closely written on both sides.
"The wing shown on the enclosed photograph," Scipio read, "is the counterpart to the wing I am looking for. They look identical. Both are about seventy inches long and thirty inches wide. The wood was once painted white, but this will certainly have faded, and the gold on the edges of the feathers has probably also flaked off from the second wing. At the base of the wing there should be two long metal pins, each approximately two inches in diameter."
Scipio lifted his head. His face showed disappointment. He had obviously not expected the item he was supposed to steal -- which had made the old man's voice quiver with longing -- would be a piece of old wood!
"Perhaps the Conte has one of these beautiful carved angels," Hornet ventured. "You know, like they have in big churches. An angel like that is probably quite valuable, but only if it has both its wings. And he has probably somehow lost one of them."
"I don't know." Mosca shook his head. He went over to Scipio to have another look at the picture. "What's that in the background?" he asked. "It's very blurry, but it looks like a wooden horse."
Scipio turned the card over and frowned. "Wait, there's more. Listen: The living quarters of the Casa Spavento, as far as I have been informed, are mostly on the first floor. The wing is probably kept there somewhere. I have had no information about any alarm systems, but it is possible that there are dogs in the house. Hurry, my friend! I will await your report with great impatience. Feed the pigeon bread and let it fly a little. Sofia is a friendly and dependable creature."
"Sofia. I like that name," said Bo, peeking into the pigeon basket.
"Yes, but you must keep your cats away from her," Mosca teased him. "They'll eat her whether she's got a nice name or not.
Bo looked shocked.
"A wooden angel!" Riccio wrinkled his nose and pushed a finger into his mouth. He often had a toothache, but today it was particularly bad. "Not even a whole angel, just a wing. And that's supposed to be worth five million lire?"
Hornet leaned against the starry curtain and shrugged. "I don't like it," she said. "All the secrecy -- and the redbeard being part of it."
"No, Barbarossa is just the middle man." Scipio was staring at the photograph. "You should have heard the Conte! He's completely crazy about this wing. It didn't sound as if this was only about the money he could get for a valuable statue. No, there's something else behind all this. Do you still have my jacket, Prop?"
Prosper threw the jacket over to him. Scipio slipped into the long sleeves and sighed. "Here, you'd better keep this safe. It's probably best in our money box," he said, handing Hornet the photograph, the card, and the floor plan. "I've got to go. I'll be out of the city for three days. Until I return you will observe the house. We have to know everything: who comes and goes, the habits of the people living there, how many visitors, when the house is empty, the best way to get in, and whether there really are any dogs there. You know, the usual stuff. Check whether the doors are marked in the right places on the floor plan. The house is supposed to have a garden, which may be useful. Oh, and Prosper" -- Scipio turned to him once more -- "you and Bo had better not leave the hideout in the next few days. We've shaken off the detective for now, but you never know." Scipio pulled the mask over his face.
As Scipio turned to leave, Riccio stood in his way. "Listen, can we help you with this job? I mean not just with the staking out, but with the burglary itself. Can't you take us with you just this once? We...we," Riccio stuttered with excitement, "we could keep watch and help you carry the loot. The wing is probably pretty heavy. It's not like a gold chain or a pair of sugar tongs, which you can just stuff into a bag, is it? What...what do you say?"
Scipio listened to him impassively, his face hidden by the mask. Riccio had finished and was
"The wing shown on the enclosed photograph," Scipio read, "is the counterpart to the wing I am looking for. They look identical. Both are about seventy inches long and thirty inches wide. The wood was once painted white, but this will certainly have faded, and the gold on the edges of the feathers has probably also flaked off from the second wing. At the base of the wing there should be two long metal pins, each approximately two inches in diameter."
Scipio lifted his head. His face showed disappointment. He had obviously not expected the item he was supposed to steal -- which had made the old man's voice quiver with longing -- would be a piece of old wood!
"Perhaps the Conte has one of these beautiful carved angels," Hornet ventured. "You know, like they have in big churches. An angel like that is probably quite valuable, but only if it has both its wings. And he has probably somehow lost one of them."
"I don't know." Mosca shook his head. He went over to Scipio to have another look at the picture. "What's that in the background?" he asked. "It's very blurry, but it looks like a wooden horse."
Scipio turned the card over and frowned. "Wait, there's more. Listen: The living quarters of the Casa Spavento, as far as I have been informed, are mostly on the first floor. The wing is probably kept there somewhere. I have had no information about any alarm systems, but it is possible that there are dogs in the house. Hurry, my friend! I will await your report with great impatience. Feed the pigeon bread and let it fly a little. Sofia is a friendly and dependable creature."
"Sofia. I like that name," said Bo, peeking into the pigeon basket.
"Yes, but you must keep your cats away from her," Mosca teased him. "They'll eat her whether she's got a nice name or not.
Bo looked shocked.
"A wooden angel!" Riccio wrinkled his nose and pushed a finger into his mouth. He often had a toothache, but today it was particularly bad. "Not even a whole angel, just a wing. And that's supposed to be worth five million lire?"
Hornet leaned against the starry curtain and shrugged. "I don't like it," she said. "All the secrecy -- and the redbeard being part of it."
"No, Barbarossa is just the middle man." Scipio was staring at the photograph. "You should have heard the Conte! He's completely crazy about this wing. It didn't sound as if this was only about the money he could get for a valuable statue. No, there's something else behind all this. Do you still have my jacket, Prop?"
Prosper threw the jacket over to him. Scipio slipped into the long sleeves and sighed. "Here, you'd better keep this safe. It's probably best in our money box," he said, handing Hornet the photograph, the card, and the floor plan. "I've got to go. I'll be out of the city for three days. Until I return you will observe the house. We have to know everything: who comes and goes, the habits of the people living there, how many visitors, when the house is empty, the best way to get in, and whether there really are any dogs there. You know, the usual stuff. Check whether the doors are marked in the right places on the floor plan. The house is supposed to have a garden, which may be useful. Oh, and Prosper" -- Scipio turned to him once more -- "you and Bo had better not leave the hideout in the next few days. We've shaken off the detective for now, but you never know." Scipio pulled the mask over his face.
As Scipio turned to leave, Riccio stood in his way. "Listen, can we help you with this job? I mean not just with the staking out, but with the burglary itself. Can't you take us with you just this once? We...we," Riccio stuttered with excitement, "we could keep watch and help you carry the loot. The wing is probably pretty heavy. It's not like a gold chain or a pair of sugar tongs, which you can just stuff into a bag, is it? What...what do you say?"
Scipio listened to him impassively, his face hidden by the mask. Riccio had finished and was
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