“Van Nerekool—still that van Nerekool,” hissed the fair woman between her clenched teeth. And then, turning to the pandoppo, she said to one of the ladies who had by this time mounted the platform:
“Look here, Henriette, just look here—this is the kris with which the murder was committed.” The policeman in charge of the table seemed inclined to step forward to forbid the others to approach; but a haughty look from Laurentia restrained him.
“Is that really the kris?” asked Henriette.
“Yes,” exclaimed Laurentia, “look, you! that’s how it was done—slash across the throat!” She accompanied these words with a sweep of the formidable weapon which made both the ladies start back in terror.
“A magnificent woman that Laurentia!” said a young man in the body of the hall. “Just look at her attitude, look at her features, look at that hand as she grasps the dagger! What a lady Macbeth! what a perfect instep!”
“Aye, aye,” quoth another, “she is posing, she knows—she feels—that we are admiring her.”
“What are you frightened at?” continued Mrs. van Gulpendam, “see here, that spot is the blood of the victim, is it not, Mr. Thomasz?”
“Disgusting!” cried both ladies in a breath.
“How can you touch it, my dear madam?”
“Touch it? why not?” scornfully replied Laurentia as she flung back the kris rattling upon the table. “Why not touch it? the thing doesn’t bite.”