“Two years.”
“Anything else?”
“Well—her record is not exactly an unblemished one, signore,” the detective went on. “After her release she went to Paris and was in the service of a young French actress, Mademoiselle Yvonne Barlet, of the Gymnase. While there she passed herself off as a young lady of good family and became friendly with a wealthy young Frenchman, whose name, however I do not know.”
“And what else?”
“She returned to Italy and then entered the service of the Countess Cioni.”
“But this Countess Cioni—who is she? I do not seem to have heard of her in Rome Society.”
“She is not known—except in a certain circle. One of her intimate friends, however, is Her Royal Highness, the Princess Luisa.”
“The Princess Luisa?” echoed the Englishman. “Yes, signore. But, as you have heard, the Princess makes many strange and unfortunate friendships. She is, I fear, rather foolish.”
“But surely this friendship ought to be put a stop to, Signor Pucci. It is impossible for a Princess of the blood-royal to associate with such a person as this Contessa Cioni.”
The detective shrugged his shoulders and elevated his dark eyebrows.