The Seventh Sinner - Elizabeth Peters [17]
For a while Jean forgot about the intruder. Then another flurry around the refreshment table caught her attention. Andy was no longer there, but José and Ted had joined Albert. After a moment Ann broke away and came hurrying toward Jean. She was flushed and distressed.
“What’s the matter?” Jean asked.
“Oh, just Albert being Albert.”
“What did he do, pinch you?”
“After a year in Rome I’m used to being pinched,” Ann said. “That nasty little…If I were sure he’s only ignorant and uncouth I wouldn’t mind so much.”
“I know what you mean. Can’t the boys sort of edge him out of here?”
“The minute Andy left…” Ann was still preoccupied with her grievance.
“He’s back,” Jean said. “He’s offering Albert more wine. I think he’s trying to get him drunk.”
Reluctantly, Ann turned.
“That won’t work. Most people get more repulsive when they’re drunk. Can you picture Albert?”
Ann was honestly distressed. She seemed close to tears, despite her caustic comments. Jean put her arm around the other girl.
“Let the boys handle him. Why should we be noble?”
Ann produced a faint smile.
“They really are great—Ted and José, I mean. They both came rushing up when they saw I was having a hard time. If they hadn’t—”
She broke off with a gasp as someone screamed.
It was only an overexcitable young lady who had misinterpreted the scene now transpiring. Whether Andy had planned it or not, Albert had definitely taken too much of something. He began to fold up, with Andy holding one arm and José the other. Carefully the two lowered him until he lay on his back on the floor. Even in unconsciousness Albert was not silent. He snored hideously.
“Out cold,” Andy said, in the midst of a fascinated silence. “Somebody help me with him. Mike, Carlo—”
Michael put his sketch pad away.
“What did you do, slip him a Mickey?”
“I was thinking of it,” Andy admitted. “He must have had a few drinks before he got here. He couldn’t pass out on a couple of glasses of wine.”
“Get him out of here, Andy,” Ann said. She stared down at the prostrate form, her face a mask of disgust. “What a mess!”
Michael reached out to help, but Andy needed none. Stooping, he hoisted the limp body to his shoulder. The boy named Carlo followed him out. Jean gathered that Carlo had been elected to return Albert to the shabby room he called home.
“That young man is getting to be a problem,” said José.
“A well-developed persecution complex,” Ted agreed.
“But if someone robbed him…” Jean began.
“A delusion,” José said. “The poor wretch has nothing worth stealing. Even his clothing is cheap, worn—”
“Perhaps he has lost his priceless collection of holy pictures,” Ted said callously. “I thought I caught a reference to Saint Petronella. Whoever she was.”
Jacqueline and Scoville joined the group in time to hear the last comment.
Scoville shook his head.
“I must say, this lad is an unprepossessing specimen. I remember his father, vaguely. Never amounted to much…. Why did you take up with him, after all these years, Ann?”
Andy, dusting his hands ostentatiously, came back into the room. His grin faded as he heard his father’s question.
“He picked us up,” he said, scowling. “And he’s no weirder than some of your pals.”
Scoville laughed and slapped his son on the back. Andy looked stoical, and the others, slightly embarrassed by this display of parental regard, pretended not to notice.
“That’s the truth. Right on. I guess it runs in the family. Andy has a weakness for lame ducks. I remember that poor kid—”
“Why Petronella?” Ann said. “I never heard of a saint by that name.”
“Rome is full of churches dedicated to saints nobody ever heard of,” Andy said irritably.
“But the legends are interesting,” Dana drawled. She leaned gracefully against the