to recover. He turned only when, after a few moments, Peccati said, “Go on, signore, you have more to tell me?”
“Very little more. Since then, every move I have made has been watched. An effort has been made to get me to leave Venice. I decided if I am to solve this mystery I must have freedom of movement. I left Venice, disguised myself as you see and returned. I want as many facts as I can get. I not only want to avenge your daughter, I want also to find Tregarth. Can you help me?”
“How can I
“That can be arranged,” Giuseppe said. “I know the girl who works at the cafe. She will watch the house until midnight then I will take over. There will be perhaps a little money for her?”
“Pay her what you think,” Don said, taking out a roll of Italian currency. He gave Giuseppe a ten thousand lira note. “This should take care of the use of this room and what you pay her. Okay?”
Giuseppe’s dark face beamed.
“Yes, signore.”
“These two men have seen us together. They mustn’t see us together again,” Don went on. “I have no immediate job for you, but there will be one before long. Go to this cafe right away and warn the girl to watch the house. I am going to talk to il signor Peccati. I’ll see you back here in about two hours or so.”
“I shall be here, signore.”
The two men left the room. Giuseppe hurried away to the Campo del Salizo, while Don made his way towards the Fondamente Nuove.
Stefano Peccati sat in a wheeled chair in a small, gloomy room that boasted only of two chairs, a table and a shabby rug. Peccati’s yellow, wrinkled face was set in a cold, stony agony of grief. His legless torso was upright, and he regarded Don with bright, hard, unblinking eyes.
“I cannot see you today, signore,” he said. “I have just lost my daughter. An old man is entitled to share his sorrow with no one.”
“Yes,” Don said gently, “but I know something about the way your daughter died. I feel you should know about it.”
The old man’s face tightened.
“Who are you? What do you know about my daughter?”
“I am Don Micklem. Perhaps your daughter has mentioned my name?”
“I have seen il signore. You are nothing like him. Please go away.”
“You have noticed the Z-shaped scar on the right side of Micklem’s face?” Don said. “Look, see for yourself,” and he carefully parted the false hair that Benvenuto had gummed to his face and leaned forward. “Do you see it?”
Peccati stared at him suspiciously.
“I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps you will if you will listen to me,” Don said. “Does the name John Tregarth mean anything to you?”
By the change of expression in the old man’s eyes, Don’s question was answered.
“The name is familiar,” Peccati said quietly. “What of it?”
“He is a friend of mine and he has disappeared,” Don said. “I am looking for him. Two men named Curizo and Busso have some connection with his disappearance. I was told by Tregarth’s wife to contact Manrico Rossi who is a business associate of Tregarth. I went to his shop. Your daughter recognized me. She made from a piece of glass Tregarth’s initials. It was done in such a way that only I saw it. This action told me she didn’t want me to speak to her then. I saw her later. She gave an address to go to after I had told her I was looking for Tregarth. Before she could tell me anything further, Busso surprised and knocked me out. When I recovered, I went immediately to 39 Calle Mondello, the address she gave me. It was obviously Tregarth’s hiding place, but he wasn’t there. I found your daughter: she had been tortured and murdered.”
The old man closed his fists and lowered his head.
Don lit a cigarette and walked over to the window to give the old man time to recover. He turned only when, after a few moments, Peccati said, “Go on, signore, you have more to tell me?”
“Very little more. Since then, every move I have made has been watched. An effort has been made to get me to leave Venice. I decided if I am to solve this mystery I must have freedom of movement. I left Venice, disguised myself as you see and returned. I want as many facts as I can get. I not only want to avenge your daughter, I want also to find Tregarth. Can you help me?”
“How can I
Similar Books
