Sansevino nodded abstractedly. ‘Trouble is I didn’t get much of a chance to hear it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Good God, man — I was a miner, until 1936. Then I got a job with the Union and moved to New York.’
‘But the miners had their own operatic company.’ Hacket was looking at him with a puzzled frown. ‘They gave shows free.’
‘Well, I never went. I was too busy.”
Sansevino took my empty glass and went across to the drink table. I could see Hacket watching him. ‘That’s queer,’ he murmured.’
‘How do you mean?’ Maxwell asked him.
‘The opera company was sponsored by the Union.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Funny how some people never know what’s going on in their own home town.’
Maxwell was watching Sansevino and as he came back with another brandy for me, Maxwell said, ‘By the way, Shirer, you remember that message I gave you for Ferrario at Tazzola?’
The other shook his head. ‘I don’t remember much about that mission. I was suffering from loss of memory by the time. I reached the Swiss frontier. My memory is very patchy.’