Q. “What, exactly, if you remember, did Mr. De Medici say?”
A. “I recall that he humorously bewailed the habits of his great-great-grandmother and added that if he had enough money he would buy the entire De Medici collection in my keeping and drop it in the middle of the Atlantic.”
“That will be all, Mr. Meyerson,” said the coroner. “Call Miss Florence Ballau.”
CHAPTER VI
LABYRINTHS OF BLOOD
In which a detective attaches a pair of asses’ ears to his head—In which Julien De Medici removes for a moment a mask—In which a glimpse, incredible and disturbing, is caught of the soul of Florence Ballau—Who blew out the candle of the salamanders?
A climax! Florence Ballau.... There had been innuendoes in the press. She arose—a figure out of the depths of melodrama. Her black attire, the tilted and somber hat that shadowed her face—the night-flower face that had captured Broadway....
“As beautiful and imperious as a somnambulist,” mused De Medici. He felt his heart move after her as she left her seat. “And now they will uncover their little traps.”
His eyes turned fearfully to the silent and reddish Lieutenant Norton.
“An amiable spider,” he shivered, “he waits for her. And she ... dear God ... she will walk slowly and aloofly into his hands.”
The room was stirring with excitement. Murmurs arose around him.