Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 105, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 640 & 641, March 1995

“Then let me clarify two points. First, Frossinone is still alive and it can only have been his heated imagination that led him to think that he was threatened by anyone. The man who died was Umberto Bardi, the son of Arturo Bardi and Janina Ridolfi, the youngest sister of Eugenio Ridolfi, whom I expect you know. His office is next door to yours.”

“Ridolfi Brothers?”

“Importers and Exporters,” said the young man with a half-smile.

“My immediate objective,” said the older man, ignoring him, “is to convince you that I am telling you the truth. Have you made the connection?”

“He’s ready and waiting.” The young man lifted the receiver and handed it to Hugo, who looked at it blankly and then said, “Hullo.”

“Ullo, Ugo,” said a voice he recognised. “Is that you? What can I do for you this fine morning?”

“I gather that the main thing is to assure me that you are alive and that there is no truth in your statement that you are being threatened by the mafia?”

“Whenever did I say such a thing?” The conversation was now in Italian.

“It was, I recollect, at a party with the Roncoronis.”

“Tony’s drinks are always stronger than they seem. If I said any such thing I must have been — what is the expression? — talking out of the back of my neck. But what is all this about? Why does it worry you?”

“It only worries me because I thought you were dead.”

“If you were back in Perugia I could soon convince you that I was alive.”

“I’m sure of it.”

The older man, who had been listening on an extension, put out a hand and the young man killed the call.

“I apologise for terminating a reunion with your friend, but there is one further matter and time presses. Not only had we no hand in the killing of Umberto, but he was, in fact, our emissary, doing a job for us in this country. Consequently he was under our protection. Our honour is involved. We shall be taking steps to see that the killer is identified and punished. You follow me?”

Hugo nodded. The atmosphere in the room was so oppressive that he was finding it difficult to speak. Two things were clear. He had made a fool of himself, and he had upset some formidable people.

“You will appreciate that the activities of Colonel Arbuthnot and his friends make it more difficult for us to succeed in our task. So, in return for reassuring you about your friend, Frossinone, might we look to you to assure the colonel that we had no hand in the killing of Umberto and are ourselves seeking his killer?”

Hugo nodded again. All he wanted to do was to get out of the flat. The young man held the door open for him.

By the time he got back to the office he was on balance again. He found Mr. Piggin deep in discussion with Eugenio Ridolfi, the older of the Ridolfi Brothers. He said, “I asked Mr. Ridolfi to call. As I suspected, he had not been shown the photograph of the murdered man — a curious omission on the part of the police. For as soon as he saw it he identified it.”

“As his nephew Umberto.”

“Precisely. You have just obtained that information from another quarter?”

“Yes.”

“From Mrs. Trumpington, no doubt,” said Mr. Piggin drily.

Hugo was saved embarrassment by Eugenio, who said, “But certainly it is Umberto. He has dyed his hair and shaved off the handsome side whiskers that he usually wore. Although it is all of twenty years since I last spoke to him, I am in no doubt about it. My wife agrees. You must understand, Mr. Bracknell, that my youngest sister, Janina — let us speak no ill of the dead — was a foolish girl, but not a wicked woman. On the other hand, the man she ran away to marry in Italy was a bad man. An associate of criminals. Since we learned of the marriage, I and my brother-in-law, Gino Alvaro, have had nothing to do with the Bardis.”

“Is it possible,” said Mr. Piggin slowly, “that Umberto was coming to England in an attempt to reconcile the two sides of the family?”

“It is possible. There are people who would like to see the Ridolfi and the Bardi firms working as a unit. But if that was his task, I do not think he would have been able to accomplish it.”

“Meanwhile,” said Hugo, who had lost his way in the intricacies of the Ridolfi-Bardi clan, “I have to persuade Colonel Arbuthnot to leave it to the mafia to find the killer.”

“Nor must we forget,” said Mr. Piggin, “that an equally efficient body of people will be engaged on the same task. From what I have learned from my friends in the City, the police have embarked on an entirely new tack—”

The new tack had been the brainchild of Inspector Barley. After three days of study, he had propounded a novel solution to his superior officer.