Read 1954 - Mission to Venice for Free Online Page A

Tregarth,” Don said, his eyes on Rossi’s face.
    The fat man flinched. His smile became a fixed grimace. The designs slipped out of his fingers and fell to the floor. He immediately bent down to pick them up and Don lost sight of his face. Had that sudden fixed smile and that flinching look in the sleepy eyes been fear? he wondered, startled.
    When Rossi straightened up, the look had gone out of his eyes, although his fat face had taken on a yellowish tinge.
    “Ah, il signor Tregarth,” he said. “A very good friend of ours. Yes, it seems a long time since we saw him. A year perhaps or even longer.”
    By the way his eyes shifted, Don was certain he was lying, and he felt that feathery chill creep up his spine.
    He said, “I was wondering if he happened to be in Venice. You haven’t seen him then?”
    “Oh no, signore.” The black eyes stared at Don, then quickly shifted. The thick lips tightened. “Il signor Tregarth is not in Venice. He comes to see us always in July.”
    Don lifted his shoulders, then accepting the designs Rossi handed to him, he listened to Rossi eulogize their merits. He finally selected three of the more simple ones and asked Rossi to send them to Terry Ratcliffe. After Rossi had noted down the address, Don got to his feet.
    “But isn’t there anything I can show you for yourself, signore?” Rossi asked hopefully.
    “Not right now. I’m staying a month or so. I’ll be in again.”
    “Certainly, signore. We will always be pleased to see you.”
    Don walked over to the door. He paused and asked, “Has il signor Tregarth any friends in Venice, do you know?”
    “Friends? Why, surely. Il signor Tregarth must have many friends here.”
    “Would you know any of them?”
    Rossi lifted his fat shoulders regretfully.
    “No, signore. Il signor Tregarth did business with me in my office. We did not meet outside.”
    Don nodded. As he moved along the passage with Rossi behind him, he said, “If he happens to turn up, tell him I’m here, won’t you? It’s a long time since we met.”
    “I will tell him, but I fear he won’t come. Always in July he comes; never in September. Next year perhaps.”
    They moved into the shop and Don glanced at the thin, dark girl behind the bench who was hastily making yet another prancing horse. She didn’t look up, but just for a moment her fingers faltered, and she had to discard the rod of glass she was working with.
    Don paused near her.
    “You work late hours here?” he said to Rossi.
    “We have to, signore. The tourists expect to buy at night. We don’t close until eleven-thirty.”
    “That’s late. At that time I shall be enjoying a brandy at Florian’s,” Don said, pitching his voice so the girl could hear.
    “Well, I’ll be in again.”
    Without looking up the girl gave a quick little nod of her head. It could have meant something or nothing. Don nodded to Rossi and walked out into the still, hot air of the Calle.
    He hadn’t learned a great deal, but he was far from being discouraged. He had made contact. Rossi knew more than he said: that much was obvious. The girl also seemed to know something, and she was trying to be cooperative. Her mysterious secrecy bothered Don. Was Rossi in the opposite camp, if there was an opposite camp? It looked like it. Well, he had told her where she could find him and she had appeared to understand.
    In a little over three hours he would go to the Piazza San Marco and wait for her. He decided now to call on the Moderno Hotel and see if they had any news of Tregarth. As he walked slowly away from the glass shop, he failed to notice Rossi who was standing in his shop doorway, signal to a short, thickset man in a black suit and black hat who lolled in a shop doorway.
    The thickset man immediately went after Don.
    On the fondamenta, in sight of the Rialto Bridge, a tall, thin man in a white suit and white hat was staring aimlessly across the Canal. As the thickset man passed him he jerked his thumb towards