“What else do you know?”
“I found a purse in the chair that night,” he whispered. “With your initials on it.”
“Give it to me.” She held out her hand. He shook his head.
“First you must tell me what you know. Then I will obey you blindly.”
“There is nothing to tell.”
De Medici smiled at her.
“Someone called you on the telephone,” he said softly. “And you answered, ‘Oh, God!’ and fled. You were in the apartment for a half hour or more before you gave the alarm. And you removed your costume—the ‘Dead Flower’ costume—which you had worn out of the theater. You ... you washed your hands and face—for there was no make-up on you when I saw you in the vestibule....”
His arm had circled her as he talked, his voice had grown warm.
“Francesca mia!” he cried suddenly. He had raised her to her feet, and drawn her passionately against him. He spoke with his lips close to her.