“I told you that Miss Ballau eluded us,” he said, “a few days after the inquest. But my men picked up her trail again two days ago. She had hidden herself in a cheap rooming-house district. We watched her closely. She remained secluded for a day without emerging once. But yesterday morning she left her rooming house. She went straight to the Ballau apartment. She was heavily veiled and escaped the doorman’s attention. She went up in the elevator and let herself in with the key. Michaelson of my staff was on guard in the apartment. He’d been there since the night of the murder—waiting. He heard Miss Ballau enter and, unseen by her, watched her. He followed her down the hall and saw her enter her bedroom. But she was almost too quick for him. Before he was able to get to her, she had lighted a candle and set fire to a letter taken from her bureau drawer.”
The detective paused and, with a return of his former composure, extracted a small envelope from the manila wrapper on his desk. From the envelope he carefully removed the fragments of a piece of charred letter paper.
“Michaelson managed to save this,” he added.
De Medici and the doctor arose and stared at the burned fragment. All that was visible was the last line of what evidently had been a short letter. The line read:
“So I warn you I am desperate....”
Beneath the line was part of the signature. The flame had burned away all but the letters F-l-o-r....
“Floria,” murmured De Medici.
“Florence,” announced the detective, “Florence Ballau.”
Raising his voice, he added to an aide in the doorway:
“Bring Miss Ballau in here....”