“Go on,” she said. “What else was there?”
Galen was on his feet as quickly as a big dog. He glanced at the Saint with quizzical wariness as Simon stood up more leisurely.
“Do you know this lady?”
“Certainly,” said the Saint calmly. “She is Signora Ravenna.”
Galen almost relaxed.
“A thousand pardons. You should have told me your wife—”
“I am not his wife,” the young woman cut him short passionately. “My husband was murdered last night, by robbers who stole his briefcase with the things he brought to sell. This impostor is an American who calls himself Tombs — he is probably the employer of the men who killed my husband!”
Galen moved easily around the couch, without apparent haste or agitation.
That is quite an extraordinary statement,” he remarked temperately. “But no doubt one of you can at least prove your identity.”
“I can,” said Signora Ravenna. She fumbled in her handbag. “I can show you my passport. Ask him to show you his!”