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you can send her away.'
    At this point the Marshal, too, fished out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. Perhaps he'd do better to go home and leave Franco to deal with the whole business. The woman continued to stare straight ahead. What on earth did she want? He went in to her.
    'Well? Did you want to speak to me?'
    The old woman looked at him as if he weren't quite right in the head.
    'Just tell me whether you want me to stay or go,' she said.
    Since he couldn't find a reply to that, it was just as well that she added after a moment, 'I haven't touched her. Franco said to wait for your permission.'
    'I see. You've come to lay her out, is that it?'
    'Of course. As she has nobody I'll stay the night.'
    'No, no. She'll be taken away.'
    'I understand. Franco said there might be formalities.'
    'Formalities, that's right. I'd rather you left, if you don't mind.'
    'I said, didn't I? Just tell me whether you want me to stay or go. As you want me to go . . .' She stood up, very tiny and neat.
    'Wait. . . Did you know her well?'
    'Clementina? Of course. Everybody knew her.'
    'But som'e must have known her better than others.'
    She thought for a moment and then said, 'No.'
    'How do you mean?'
    'They didn't. Everybody knew her the same way.'
    'Well, would you mind leaving me your name and address, anyway.'
    'There's no need. I live next door, and if you want me just tell Franco and he'll give me a shout.' And she was gone.
    It was Pippo who let her out. He had lit a cigarette, perhaps absent-mindedly, and now he hovered on the landing, shuffling from one foot to the other and wishing that he, too, could leave.
    The Marshal, who had remained in the bedroom, called to him, 'Somebody down there wants you.'
    The noise below the window had increased and a number of people were calling Pippo's name. He went to the window, the cigarette dangling from his mouth, and leaned out. The Marshal stood back and watched him without comment. Pippo's white shirt, no doubt his best one put on for the holiday, was stuck to his back with sweat. The sunset had faded but it was no cooler.
    'What's up?'
    'Your wife said to say she's gone back up. The kids have to eat.'
    'All right.'
    'What's going on up there?'
    Pippo shrugged his shoulders and then leaned out further as a car horn hooted and the crowd began to open up. Somebody shouted, 'Second floor!'
    Pippo withdrew his head.
    'Somebody's arriving. I can't see who on account of the scaffolding.'
    The Marshal went to the door. It sounded like a whole army was pounding up the stairs. The Substitute Prosecutor appeared first, looking up at the Marshal and taking the steps two at a time.
    'Good evening, sir—' the Marshal began.
    'Where is she?'
    'Here, in the kitchen. I don't think there'll be room for you all at once.' For the Prosecutor had his registrar with him and behind them came the lab people and the photographer laden with equipment.
    'What's in there?' demanded the Prosecutor.
    'The bedroom.'
    'Doctor!'
    The doctor from the Medico-Legal Institute emerged from the group on the stairs and pushed his way forward.
    'In here.'
    The Marshal barely had time to remove the ridiculous tea-towel from the corpse before the Prosecutor snapped, 'Who moved her?'
    'The man who found her,' the Marshal said, straightening up slowly. Surely the Prosecutor couldn't imagine he'd done it? 'He found her with her head in the gas oven and thought he might be in time to—'
    'Gas oven? Doctor . . .'
    The doctor had made his way into the kitchen, stepping across the body. Now he bent over it.
    'Who's moved her?'
    The Marshal mopped his brow and began again, 'The man who found her. It seems—'
    'Found her with her head in the gas oven,' interrupted the Prosecutor.
    The doctor frowned.
    'Well, we'd better talk about it after the autopsy . . .'
    The Marshal was more than a little annoyed. He knew as well as they did that those wine-coloured marks on the body showed how it had lain after death and that if she'd really died of