“Florence,” he whispered, “remember ... regardless of anything—I adore you.”
Fifteen minutes had passed and Lieutenant Norton appeared.
“I’d like to see you,” he said, nodding at De Medici. He followed the detective into the room. For a second time the amazingly disordered room confronted him.
“I’ve made a hasty examination,” Norton began. “I’ve also sent for Dr. Greer, the physician for our squad. He’ll be here shortly. In the meantime we can talk over a few things. When did this happen? I mean exactly. Do you know?”
The eyes of the detective rested on De Medici’s stained fingers as he spoke. De Medici held his hand to the light.
“Hardly evidence,” he answered the man’s unspoken question. “I got that on my fingers when I kneeled over the body to look at the wound.”
Norton nodded. De Medici continued and repeated the scant information he had at his command—starting with the appearance of Florence Ballau in the vestibule of the apartment.
“Hm,” muttered the detective. Then after a pause, “I see. Nothing much. Did you notice what he has in his hand?”
He pointed to the dead man and De Medici bent over the body. He stared with surprise. The fingers of Victor Ballau were clutched around a short, pointed false beard—a black Vandyke.
“It was a man, then,” De Medici murmured.