Come to think of it, was there a fourth suspect in all this? This man who stood before him, the one the crew referred to as the stranger, but who he knew to be one Gisco, esteemed member of the Council of the Hundred and Four, and a man now on a diplomatic mission of vital importance to the future of Qart Hadasht? Hadn't the boy seen Mago and Gisco talking together, their heads bent toward each other so no one could hear? What was a man of Gisco's status doing conferring with someone like Mago?
Yes, he knew what his mission was. Hadn't Bomilcar, the great man himself, one of the two generals whose duty it was to defend the city against that scourge, Agathocles, come to his home in the old quarter of Qart Hadasht, to personally ask him to undertake this voyage? He'd recognized him the moment Bomilcar lowered the corner of the robe he'd held in front of his face. The future of the great city hung in the balance, Bomilcar had told him. They must raise an army from amongst the Libyans, persuade them to switch their allegiance back to Qart Hadasht. Well, the cargo was rich enough to help convince them, that much was certain. But to do this, it was necessary to get there, ship and cargo intact.
"I am in command of this ship," Hasdrubal said, rising from his seat. "And we will set a course for shelter now."
The stranger took a bag from his robe and threw it at Hasdrubal's feet. Coins, silver and gold, spilled from its mouth as it hit the floor. "There is no time. Keep going," the stranger said.
E MILE ST. LAURENT ducked his head to clear the awning in front of the little stall.
"Can I help you, monsieur?" the proprietor asked. "Are you looking for something in particular?"
Emile picked up a leather wallet, examined it closely, then set it down.
"Leather, monsieur? Shoes? Perhaps a handbag for your lovely ladies," he said, glancing at Chastity, Marlene, and me. The three of us were browsing.
"I might like to look at those," Emile said, pointing at something through the glass countertop.
"Roman glass? Very good."
"Not the glass," Emile said. "The case, there."
"Ah, the coins. You are interested in coins. I have some very fine ones."
"I'll take a look, please," Emile said. He took a small magnifying glass from his pocket, and for a few moments he studied the coins carefully.
"This one, perhaps," he said, picking the coin up by the edges. "How much for this one?"
"You have a good eye, monsieur," the proprietor said. "This is a Roman coin, very fine condition. It dates to around 200 B.C. I will give you a special price. Are you paying in dollars?"
"I can," Emile said. "How much?"
"Two hundred American dollars," the man said.
Emile laughed. "That is a special price indeed, my good man. The coin is not in very fine condition, only fine, and is reasonably common. While it may be the best coin you have here, it is not worth more than forty dollars, and that is what I am prepared to pay you."
"You may very well be right about the price and condition, monsieur. But price is also set by the market, and tourists are not all as discriminating as you are. I can do rather better than forty dollars, I can assure you. I will sell it to you for one hundred dollars."
"I'm afraid not," Emile said, turning to leave.
"Monsieur," the man called to Emile as he ducked back under the awning. Emile turned. "You obviously know coins," the man said. "Come back tomorrow. I may have something that will interest you."
"I might do that," Emile said. "If you're sure it will be worth my while."
"Tomorrow then," the man said. He rubbed his hands together and smiled.
"I'd say he picked the wrong man to try to deceive," I commented after we left the stall.
Emile smiled. "Yes, he did, and he wouldn't come down, even though he knew I was right. His argument was that people will pay the outrageous prices he asks, and I couldn't disagree with him. People who don't know anything about coins think a Roman coin is something special, and while some of them are, most are essentially worthless, from an economic point of view, anyway. Nice to have, perhaps, and possibly historically interesting, but that's all. Anyway, all the more power to him if he can get the prices he asks, I suppose. Now, who's for some ice cream?"
"I am," Chastity said.
"Me, too," Marlene said.
"Afraid not," I said. "I have to get back to the auberge. Have a good time. Catherine wants to talk to me about something, apparently."
"I REALLY DON'T want to complain," Catherine whispered. "But you know, this is becoming intolerable." We were talking outside the inn, in the garden.
"What is?" I asked as gently as I could. The woman looked close to tears.
"My belongings," she said. "My cosmetics, my clothes, everything."
"Catherine, I'm sorry, but you are going to have to be a little clearer, here. I don't know what you're talking about."
She blew her nose, and paused for a moment. "Someone is going through my things," she said. "I come back to the room after dinner, and my cosmetics have all been rearranged, and the clothes in the cupboard have been messed up. You'll have to talk to her."
"The housekeeper, you mean?" I said. "You think the staff is moving your belongings about? I'd be happy to speak to the management if that's the case."
"No," she said. "It happens before they've even come in to make up the rooms, or later, after the beds are turned down. We have breakfast at different times, you know. I get up early, and shower first. She's usually still in bed when I leave. And then she goes off jogging for a few minutes. I'm sure she's been in my suitcase. I know she's curious about everything, and she seems good-hearted, but she shouldn't handle my belongings."
"You think Susie is getting into your stuff?"
"Who else could it be? We share a room. Come, I want you to see something while Susie is out."
"Lara! Oh sorry, I didn't realize you were busy," Ed said, coming up to us. "Have either of you seen a croquet mallet? Betty and I are challenging Ben and Marlene to a match, but there are only three mallets."
"It must be around here somewhere," I said, looking about the grounds. "Have you looked in the garden shed?"
"Yes," he replied. "Do you think they might have an extra one at the desk?"
Catherine tugged at my sleeve. "Please," she said. "You must come in now while you-know-who is out."
"All right, Catherine," I said, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. "I'll find Mohammed and send him out to help you, Ed. Catherine needs my assistance right now. I'll come back and help you look, too, just as soon as I've taken care of Catherine's problem."
"Okay," he said amiably.
We climbed the stairs to the room Catherine and Susie shared. "Look!" she said, lifting the pillow on one of the beds, uncovering a very pretty blue nightgown. It was all tied in knots. "Now look here," she said, lifting the pillow on the other bed. A rather flamboyant nightshirt featuring a huge green frog, lay there, neatly folded. "It's always my belongings that are tampered with, not hers," Catherine sobbed. "The end of my lipstick got squashed. Then there was my shampoo. It was spilled all over my cosmetic bag. It made such a mess!"
"It's awful when that happens, isn't it," I said. "I've had the same problem. Either the top is substandard, or maybe I didn't quite tighten it."
"But you don't understand!" she said. "It wasn't in my cosmetic bag. It was on the shelf in the shower. She took it from there and emptied it into my cosmetic bag, then put the top on loosely and made it look as if it was an accident, that I'd done what you said, not tightening the top or something. But I know where I left it. Why is she doing this to me? Can you tell me that? I know we're different, but I thought she was a nice person, and we seemed to be getting along fine. I enjoyed her company. Is it because she's jealous I have more money? What is it?"