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you?'
    'You'd have to ask him. Maybe he does know the owner.'
    The Marshal said nothing. His big eyes were again roving over the kitchen and its contents.
    'If you want to come in and look around,' said Sweeton, following his glance, 'feel free.'
    'I don't have a warrant.'
    Sweeton shrugged. Despite this remark of the Marshal's, he showed no curiosity as to why inquiries were being made about the owner. After a moment's hesitation the Marshal decided to go in. Sweeton took him round the place in a disinterested way.
    'Nobody ever uses these ground-floor rooms much. Most of us keep to our own rooms.'
    Most of the shutters were closed and the Marshal took off his sunglasses to see better in the gloom. The reception rooms were well, if sparsely, furnished with heavy antiques. The red-tiled floors were dusty and there were tiny mounds of sawdust under the furniture, showing that woodworm had been at work. Everything smelled musty. The stairs and banisters were in smooth grey stone.
    'My room.' The bed was unmade and there were paintings stacked against the walls. A badly painted modernistic landscape was propped on an easel. On the floor beside it stood a flask of wine and a glass. 'I was working when you arrived. The room next to mine was Graham's. It's empty now. I suppose Knut will take it. Do you want to look? 1
    'No.'
    'The bathroom's up those two stairs.'
    Some modernization work had been started in the bathroom and left unfinished. Tiles had been removed from the walls, leaving the cement bare. The fitments were green except for a very old-fashioned white bath with rust marks where the tap had dripped for years.
    'Christian's room is on the other side of this landing. None of the others rooms are in use.' The Marshal only glanced in at the door which had been left slightly ajar. Christian's bed was made and the room was fairly orderly. There were a lot of paperback books. In the few seconds that he stood there looking in, the Marshal managed to take in everything. What he couldn't be sure of was whether John Sweeton had noticed what he had noticed. There was no way of telling from his attitude. Nevertheless, the Marshal saw what he saw. A leather belt dangling from the bedside cabinet, and beside it the two shrivelled halves of a lemon. The other things were probably hidden behind a stack of paperbacks, but even without seeing them the Marshal knew they were there.

CHAPTER 5
    'So I called on the Marshal at Greve on my way back.'
    'Could he tell you anything?' The Captain's voice on the other end of the telephone sounded tired. In fact, he had stayed up practically the whole night waiting for his young plainclothes men to come in from their round of the piazzas and bars where they mingled with drug addicts in the hope of finding the new supplier.
    'Well, he'd had a talk to the agent who said he'd been instructed not to let again once the present contracts ran out. It seems the place was to be restored. Apart from that, he could only repeat that they had never had any trouble with these youngsters. It seems they keep themselves to themselves and there have never been complaints from anyone about them. Of course, they're in a very isolated spot so they could get up to anything without anybody knowing,'
    'And you think they're up to something?'
    'I'm sure that one of the ones who's staying there now is on heroin. I had a quick look at his room and got a glimpse of the usual stuff lying about.'
    'Did you talk to him?'
    'He wasn't there. He comes and goes and nobody knows exactly where he is. We could have a talk to him when he gets back—incidentally, he wasn't on your list of tenants whose contracts you found, so it would be worth having a word with him in case he knew the owner and is staying there under some friendly arrangement, though of course he could just be a squatter. I've asked the Marshal out there tt>keep an eye on the villa and let me know when the boy turns up.'
    'Good. If there's nothing else . . .'
    'Just one