 So I continued along the oceanfront, crossed over into Venice, and kept right on going. The old canals and the bridges looked more sad and forlorn than ever in the pale moonlight, with the sea in the background adding its lonely rhythm of sound. The shot had come from somewhere over by the canals. Then I saw the man on the bridge, staggering, weaving like a drunk. I headed toward him on the double, but before I could reach him, he stumbled and fell on his face.