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  ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘My name is Lieutenant Antonio Monti. I’m here to give you whatever assistance you require.’

  ‘Grazie,’ replied William as they shook hands.

  ‘Parla l’italiano?’

  ‘Enough to get by,’ said William. ‘Ma poi Roma è la mia città preferita.’

  They had to wait for another thirty minutes before Carter sauntered out of the building, bag in hand, and joined a taxi queue, by which time the lieutenant knew almost as much about Carter as William did.

  The Italian police driver turned out to be far more adept than William when it came to tailing a suspect, which allowed him to enjoy some familiar sights: the Colosseum, St Peter’s Basilica, Trajan’s Column, all of which he remembered from his student days when he’d sat at the back of an overcrowded bus with no air conditioning, heading for a youth hostel not exactly in the centre of town.

  When Carter’s taxi finally came to a halt, it was not outside a hotel as William had expected, but a large municipal building with an Italian flag fluttering from a mast on the roof.

  ‘Stay put and leave this to me,’ said the lieutenant. ‘We don’t want him to spot you.’ He got out of the car and followed Carter inside.

  William also got out, but only to stretch his legs, then suddenly took a step back and hid behind a fountain when he spotted a familiar figure entering the building. His eyes never left the front door for more than a few seconds, but it was almost an hour before the lieutenant reappeared and joined him in the back of the car.

  Carter came out a few moments later, and hailed a taxi, but Monti didn’t instruct the driver to follow them.

  ‘He’s on his way back to the airport,’ said Monti. ‘The bag is now empty,’ he added without explanation. ‘They’ve booked on the 3.10 to Heathrow.’

  ‘Then I should be on the same plane,’ said William.

  ‘Not necessary. DS Roycroft will be at Heathrow waiting for them. In any case, we have more important things to do.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘First, you must experience a little Italian hospitality. We will have lunch at Casina Valadier before dropping into the Borghese, and you will still be in time to catch the five twenty to London.’

  ‘But my expenses won’t—’

  ‘You’re in Italy, mio amico,’ said the lieutenant, ‘and have just performed a great service for the Italian people. You must therefore be rewarded. In any case, we don’t get quite so worked up in Italy about expenses as you English.’

  Clearly they didn’t have a Mrs Walter to contend with, thought William.

  ‘Perhaps you might care to take a look at this,’ said Monti, as he handed William an official-looking document.

  William glanced at the front page. ‘My Italian isn’t that good,’ he admitted.

  ‘Then I will have to take you through it, line by line over lunch, because I need to know if you wish us to grant Mr Carter’s application for the licence, or whether Scotland Yard would prefer us to turn his request down.’

  William knocked on the front door, and when Beth opened it he was greeted with, ‘Hello, stranger, what’s your excuse this time?’

  ‘I’ve been to Rome.’

  ‘To visit another woman?’

  ‘Napoleon’s sister.’

  ‘She’s quite cold, I’m told.’

  ‘As marble,’ said William, bending down to kiss her, but he only brushed her lips, as she turned away.

  ‘Not until I’ve heard Pauline’s side of the story,’ Beth said, as she led him through to the kitchen.

  Over dinner he told her everything that had happened since he’d last seen her, including a memorable meal at Casina Valadier and an afternoon spent with Antonio Monti at the Borghese.

  ‘You should have joined the Italian police, William, they obviously have superior galleries, finer food, and—’

  ‘But not more adorable women,’ he said, taking her in his arms.

  She pushed him playfully aside and said firmly, ‘Not until you tell me what Carter needed a licence for.’

  16

  ‘I CALLED THIS meeting at short notice,’ said Hawksby, ‘as I understand there has been a development in the Carter case.’

  ‘There has indeed, sir,’ said Lamont. ‘Carter left Barnstaple early on Wednesday morning. DC Warwick followed him to Heathrow, where he checked in for a flight to Rome. DC Warwick phoned me from the airport, and I told him to keep following Carter, who only had a holdall with him, so he clearly wasn’t going on holiday. I’ll hand over to DC Warwick who can brief you on what happened next.’

  ‘I sat three rows behind Carter on the flight,’ said William. ‘At Da Vinci, I was met by a Lieutenant Monti of the Italian Special Investigation Team, who could not have been more cooperative. Carter got a taxi, and we tailed him to a government building in the centre of Rome. Monti followed him inside, and informed me afterwards that Carter had an appointment at the Naval Division office, where he applied for a diving and recovery licence to explore a shipwreck off the coast of Elba.’

  ‘What’s he looking for?’ asked Hawksby.

  ‘Seven hundred eighteenth-century Spanish silver cob coins,’ said William. ‘In 1741, during a particularly violent storm, a vessel called the Patrice sank off Elba, drowning all fifty-two passengers, along with nine crew and a cargo that included the coins and other valuables. I have the records of the Italian Receiver of Wrecks from the time,’ he continued, ‘which read, “This claim has been confirmed by Lloyd’s of London who insured the vessel and cargo for ten thousand guineas, and paid the amount in full.”’

  ‘I’m halfway there,’ said Hawksby.

  ‘Over the years, several attempts have been made to locate the wreck and recover the coins, but without success.’

  ‘And Carter thinks he might get lucky, despite the odds?’

  ‘I don’t believe he’s relying on luck, sir,’ said Jackie. ‘While DC Warwick was swanning around Rome, I returned to London and had the photographs he took of Carter’s shed enlarged by our specialists here in Scotland Yard. They confirmed one thing without question: DC Warwick is no David Bailey.’

  They all laughed.

  ‘However, after one of our experts had studied the photographs more closely, she came up with a very interesting suggestion.’ Jackie handed each member of the team an enlarged photo of the workbench in Carter’s shed.

  ‘What are we looking for?’ asked Hawksby, as he studied the image.

  ‘You’ll notice all the usual equipment required by any engraver – chisels of various sizes, wire brushes, even a nail file. But if you look more closely, you can also see what Carter is working on.’ She handed round three enlargements showing the top of the workbench for the team to consider.

  ‘It looks like a half crown to me,’ said Hawksby.

  ‘Same size, same shape, different value,’ said William, ‘as I discovered when I visited a numismatist at the British Museum, who told me he’s fairly sure it’s a Spanish cob, which as you can see is dated 1649.’

  ‘No doubt you asked him its value?’

  ‘He had no idea, sir, but recommended I visit Dix Noonan Webb in Mayfair, who are specialists in the field. Mr Noonan showed me a similar example of a Spanish cob coin from one of his recent catalogues which sold for just over a thousand pounds.’

  ‘Multiply that by seven hundred,’ said Lamont, ‘and Carter would end up with more than seven hundred thousand.’

  ‘I think I know what he’s up to,’ said William.

  ‘Spit it out, Warwick,’ said Hawksby.

  ‘I suspect that all the old silver he’s been buying recently has been melted down, and he’s spent the last few months stamping seven hundred newly minted Spanish cob coins.’

  ‘If you look at the photographs more closely,’ said Jackie, ‘you’ll see something we might have missed in normal circumstances.’ She pointed to the bottom left-hand corner of one of the pictures.

  ‘It looks like a bucket of water to me