Ode To A Banker by Lindsey Davis Page B

only thingon offer. It was not bad, though the fruit used was debatable. The bill, written out for me with unusual formality, cancelled any pleasure in the taste. We leaned on the counter; I glared at the owner until he slunk into the back room.

    'I'm Falco; you remember?' He managed half a nod. 'I called at the scriptorium this morning, Euschemon. You were out; I saw Chrysippus.' I did not mention my disagreement with him. It seemed a long time ago. 'That must have been just before he went in to work in his library. Now I have been appointed the official investigator for vigiles. I'll have to ask you some questions.'

    He just held his cup. He seemed in a daze, malleable - but perhaps unreliable too.

    'Let's do some scene setting - at what point did you arrive back?'

    He had to search for breath to answer me. He dragged out his words: 'I came back at midday. During the fuss, but I did not realise that at first.'

    I swigged some juice and tried to pep him up. 'How far had things got - were the vigiles already at the house?'

    'Yes; they must have been indoors. I thought there was rather a crowd outside, but I must have been preoccupied.

    'With what?' I grilled him sternly.

    'Oh ... the meaning of life and the price of ink.' Sensing he might be in trouble, Euschemon woke up a bit. 'How hot was the weather, what colour olives had I chosen for my lunchpack, whose damned dog had left us a message on the pavement right outside the shop. Intellectual pursuits.' He had more of a sense of humour than I had previously realised.

    'Surely your staff knew what was going on indoors?'

    'No. In fact, nobody had heard any noise. They would have noticed the fracas in the street from the shop, but they were all in the scriptorium. The lads were battened down, you see, just having their lunchbreak.'

    'Was the scroll-shop closed then?'

    'Yes. We always pull the rolling door across and shut light down. The scribes have to concentrate so hard when they are copying, they need a complete full stop. They get their food. Some play dice, or they have a nap in the heat of the day.'

    'Is the shutter actually locked in place?'

    'Have to do it, or people try to force their way in even though they can see we have packed up for lunch. No consideration-'

    'So nobody could have come in that way - or gone out?'

    He realised I meant the killer. 'No,' he said sombrely.

    'Would the shop have closed pretty early?'

    'If I know the scribes, and given that I myself was not there, yes.'
    'Hmm. So around the time of the death, that exit was blocked off...' If the killer made no attempt to use that route, maybe he knew the scriptorium routine. 'So how did you get indoors when you returned?'
    'I banged on the shutter.'

    'They unlocked again?'

    'Only because it was me. I ducked in, and we jammed it back.'
    'And when you arrived, the staff did not seem at all disturbed?'
    'No. They were surprised when I asked if they knew what was going on in the street. I had realised the crowd was outside the master's house door -'

    'Where's that?'

    'Further down. Past the bootmender. You can see the portico.' I squinted round; beyond the scriptorium and another shop entrance, I noted important stonework intruding onto the pavement. 'I was going to go and speak to Chrysippus about it when one of the vigiles burst in, from the house corridor.'

    'By that time he was well dead. So all the previous action had been muffled? You were out, and the scribes missed everything until after the body's discovery?' Euschemon nodded again, still like a man dreaming. 'It have to check that nobody came through the scriptorium after Chrysippus went indoors,' I mused.

    'The vigiles asked us that,' Euschemon told me. 'The scribes all said they saw nobody.'

    'You believe them?'

    He nodded. 'They would have been glad to be left in peace.'
    'Not happy workers?'

    'Ordinary ones.' He realised why I was probing. 'They do the job, but they like it best with no supervisor on their backs. It's