'Did you see Galli's article?'
'What article?'
'I thought I saw you reading it, the one about—'
'I'm not likely to get time to read the newspaper until next October. What's happening about that lost child that's been brought in?'
'We're still trying to trace the parents. She's obviously foreign but she's so tiny and we can't work out what language she speaks, so—'
'Where's the report about that car?'
'You've got it in your hand, Marshal, I just gave it to you . . .'
'Right. I'll be in my office. See to those people in the waiting-room, the woman's had her bag snatched, passport, traveller's cheques, the lot—and give her a glass of water, she's upset.'
And Lorenzini watched him stump off, papers in hand, to his office, grumbling under his breath as he did from Easter to September every year:
'I don't know what they come here for, they'd do better to stay at home . . .'