“No. He also is out with my uncle.”
“I see. I’m sorry to have troubled you, signorina. I’ll ring up again to-morrow.”
“Will you not tell me your name?”
“Austin Starr. But he may not remember it.”
“I will tell him, Mr. Starr. Good-bye.”
He replaced the receiver, and again sat in thought, drumming softly with his fingers on the table.
So she was Cacciola’s niece, and was living, or at least staying, with him, under the same roof as Boris Melikoff.
What a voice! Worthy of her face, her eyes. And a beautiful name too; he found himself repeating it in a whisper: “Maddelena!”