He found the letters several times more in the next hour, as he worked his way through the volume and the notes. They seemed to mark findings which could only be made in Italy: by going out and looking at a site, or by reading in ancient libraries.
The telephone interrupted him again. He glanced at his watch. Two o'clock already! He grew aware that he was hungry.
"Hello. Robert Kintyre speaking."
The voice in his ear was low. It stumbled the barest bit. "Professor Kintyre. This is Corinna Lombardi."
"Oh." He sat gaping into the mouthpiece like a schoolboy, feeling his heartbeat pick up. "Oh, yes," he said stupidly.
"I wanted to apologize to you."
"Hm?" With an effort, he pulled himself toward sense. "What the dev—What in the world is there to apologize for?"
"Last night. I was horrible."
Habit took over, the smoothness of having known many women; but his tone was burred. "Oh, now, please don't be silly. If you won't mind my saying so at a time like this, I thought you were quite extraordinarily pleasant to meet."
Did he catch the unsubstantial wisp of a chuckle? "Thank you. You're very kind. But I did pull a regular Lady Macbeth. It was nerves. I was tired and miserable. I hope you'll believe how sorry I've been all day. I've spent the past half hour at the phone, trying to track you down."