“She, no doubt, knows the chief source of his income—eh?”
“Without a doubt.”
Then Waldron thought deeply. A strange theory had crossed his mind.
“Has she a maid?”
“Yes, signore, a young woman from Borghetto named Velia Bettini.”
Waldron scribbled the name upon his shirt-cuff together with the address of the young Countess Cioni.
“Anything known of this maid?”
Pucci, who had done thoroughly the work entrusted to him, reflected for a moment, and then diving his hand into his breast-pocket, drew forth a well-worn note-book, which he searched for a few moments.
“Yes,” he replied. “I made a few inquiries at the Prefecture concerning her. She was previously in the service of the Marchesa di Martini, of Genoa, and was sentenced to six months’ imprisonment for stealing jewellery belonging to her.”
“How long ago?”