The inspector felt so furious and indignant that had he had one of the horse’s killers in his hands at that moment, he would have made him meet the same end. He started following the hoofprints.

Every so often they came to an abrupt halt, and in their place there were signs in the sand indicating that the poor animal had fallen to its knees.

He walked for almost forty-five minutes before reaching the spot where the horse had been bludgeoned.

Here, because of all the frantic stepping and tramping, the surface of the sand had formed a kind of circus ring marked with a confusion of overlapping shoe prints and hoofprints. Scattered around it were three iron bars stained with dried blood, and a long, broken rope, probably used to restrain the beast.The inspector started counting the different shoe prints, which was not easy. He came to the conclusion that four people, at most, had killed the horse. But two others had witnessed the spectacle, keeping still at the edge of the ring and smoking a few cigarettes from time to time.

He turned back, went into the house, and phoned the station.

“Halloo? Iss izza—”

“Catarella, Montalbano here.”

“Ah, Chief! Iss you? Whass wrong, Chief ?”

“Is Inspector Augello there?”

“’E in’t presentable yet.”

“Then lemme talk to Fazio, if he’s there.”

Less than a minute passed.

“What can I do for you, Chief ?”

“Listen, Fazio, I want you to come here to my place right away, and bring Gallo and Galluzzo with you, if they’re there.”

“Something up?”

“Yes.”

He left the front door to the house open and took a long walk down the beach.