Maia was gone a long time. I went out in yesterday's tunic anyway.
My first task was to check with the Censor the date of Helena's divorce. The record office was closed because it was a public holiday, a frequent menace in Rome. I knew the watchman, who was used to me turning up out of hours; he let me in by the side entrance for his usual modest fee.
The document I wanted must have been deposited early last year, because afterwards Helena had gone to Britain to forget about her failed marriage, which was where she met me. Knowing that, I found the paperwork in an hour. My wild stab had been unerringly accurate: Helena Justina had shed her husband eighteen months ago. If Pertinax wanted her to marry him within the time limit for inheritance, he had just three days left.
Next I walked around the Aventine, hunting for the man who might identify the big iron key I found hidden in that chest. This was my own sector, though among one-man byways where I rarely went. Eventually I bumped round a corner where some slack-mannered basket weaver had piled giant hampers and panniers all over the pavement, lethal to passers-by. I stubbed my toe on the kerb while I was looking out for the antisocial caneware, then came across a fountain where a river god was contemplating the sad rivulets that trickled from his navel as morosely as he had been three months before. Kneeling in the lichen, I scooped up a drink then started banging on doors.
When I found the right apartment, its burly, black-bearded occupant was at home, relaxing after lunch.
'I'm Didius Falco. We met once…' He did remember me. 'I'm going to show you something. I want to know where it belongs. But only tell me if you feel sure enough to repeat it in a court of law.'
I produced the iron key. The man held it in one hand and gave due consideration before he spoke. It was nothing special: the straight sort, with a large oval handloop and three plain teeth of even lengths. But my potential witness ran his forefinger over a faintly scratched letter 'H' which I had noticed myself on the widest part of the stem. Then he looked up, with those deep, dark, beautiful oriental eyes.
'Yes,' said the priest of the Little Temple of Hercules Gaditanus sadly. 'That is our missing Temple key.'
At last: hard evidence.