LXVI

As soon as I realised who it was, my heart bumped: I guessed that there had been a new development.

We danced round one another on the doorstep. “I’m just leaving,” I smiled.

“Corvinus heard there was another case to answer—” We carried on dodging, and squinting like rivals. “How have you got on?” Lusius asked.

“She’s clear again. I did manage to work out who arranged to do in the animal importer—but the perpetrator’s dead. He was her lover, but without him there’s not enough to take her to court alone. I made her admit she had a partner until recently, but that’s all.”

“No other evidence?” asked Lusius.

“Zilch.” I gained the impression he was holding something back. I gripped his elbow and drew him into the pool of light from a bronze lantern which hung on Severina’s porch. He made no resistance. “What’s the idea, Lusius? You look pretty pleased with yourself!”

The clerk grinned. “This is mine, Falco!”

I raised both hands, backing off. “If you found something … It’s a bargain, Lusius.”

He told me in a quiet voice, “I’ve got her on the apothecary.”

I had thought we had both run the apothecary angle into the ground. “How? Will that doctor who examined him make a report at last?”

“No. But did he tell you that he never attended Eprius normally?”

I nodded. “Apparently he was called in after the choking because he lived across the street.”

“And probably because Severina knew he was a fool … What I’ve found out,” Lusius continued, “is that Eprius did have a physician of his own.”

“For the famous cough that killed him?”

“Eprius never had a cough.”

“I gather you spoke to his regular quack?”

“I did. And I discovered that for years his own doctor had been treating him for piles. The medicine man reckoned Eprius was very vain—and so embarrassed about his problem that Severina may not have known.”

“Does this have a bearing on our enquiry?”

“Ah well!” Lusius was really enjoying himself. “I showed the normal doctor the remnants of the cough lozenge that allegedly choked Eprius—though I didn’t tell him what it was supposed to be. It was rather mutilated, and partly dissolved, but he was fairly sure the thing was his own handiwork.”

“Then what?”

“When I did tell him which end of his patient the lozenge had been recovered from, he was extremely surprised!” I was beginning to guess. “That’s right,” said Lusius cheerfully. “She must have known Eprius possessed a little box of magic gumdrops—but he lied to her about their purpose. The ‘cough lozenge’ which Severina says choked him was actually one of his suppositories for piles!”

I said, trying not to laugh too hard, “This will make a sensation in court!”

*   *   *

A narrow expression crossed the clerk’s face. “I told you this was mine, Falco.”

“So what?” He said nothing. I remembered he liked redheads. “You’re mad, Lusius!”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“If you go in there to see her, she will make your mind up for you … Whatever do you see in her?”

“Apart from quiet habits, interesting looks—and the fact I would be living on the verge of danger every minute I was with her?” the clerk asked, with a rueful lack of delusion.

“Well you know exactly what you’re in for—which is more than most people do. She says she has no intention of remarrying—which means she’s actively looking for her next husband. Step right up, my boy—but don’t fool yourself you’ll be the one who can control her—”

“Don’t worry. What’s left of the lozenge will do that.”

“Where is the disgusting evidence?”

“It’s safe.”

“Where, Lusius?”

“I’m not an idiot. Nobody can get at it.”

“If you ever tell her where it is, you’re a dead man.”

Lusius patted my shoulder. He had a quiet confidence that almost frightened me. “I’ve arranged perfect protection, Falco: If I’m a dead man before I’m ready to go, my executors will find the evidence together with the doctor’s sworn statement, and an explanatory note.”

A true lawyer’s clerk.

*   *   *

“Now I’m going in,” he said. “Wish me luck!”

“I don’t believe in luck.”

“Neither do I really,” admitted Lusius.

“Then I’ll tell you this: I met a fortune-teller, who told me the next husband Severina fastens on will live to a ripe old age … it depends if you believe in fortune-tellers, I suppose. Have you got a nest egg?”

“I might have,” answered Lusius warily.

“Don’t tell her.”

Lusius laughed. “I was not intending to.”

I stepped away from the porch; he lined up to bang the bell.

“I still think you ought to tell me where you have put the fatal jujube.”

He decided it might be useful for someone else to know: “Corvinus deposited his will in the House of the Vestals recently.” Standard procedure for a senator. “He let me put mine in with it. If anything happens to me, Falco, my executors will find that my testament has a rather intriguing seal…”

He was right: he was no idiot. No one, not even the Emperor, could get hold of a will without proper sanction, once it had been given for safekeeping into the Vestal Virgins’ charge.

“Satisfied?” he asked me, smiling.

It was brilliant. I loved it. If he hadn’t had such a ghastly taste in women, Lusius and I could have been real friends.

I even thought, with just the slightest tinge of jealousy, that it was possible Severina Zotica might at last have met her match.