‘The ash? Oh, about three or four inches, I guess. It must have been that because I got some inside my shoes.’ He took a pull at his drink. ‘Do you reckon it’s going to be like it was the time Pompeii was destroyed? About three foot of ash fell at first and then there was a breathing space. That’s why most of the inhabitants were able to escape. It was only those that came back later who got buried. If it lets up at all I reckon we ought to get out while the going’s good, eh?’ He shook his head. ‘Incredible what this mountain can do!’
There was a sudden pounding on the front door. Hacket turned at the sound and then said, ‘That’s probably the rest of the party. I told them if I didn’t come back it would mean I’d found the villa. They said they’d follow me if it got worse.’
Shirer sent Roberto to open the door. A moment later two dusty figures were shown into the room. It was Maxwell and Hilda Tucek all right, but they were barely recognisable under the film of ash that covered them. The lines on Maxwell’s forehead were etched deep where ash and sweat had caked. For a moment they stood quite still in the entrance, their eyes searching the room. The contrast between Hilda and Zina was very marked. Zina was still clean, but she was trembling and her eyes bulged like a startled rabbit. Hilda, on the other hand, was quite calm. It was as though Vesuvius and the falling ash were nothing to her.
Sansevino went forward, his hand outstretched. ‘It’s John Maxwell, isn’t it? My name’s Walter Shirer.’
Maxwell nodded. He was looking across the room towards me. The white mask of his face looked old and very tired.
‘You remember, we met at Foggia — before Farrell dropped me over Tazzola?’
Maxwell nodded. ‘Yes, I remember.’
‘Come on in and have a drink. Guess I wouldn’t have known you in that make-up if Hacket here hadn’t told me you were coming up. Cognac?’
‘Thank you.’ Maxwell introduced Hilda Tucek and then Sansevino turned to me. ‘Perhaps you’d get them a drink, Farrell?’
It was clear he wasn’t going to give me a chance of talking to Maxwell alone. I hesitated, on the point of blurting out the truth — that the man they thought was Shirer was Sansevino and that I had. what they all wanted tucked away inside my leg. Sansevino was standing slightly apart from the others so that he could command the whole room. One hand was thrust into the pocket of his jacket and I knew he had a gun there, the gun he’d taken up from the piano. The atmosphere of the room suddenly seemed strained and on the edge of violence. I went over to the drink table and in the sudden burst of conversation that followed my movement I sensed relief.