The body was clothed in a simple tunic. The darkened bloodstain was vivid against the pale blue fabric. There was nothing particularly distinctive about the garment-it had a black border in a common Greek key pattern-yet it seemed familiar to me.

"Where did you find the poor fellow?" I said.

"In a private alley that runs alongside this house," said Calpurnia. "The slaves use it to come and go, as do a few others-like this man-who don't wish to call at the front door."

"A secret entrance for your secret agents?"

"Sometimes. He was discovered at dawn, lying on the paving stones just outside the door."

"The body was already stiff?"

"Yes, just as you see him now."

"Then he had probably been dead-and lying undisturbed-for at least four hours. That's when rigor begins."

"That's certainly possible. To my knowledge, no one used that passageway during the night, so he could have been lying there since sundown. I presume he came here to tell me something, but before he could rap at the door-"

"Someone stabbed him. Are there more wounds?"

"Only this one."

"So he died of a single stab wound to the heart." His assailant must have been very lucky, or very quick, or else must have known the victim. How else could someone draw close enough to land such a perfect blow?

"Was there a trail of blood in the passageway?"

"No. He fell where he was stabbed." Calpurnia shuddered.

"His tunic… looks familiar," I said, feeling uneasy.

"Does it? Perhaps you should look at his face."

I stepped closer. The scent of flowers and spices filled my nostrils. My heart pounded in my chest. My mouth was dry.