The evening was warm; the spacious rooms were heavy with smoky body heat and a growing number of guests took their refreshment in wicker Madeira chairs in the garden. Irina drifted through it in an uneasy search.
The shadows beyond the villa were deep; around the lamps moths jazzed and Irina felt the day’s heat begin to lift. The manicured hedges made an exact circle and the lawn was a green disc with a round bed of vivid flowers at its axis.
She didn’t find what she sought; she went on inside the villa-still looking for the bald man in the rumpled suit. It had become a serious quest now because somewhere in the past half hour she had realized what it was that had alarmed her about the man.
It was the slight dent in the skirt of his coat that could have been made by the handle of a pistol in his belt.