‘Do you know a Mr Henri Beyle?’ Ziani asked bluntly to the effect of restoring the searching smile with which she’d greeted him.
‘What woman in the high society of Milan wouldn’t know Henri, Lieutenant?’
‘Madame Angela Pietragrua may have recently invited Beyle and his French friend into your box at the theatre?’
‘You’re well informed! A week ago, for Mozart’s Requiem. Henri came with a friend he introduced as a Monsieur Louis; he was an unremarkable, lame sort who was quiet, but dressed in a very refined manner’.
‘Would you care to explain to me why this gentleman encased a vial full of opium in paper on which was written the number of your box?’
‘Certainly not! I believe you to be the one to uncover that!’
‘Do you make personal use of opiates, Countess?’
‘I know I may ap
