“The truth,” repeated itself from her lips.
“Do you remember the murder of your stepfather?”
She shuddered. Her eyes moved as if they were struggling. Her hands quivered in her lap. But her lips remained firm.
“The truth,” Dr. Lytton whispered close to her. “Tell me the truth. There is nothing to fear. I’m your friend. I demand that you tell me what happened. Did you kill Victor Ballau?”
“No,” the lips moaned. “I came ... I came in....”
The girl swayed in the chair and the sentence remained unfinished.
“Go on,” Dr. Lytton spoke gently. He paused. She continued silent. “Listen, then,” he said, “tell me, then, who is Floria? Come, I insist on it. Who is Floria?”
The girl’s body shuddered. Her lips moved but made no sound.
“Acting,” De Medici whispered miserably to himself. “She wants to tell us something but can’t think clearly what.... No, not that. She does just what she wishes. She confuses us, leaves us up in the air more than before....” He caught a glimpse of Norton’s intent and reddish face.
“Who is Floria?” repeated Dr. Lytton.