‘Before the auction.’
‘Yes. Hardly ethical on his part, and very annoying, but there you are.’
‘Nausiphanes said you were … the word he used was “livid”.’
Baebius took a careful sip of his wine before replying. ‘He exaggerates,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t pleased, certainly, in fact I was quite upset at the time — as I say, that is not how things are done in the antiques business — but “livid” is putting it far too strongly.’
I let that one go. ‘And you’d be surprised to know that the thing’s disappeared, would you?’
He gave me a sharp look. ‘I certainly would. When did this happen?’
‘According to Caesius’s major-domo, sometime between the day of the murder and now. He can’t explain it.’
‘And nor can I, Valerius Corvinus, if that’s what you’re implying. I’ve never been inside Quintus Caesius’s house in all the years I’ve known him, nor he in mine.’
‘Yeah, so the major-domo said. It’s a puzzle, right enough. Still, who else would be interested in it apart from you?’
‘Oh, now, hold on a moment.’ He’d set down his wine cup, and there was more than a touch of steel in his voice underlying the polite, civilized tone. ‘You think I stole it? Or acquired it illegally by some means? Because if you do-’
‘Look,’ I said easily. ‘All I’m interested in are the circumstances of Caesius’s death, right? If the missing figurine has no connection with that, then fine, but I need to know one way or the other. Or to find out. Which, believe me, I will, eventually.’
‘Now you look.’ Baebius stood up; the steel was in his eyes, now, and the politeness was gone. ‘I’m not used to being called a thief, let alone being accused by implication of murder. Certainly not in my own house by a guest who has invited himself in here. Nevertheless, I give you my word — and I’ll swear to it, if you like — that it is not now and never has been in my possession. Now I’d be grateful if you’d leave, please. Good day to you.’
‘Fair enough.’ I set my own wine cup down carefully on the table beside me and got to my feet. ‘That’s that, then. Thanks for your time.’
I walked off towards the lobby. I’d reached the entrance to it and was heading through towards the front door when he called out: ‘Corvinus!’
I looked round. ‘Yeah?’
‘Just a moment.’
I came back into the atrium. He was still standing there, frowning.
‘I can’t let you go like this,’ he said. ‘And perhaps I was rude in my turn, or at least a little abrupt. If so then I’m sorry. You have your job to do, and I should have taken that into consideration. Sit down, please.’ I did; he did the same, and took a deep breath. ‘Caesius sent me a note, the day he died. In it he said he was willing to let me have the Runner in exchange for a piece which I own — of the same date and quality, and by the same artist, a small bronze of a fisherman — plus a sum in cash; he’d bid against me for it a year or so ago, and on that occasion I was the one who’d been successful. Sheer opportunistic profiteering on his part, of course, since the pieces were of equal merit and value, and the sum of money he demanded was not small. If I agreed, he said, we could meet on neutral ground that evening and make the trade.’
‘Isn’t that a bit odd?’ I said. ‘Why not arrange to meet here, or at his place?’
‘I told you, we’ve never been inside each other’s houses. A point of pride. Call it childishness, if you like.’ I did. ‘Besides, the offer was in no way an overture for reconciliation, or made in friendship: it was purely a business deal, and not a fair one, at that.’
‘But you agreed?’
‘Yes. And sent him a reply to that effect. He had, he said, another appointment that evening — in retrospect, of course, I now know where and what that was — and that he’d make the exchange at sunset at the old wool store. That’s the warehouse which burned down, behind the main street. You know it?’ I nodded. ‘In the event, he never turned up, and I came straight back home. That, Corvinus, is the truth. All of it.’
Yeah, well, it sounded plausible enough, allowing for the silly cloak-and-dagger business, and even that I could see happening. Just. Whether it was the truth or not, mind, was another thing entirely.
‘OK,’ I said, getting up again. ‘Thanks for your help. And your candour.’
‘You’re very welcome. My apologies again for my bad manners, although I hope you can see the reason for them.’ He stood. ‘I’ll see you out.’
‘No, that’s fine. I can manage. Thanks again. Oh … just out of interest. The missing figurine. How much would it have been worth?’
‘Caesius paid fifteen thousand for it, and it was worth at least a third more again. As I said, a beautiful piece. Not unique, but certainly very rare.’
I whistled: twenty thousand was a lot of gravy in anyone’s book.
I went through the lobby and opened the front door. Clitus had gone back to polishing the knocker. He stepped back as I came out and smiled, and I paused before moving past him.
‘Just a couple of questions before I go, pal,’ I said quietly. ‘You remember a note sent to your master six days back, from the censor-elect Quintus Caesius?’ The smile faded, and he looked wary, which was understandable; if the guy knew nothing of the murder and when it had happened by this time, he was the only person in Bovillae who didn’t. ‘No hassle, no comeback. I’m just confirming what your master’s just told me, that’s all.’
The smile returned, with a look of relief.
‘Then, yes, sir, of course I do,’ he said. ‘Early afternoon, it was. One of his slaves brought it, and I took it to the master myself.’
‘And delivered the reply?’
‘Yes, sir. Half an hour or so later, to the gentleman’s house near the Arician Gate.’
‘You happen to know what the contents were? Of either note?’
‘No, sir. Of course not. That was none of my business, and naturally they were sealed.’
Fair enough. Still, it’d been worth asking. ‘OK.’ Second point. ‘Your master also told me he went out that evening. Just before sunset.’
‘That’s right. He did.’ The wariness was back now.
‘He say where he was going at all?’
‘No, sir,’ he said, stiffly. ‘Again, it was not my place to ask. But he came back an hour later. Perhaps a little less.’
And Caesius had been in the brothel busy with his ‘other appointment’ until a good hour after sunset. Baebius — if he was the murderer — wouldn’t’ve had either the opportunity or the time to kill the guy and get all the way back up here to the Alban Lake Gate, not even if Clitus’s estimation was well short of the reality. Damn! There went a prime suspect, right at the start!
I’d give a lot to know why Caesius hadn’t showed, mind. And to know what had happened to the figurine, because the odds were that when he left home he’d had it with him.
‘Thanks, friend,’ I said. ‘Oh … by the way. You wouldn’t happen to know where Lucius Ampudius lives, would you?’
‘Certainly, sir.’ He pointed along the street. ‘That way, past the crossroads and before the baths.’
‘Thanks again.’
So. One suspect down, but there were still plenty in the bag, and after my conversation with Anthus, Brother Lucius — with or without his drinking crony Roscius’s help — was a prime contender. Plus there was the question of possible skulduggery on our dodgy lawyer’s part to consider.
I went to talk to the witness of old Marcus Caesius’s will.
Ampudius must’ve been about the same age as Novius, or even older, which practically put him in the Priscus league. Even so, there was nothing frail or decrepit about the guy. Bald as a coot, sure, seriously lacking in teeth and wizened as a six-month-old apple, but the eyes that were giving me a considering look from where he lay on the atrium couch were bright and sharp as needles.