“We’ll discuss them more fully later,” Norton continued. “I’m going to the trouble of outlining the case to you because I think you can help me on several points. For instance, this.”
The detective opened a cupboard at the side of his desk and removed a bundle. Unwrapping it, a woman’s gown was revealed.
“Have you ever seen this before?” Norton asked.
De Medici regarded the gown without moving.... A costume, nineteenth century ... Italian, flashed through his mind. Her costume in “The Dead Flower”! No....
“I see you recognize it,” Norton said. “Miss Ballau’s dress in your show, eh?”
De Medici picked up the thing and spread it out. No, not hers. He smiled inwardly. The certainty had come to him that the detective had bungled.
“Never mind,” Norton continued. “I don’t want to trap any evidence from you. We found this dress on the fire escape outside the window of the Ballau library. This dress and”—he stopped, opened a drawer in his desk—“and this crucifix. Do you recognize it?”
“Yes,” murmured De Medici involuntarily. It was the gift he had made Florence to wear with the “Dead Flower” costume—an oddly designed cross of ebony backed with silver.
“Thanks,” Norton smiled. “The dress and the cross were together. But to go on. There are a number of vital points. For instance, Miss Ballau testified that Jane, the housekeeper, let her in that night. We’ve questioned the housekeeper secretly. She’s a simple-minded woman. After some grilling we discovered that she did not let Miss Ballau into the apartment and that the first she knew of that young lady’s presence in the house was the sound of her screaming. And this screaming, you will bear in mind, came fully thirty to thirty-five minutes after Miss Ballau arrived home. On pressing Jane further, we discovered that Miss Ballau had pleaded with her as a vital personal favor on which her life depended, to say that she had let her in at the time and in the manner they both swore to at the coroner’s inquest.”
Dr. Lytton cleared his throat.