Death of an Englishman by Magdalen Nabb Read Free Book Online

Signor Cipriani, 'these gentlemen are quite sure …'
    But Little Treasure was adamant. Bang. Then another bang. Two bangs.
    'Close together?' asked the Captain suddenly, thinking that perhaps an echo … in a building that size with its great stairwell …
    Giovanna pondered this point solemnly under her big hat before saying, 'No. A long time apart.' She wriggled herself round to address Carabiniere Bacci: 'Let me play with your gun—for one minute?'
    'No,' said Carabiniere Bacci stiffly. 'Little girls don't like guns. Wouldn't you like to get down?'
    'No. Little girls do like guns—I've got two of them and one's pink and shoots water but I've lost it and I'm getting a bow and arrow as well from the Befana and a—'
    'Giovanna! If you don't behave the Befana will bring you a piece of coal for Epiphany, never mind a bow and arrow, now you—'
    'No!'
    'What do you mean, no?'
    'The Befana's a good witch, Granny said so. She might bring me some coal as well as a bow and arrow, sugar coal from the shop!'
    'Giovanna, Giovanna ! This is very serious! Now, please listen to the Captain …'
    The doorbell rang and the maid passed by on her way to answer it. They heard her pick up the housephone and ask, 'Who is it?' before pressing the electronic switch for the main door of the building.
    There came an echoing boom from below as the visitors closed the great doors behind them.
    'There,' said Giovanna, pleased to have her point so conveniently proved, 'Bang.'
    The Captain and Carabiniere Bacci closed their eyes in quiet exasperation.
    'You heard the big door close?' the Captain began again patiently. 'I expect it was somebody visiting. And then you heard the door again when they left. Perhaps it wasn't so late as you think and the second bang was just someone going away.'
    'No. Nobody went away. The door only banged once. The second bang was a big bang.'
    'And it wasn't the door?'
    'No.' After a pause she added reluctantly, looking away sideways, 'A gun bang.'
    'Why do you think it was a gun bang?'
    The child made no answer but went on looking away.
    'Like something you heard on television, was it?'
    She took off the hat and looked down at it in silence.
    'Is it something you saw? Something that frightened you?'
    'I want to get down.' She slid off Carabiniere Bacci's knee.
    'Do you think you're absolutely sure about the time? The time of the first bang?' The Captain turned to Signor Cipriani questioningly.
    'Yes, she can tell the time, she's a very bright child, you know. She has a little clock by her bed.'
    'With Mickey Mouse on it.'
    'And it was a quarter to three?'
    'Yes.' She gave Carabiniere Bacci his hat back. 'Papa, I want to go.' The Captain nodded his permission to the father, who released Giovanna. They watched her slip quickly out of the room. Almost immediately there was a noise of pattering and shuffling followed by a gleeful squeal.
    'Strange,' murmured the Captain, 'I would have said she was hiding something, possibly out of fear, but she seems cheerful enough now.' They heard more shuffling steps and a voice calling out:
    'Giovanna! How often must I tell you not to slide along the passage! It's dangerous … Vincenzo!' The Signora reappeared in the doorway, seeking her husband. She was dressed, elegantly dressed, but with a touch of bewildered dishevelment that might have to do with the dinner-party or be habitual but which was certainly attractive.
    'I beg your pardon, Signora, for our still being here, but I must ask you if we might take a look into the little girls' bedroom, to check whether she could have seen anything at all …'
    'Vincenzo … ?'
    'Why don't you give everyone an aperitif? I'll see to this.'
    He took them to the bedroom which the two little girls shared. One bed, against the wall, was immaculate, its snowy quilt smooth. The other, under the window, was in chaos, the crumpled quilt trailing on the floor, the pages of a comic scattered around it. The father was embarrassed:
    'Children, these days,