expired?’
‘Yes.’
‘What else can you tell me?’
‘The numbers?’ The cabalista turned the ticket over.
‘Very dull,’ he said. ‘It’s just using the Smorfia. Now, if he had used my system –’
‘Have you got a Smorfia?’
‘Have you got ‘Of course.’
‘Can you decode these numbers for me?’
‘Yes.’
He looked in his book.
‘It’s an address. I think. That number is the street. And that will be the number of the house . . . Hello, that’s not much of a number . . . Oh, I know what this will be.’
He looked triumphantly at Seymour.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s the Hospital.’
‘The Hospital?’
‘The Foundling Hospital. One of the most important institutions in Naples. About half the population have some connection or other with it.’
‘Foundling?’
‘There are a lot of foundlings in Naples.’
‘I see.’
The cabalista handed the ticket back to Seymour.
‘Does that help you?’
‘Perhaps it does. Up to a point.’
‘You were looking for a place?’
‘A person, rather.’
‘Ah, well, even there the numbers will help. Each child who is taken in is given a number. It is put on a label around the child’s neck. And, of course, they keep a record of it. Let me have a look at that ticket again.’
He studied it.
‘I don’t understand this number,’ he said. ‘Perhaps that will be the personal number, the number on its label.’
‘Would – would a person keep it?’
‘Oh, yes!’ said the cabalista , affronted. ‘It’s a good number. And it’s a personal one. It would be special to its owner. Very special. And there could be no confusion, you see. No one else would have it. If it was just a house number, other people could live in the house. Suppose it was a big block of apartments, say. There could be hundreds with the same number. But this number would be unique to you. So it’s your lucky number.’
‘One you would bet with?’
‘Certainly. I would always encourage a client to use that number if he had one.’
* * *
‘A magician?’ said Chantale incredulously.
‘Yes. A particular sort of magician. One specializing in numbers.’
‘Oh, yes?’ said Chantale, even more doubtfully.
‘The numbers that turn up in the lotteries. They forecast the winners. They’re very popular in Naples.’
‘Well, yes, they would be.’
‘There’s a book, too.’
‘A book?’
‘Yes. It gives a numbered value for anything that happens and then you can use that number in the lottery.’
‘I see. Yes. A magical Book of Numbers?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And you’ve been . . . you’ve been studying this book?’
‘That’s right, yes.’
‘In your work?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you say.’
‘I do say.’
He explained about the ticket.
‘So, naturally, you went at once to this book for guidance?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘Darling, are you sure you’re on top of this case?’
‘It sounds a bit potty, I know,’ said Seymour defensively.
‘It does, yes.’
‘But they’re all like this. Neapolitans, I mean. It’s to do with the betting. They’re obsessed with numbers. Crazy about them.’
‘And is there any need,’ said Chantale, ‘for you to join them?’
‘So it’s given you an address?’ said Chantale.
‘Yes. A hospital. A hospital for foundlings.’
‘And you want us to go there?’
‘Yes. It’s one of the great sights of Naples, apparently.’
‘Do you know,’ said Chantale, ‘I was planning to see some of the other sights of Naples today. The Castel dell’Ovo, for example. Or perhaps San Martino. The Palazzo, maybe. Or the harbour. Or even – as I thought you were going to show me last night – the view of the bay from Posillipo. But not, actually, a hospital for foundlings.’
‘It’s a very important institution in Naples, apparently.’
‘Yes. I’m sure.’
‘We needn’t spend hours there,’ said Seymour, placatorily.
‘We needn’t spend any time there at all,’ said Chantale.
The huge iron gates