getting out. 'I shouldn't be more than half an hour.'
Going up to the fifth floor in the cramped lift, he wished again that the Marshal were with him. He was better at this sort of thing.
'Signora Querci?'
The young woman who opened the door looked surprised at first but she realized almost immediately what he had come about.
'I expect it's my husband you want to talk to?'
'Yes. I hope he's awake.'
'Come in.' A little girl had appeared and was staring up at the Captain, clutching all the while at her mother's skirts. 'I'm sorry to disturb you at home but it's rather urgent.' 'That's all right; we've just eaten.'
Nevertheless, she took him into the small kitchen where the table had been cleared of plates, and a typewriter set up. The little girl followed them in and climbed on to a stool at the corner of the table where there was an exercise book and some coloured felt tips. The small flat was very warm and a smell of cooking still hung in the air.
'I do a bit of typing for the extra money.' The young woman had a pretty, almost childish face with a pronounced turned-up nose, but her plump figure, too broad in the hips, suggested she was in her mid-thirties. 'My husband will be in shortly. He always goes down to buy cigarettes after lunch and have a coffee in the bar. I never drink it. Please sit down.'
'Thank you.' The little girl continued staring at the Captain, but when he looked at her she ducked her head and began colouring fiercely.
'I'm sure my husband won't be long,' repeated the woman, not knowing what else to say. After a short silence she suddenly seemed to feel she'd been rude and added, 'I'm sorry, I can't even offer you a coffee. My husband always goes to the bar, you see, and I don't . . .'
'Please don't worry. I've already had coffee,' lied the Captain, who hadn't even managed to have lunch. 'Your husband doesn't sleep during the day?'
'Only until lunch-time. Otherwise he'd have no life at all.'
'I understand. It must be difficult for you, too.'
'Difficult? You can't imagine. It's no joke being alone at night in an area like this. I have good neighbours, but even so, after eight years of it I've had enough—'
She stopped suddenly and said to the child, 'Go in the other room and do your homework.'
'I'm doing it here.'
'Do as you're told. Go on.'
The little girl climbed down from her stool and picked up her book and colours, sneaking a last look at the uniformed man as she went out.
'I've worked in a hotel myself,' the woman went on as soon as the door closed. 'In fact, that's how we met, in Milan.' She seemed glad enough to have someone to talk to now that her initial shyness had worn off. 'I was always dog-tired and it's not as though the pay's anything to write home about. If I had my way he'd get out, and I've told him so, but he has no push.'
The Captain remembered Guarnaccia's description of the soft-spoken night porter who seemed contented enough with his lot.
'He's a good husband, don't get me wrong, but hotel work isn't right for him. Then when a nasty business like this happens you're involved whether you had anything to do with it or not. He should have got out before, when we left Milan.'
'I expect it's difficult to find anything else.'
'Not at all, that's just the point! You see, my father has a business, a grocer's shop in the centre;—I was born and brought up here—and he'd gladly sell it to us on instalments. It's more than time he retired. But with men pride always comes first, even before the good of the family, and Mario won't hear of it until he can get together the sort of deposit that my father could get from anyone else. Well, you can imagine trying to save anything on a night porter's salary! I've been on at him for years but he won't budge—Hush! That's him now.'
As the front door closed quietly they heard the little girl's voice: 'There's a carabiniere! Can I come in the kitchen with you?'
'No. Get on with your homework, there's a good girl.'
'You said you'd
Going up to the fifth floor in the cramped lift, he wished again that the Marshal were with him. He was better at this sort of thing.
'Signora Querci?'
The young woman who opened the door looked surprised at first but she realized almost immediately what he had come about.
'I expect it's my husband you want to talk to?'
'Yes. I hope he's awake.'
'Come in.' A little girl had appeared and was staring up at the Captain, clutching all the while at her mother's skirts. 'I'm sorry to disturb you at home but it's rather urgent.' 'That's all right; we've just eaten.'
Nevertheless, she took him into the small kitchen where the table had been cleared of plates, and a typewriter set up. The little girl followed them in and climbed on to a stool at the corner of the table where there was an exercise book and some coloured felt tips. The small flat was very warm and a smell of cooking still hung in the air.
'I do a bit of typing for the extra money.' The young woman had a pretty, almost childish face with a pronounced turned-up nose, but her plump figure, too broad in the hips, suggested she was in her mid-thirties. 'My husband will be in shortly. He always goes down to buy cigarettes after lunch and have a coffee in the bar. I never drink it. Please sit down.'
'Thank you.' The little girl continued staring at the Captain, but when he looked at her she ducked her head and began colouring fiercely.
'I'm sure my husband won't be long,' repeated the woman, not knowing what else to say. After a short silence she suddenly seemed to feel she'd been rude and added, 'I'm sorry, I can't even offer you a coffee. My husband always goes to the bar, you see, and I don't . . .'
'Please don't worry. I've already had coffee,' lied the Captain, who hadn't even managed to have lunch. 'Your husband doesn't sleep during the day?'
'Only until lunch-time. Otherwise he'd have no life at all.'
'I understand. It must be difficult for you, too.'
'Difficult? You can't imagine. It's no joke being alone at night in an area like this. I have good neighbours, but even so, after eight years of it I've had enough—'
She stopped suddenly and said to the child, 'Go in the other room and do your homework.'
'I'm doing it here.'
'Do as you're told. Go on.'
The little girl climbed down from her stool and picked up her book and colours, sneaking a last look at the uniformed man as she went out.
'I've worked in a hotel myself,' the woman went on as soon as the door closed. 'In fact, that's how we met, in Milan.' She seemed glad enough to have someone to talk to now that her initial shyness had worn off. 'I was always dog-tired and it's not as though the pay's anything to write home about. If I had my way he'd get out, and I've told him so, but he has no push.'
The Captain remembered Guarnaccia's description of the soft-spoken night porter who seemed contented enough with his lot.
'He's a good husband, don't get me wrong, but hotel work isn't right for him. Then when a nasty business like this happens you're involved whether you had anything to do with it or not. He should have got out before, when we left Milan.'
'I expect it's difficult to find anything else.'
'Not at all, that's just the point! You see, my father has a business, a grocer's shop in the centre;—I was born and brought up here—and he'd gladly sell it to us on instalments. It's more than time he retired. But with men pride always comes first, even before the good of the family, and Mario won't hear of it until he can get together the sort of deposit that my father could get from anyone else. Well, you can imagine trying to save anything on a night porter's salary! I've been on at him for years but he won't budge—Hush! That's him now.'
As the front door closed quietly they heard the little girl's voice: 'There's a carabiniere! Can I come in the kitchen with you?'
'No. Get on with your homework, there's a good girl.'
'You said you'd
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