‘At the Villa Carlotta. It is all right, Dick. Everything is all right.’
‘Hilda?’ I asked.
‘I tell her to get some sleep. Now you must also go to sleep.’ Her hands were stroking my forehead. My eyes closed. From far away I thought I heard someone say, ‘Goodbye, Dick.’ Then I slept again.
I woke to sunshine and the friendly bulk of Hacket sitting beside me. I rubbed my eyes and sat up. I felt damnably weak, but my head was clear. ‘How long have I been out?’ I asked him.
He said, ‘Well, between drugs and sleep you’ve had about fifty hours.’
‘Good God!’ I said. And then I remembered Sansevino.
But when I asked about him, Hacket shook his head. ‘You can forget him now,’ he said. ‘He’s dead. They buried him as Walter Shirer. Maxwell’s orders. He thought it was easier that way.’
‘And the others?’ I asked.
‘Maxwell’s doing fine. He’s in the next room. He insisted on staying here. The Countess has gone to Rome to join her husband. Some nuns are looking after the little Italian kid and all the others are fine.’
‘What about George?’ I asked. ‘They didn’t — do anything to the mule, did they?’