"God help me!" whispered the daughter of Ferara, crossing herself with uncertain hand. She was staring affrightedly at Vittoria. "God help me!" She kept repeating the words and gesture.
Blake turned inquiringly to the other woman and read the truth in her eyes.
"Good Lord!" he cried. "He is her—"
She nodded. "They were to be married."
Oliveta began speaking slowly to her foster sister. "Yes, it is indeed true. I have suspected something, but I dared not tell you all—the things he said—all that I half learned and would not ask about. I was afraid to know. I closed my eyes and my ears. Body of Christ! And all the time my father's blood was on his hands!"
Vittoria appealed helplessly to Blake. "You see how it is. What is to be done?"
But his attention was all centered upon Oliveta, whose face was changing curiously.
"His blood!" she exclaimed. "I have loved that infamous man. His hands—" She let her gaze fall to her own, as if they too might be stained from contact.
"Does Maruffi know who you really are?" he asked.
Vittoria answered; "No. She would have told him soon; we were waiting until we had run down those men. You see, it was largely through her that I worked. Those things which I could not discover she learned from—him. It was she who secured the names of Di Marco and Garcia and the others."