“And also mine,” he exclaimed. “I am glad you have told me this, for it throws considerable light upon my discovery.”
“Discovery?” I echoed. “What have you discovered?”
“The identity of the woman in black who visited Miss Wynd last night.”
“You’ve discovered her—already?” I cried. “Who was she?”
“A woman known as La Gioia,” responded the queer old fellow, puffing a cloud of rank smoke from his heavy lips.
“La Gioia?” I gasped, open-mouthed and rigid. “La Gioia! And you have found her?”
“Yes; I have found her.”