Balestra gripped his hand and accompanied him to the door.

Fabrizio spent the rest of the morning organizing his files and settling into the little office they’d set aside for him, all of three by two and a half metres, a tiny space carved out of a blind archway that must have been part of an ancient structure adjacent to the museum. He then consulted the museum library to make sure that he hadn’t missed anything that had been written about the young lad of Volterra.

At closing time, five o’clock, Mario painstakingly repeated everything there was to know about the alarm system. ‘Just between the two of us, even if you should forget to set the alarm as you’re going out, there’s a backup system that sounds directly at my house, which is just around the corner. For when I’m not at home, I’ve rigged a receiver that I wear around my neck. If it goes off, I’ll rush right over. Obviously, I’d prefer not to be rudely awakened at one or two in the morning by a false alarm, that’s all.’

‘Can I ask you something, Mario?’ Fabrizio said after listening to the man’s lengthy explanations.

‘Of course, Professor.’

‘I’ve heard that the director left Florence a while ago and that he plans on staying here another two or three weeks. If I’ve understood correctly, it’s a little unusual, isn’t it, for a man in his position, with all the responsibilities he must have back in Florence, to leave his main office for such a long time? Do you have any idea why?’

Mario gave him a knowing look, as if to say, ‘Wouldn’t you like to be in on this, my boy?’ but he answered, ‘You know, the director makes his own decisions. We on the staff aren’t often privy to the whys and wherefores. What I do know is that he’s always in his office and we’ve been told not to interrupt him unless there’s some urgent paper that needs signing. He only takes phone calls from eleven thirty to noon, unless it’s the Minister himself on the line.’