He went over to the safe located behind the desk where he normally presided over the ceremonies of the shop. The janitor shuffled about awkwardly, mumbling something under his breath. Gabriele spun the dial the requisite number of times and eased the heavy door open. Turning his back on Fulvio, he rapidly pocketed a bundle of banknotes.

‘This is most irregular,’ the janitor repeated in an aggrieved tone. ‘With all due respect, dottore, you owe me an explanation.’

Gabriele relocked the safe, then perched over his desk and wrote rapidly on a card. With a last look round, he stood up and walked back to Fulvio. He extracted two of the notes from the bundle in his pocket and held them out.

‘Here’s your explanation,’ he said. ‘I may be away for some time. When I get back, I’ll pay you the same again for each week I’ve been gone. In return, I want you to keep a sharp eye on the shop, and particularly on anyone who comes round asking after me. Keep a note of dates, descriptions and names, if they give any, and above all of what they say. Finally, please fasten this to the window at the front of the shop once I’ve left.’

He handed the janitor the card he had written. Under the name and logo of the bookshop was printed Chiuso per Lutto. Fulvio looked at him with a new understanding, sympathy and respect.

‘You’re in mourning, dottore? A death in the family?’

Gabriele very faintly smiled.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I suppose that’s what it amounts to.’

II

‘I suppose you’ve heard about that terrible thing.’

Riccardo was standing just inside the kitchen, the piled plates in his hand, looking about him sheepishly as he always did.