I got in touch with Ricori and asked him to take dinner with Braile and me that night at my house. At
seven he arrived, telling his chauffeur to return at ten. We sat at the table with McCann, as usual, on
watch in my hall, thrilling, I knew, my two night nurses-I have a small private hospital adjunct-by
playing the part of a gunman as conceived by the motion pictures.
Dinner over, I dismissed the butler and came to the point. I told Ricori of my questionnaire, remarking
that by it I had unearthed seven cases similar to that of Peters.
"You can dismiss from your mind any idea that Peters' death was due to his connection with you,
including the tiny globes of radiance in the blood of Peters."
At that his face grew white. He crossed himself.
"La strega!" he muttered. "The Witch! The Witch-fire!"