“I am not. I am a very brave man. Sometimes I am astonished at the extent of my courage. But nothing could persuade me, known as I am, to show myself between Cetinje and Scutari day or night — much less to the east, where the border crosses the mountains. Was Marko a coward?”
“No.”
“That is correct. But he never even considered risking himself in that hive of traitors.” Telesio shrugged. “That’s all I have to say. Unfortunately you will not be alive for me to say I told you so.” He picked up his glass and drained it.
Wolfe looked at me to see how I was taking it, realized that I would have nothing to take until he got a chance to report, and heaved a deep sigh. “That’s all very well,” he told Telesio, “but I can’t hunt a murderer from across the Adriatic with the kind of communications available, and now that I’ve got this far I am not going to turn around and go home. I’ll have to consider it and discuss it with Mr. Goodwin. In any event, I’ll need this Guido. What’s his name?”
“Guido Battista.”
“He is the best?”
“Yes. That is not to say he is a saint. The list of saints to be found today in this neighborhood would leave room here.” He passed a fingertip over the nail of his little finger.
“Can you bring him here?”
“Yes, but it may take hours. This is Palm Sunday.” Telesio stood up. “If you are hungry, the kitchen is equipped and there are some items in the cupboard. There is wine but no beer. Marko told me of your addiction to beer, which I deplore. If the phone rings you may lift it, and if it is me I will speak. If I do not speak you should not. No one is expected here. Draw the curtains properly before you turn lights on. Your presence in Bari may not be known, but they reached to Marko in New York. My friend would not like blood on this pretty pink rug.” Suddenly he laughed. He roared with laughter. “Especially not in such a quantity! I will find Guido.”
He was gone. The sound came of the outer door closing, and then of the Fiat’s engine as it turned in the courtyard and headed for the street.