The Russian, who had not spoken a word, and moved like a man in a dream, allowed Cacciola to remove his dripping overcoat and push him into an easy chair. He was a delicate-looking, handsome-featured young man, who seemed, and was, dazed with grief and horror.
Rapidly, but quite coherently, Giulia poured out her story in broken English, frequently lapsing into Italian, to be as frequently, though gently, checked by her master. Much of it was already known to Snell, but there were one or two fresh and illuminative points.
“La Donna Paula,” the name by which the old woman designated Lady Rawson, had come quite early, soon after the maestro’s departure, demanding to see Signor Boris, who was away, Giulia did not know where. Then she telephoned to Blackheath, in the hope of speaking to the maestro, and learnt he was not expected there to-day, and presently she tried to telephone again, but lo! the instrument would not serve—it was out of order!
(“So that’s why she went to the call office,” Snell mentally commented, having already noticed the telephone on a table beside the piano.)
Donna Paula appeared very impatient, also agitated, and when the bell rang bade Giulia deny that she was or had been there, if one should ask for her, and, of a verity, the young signor who came did so, and ask oh, very many questions.
“Did he tell you his name?” interposed Snell.
“But no, signor. Yet I learnt it later, for soon after Donna Paula had gone, the portaire ring and give me a little silver case he find, with a name on it that I forget, for then the signor there come, and I give him the case, and he have it now, and he tell me Donna Paula have been murdered, and I know not what to do or to say, but I wait and wait for you or Signor Boris, and no one come till late, so late, when yet another signor arrive, and say he also is of the police and ask for the little silver case, and I tell him I have it not. That is the truth—you have the case still, signor?”
She whirled round towards Snell, who spoke soothingly.
“Yes, yes, that’s all right, signora. Nobody’s blaming you for anything, and you’ve told your story admirably. Thank you very much. And now, sir, if you please, we’ll have our chat.”
“Go, my good Giulia,” said Cacciola, “and be not so distressed, though, indeed, we are all cut to the heart. Now, signor?”