The Bellini Card

28

Scarcely one hundred yards from where a baffled courtesan was sitting up in Palewski’s bed, arms folded and a frown on her pretty face, Count Barbieri was taking leave of the contessa.

“I regret, Carla, that I have some matters to arrange.”

“Some matters? How mysterious you are, Barbieri.”

He did not miss the absence of a smile. He was about to reply but thought better of it; instead, he kissed her hand. “I wish you fortune,” he said, glancing at the tables that the footmen had already set up.

“We will see you next time, then,” she replied, turning from him.

Downstairs, he made for the water gate, where his gondola was waiting; the jetty creaked and for a moment he paused, looking up at the stars. Brushing the slender mooring pole with one hand, he stepped lightly into the fragile craft and sat down, leaning back against the cushions. He’d been right to leave while the night was still beautiful, before he lost money.

Barbieri raised his head and contemplated the stars. He felt the gentle dip of the boat as the gondolier took his place on the deck behind him.

Upstairs, the contessa was leading her guests to the gaming tables.

The gondola moved forward from its mooring with a soft sigh. The light from the contessa’s windows purled on the inky surface of the canal; overhead, the stars hung brightly in a moonless sky. In no other city in the world, the count was thinking, could one so well appreciate the heavens.

It was a suitable reflection for a man who was about to die.

For rowing a gondola is not easy, and the count’s throat presented an unblemished target.

The killer let the oar slide soundlessly into the water and unsheathed his knife.