“Inconceivable imbeciles,” De Medici’s musing began again. “They let her go. They had only to confront her with the telephone call. Cort must have told them, as he told me. And her flight from the theater. Either they have neither eyes nor intelligence ... or they wait. Ah, he looks at me. Next ... yes, they will ask me questions now. There was blood on my hands when the detective came in. I must remember to explain about that. Hm, they keep whispering. They know something. About whom?” His eyes turned slowly toward Florence. He would speak to her. Had she forgotten that he loved her, that his heart was at her feet? Yes, she was cold. Even in the cab.... She had spoken calmly, almost indifferently, during their ride. But her arms had come around him. A kiss—a long, burning kiss. A shudder of delight confused the memory. He heard his name called. He stood up and walked to the chair, his brain clear again. He was calm. “I must be careful,” his thought continued as he approached the table. “They are waiting with something ... I must not corroborate the suicide. They know better. It’s part of a plan ... against her.” He bowed stiffly to the coroner and sat down. He leaned back in the chair, his hands folded in his lap, and answered the opening questions with precision. Having established his identity and his connection with the Ballau family, the coroner proceeded. Q. “Now tell us, Mr. De Medici, when you last saw Mr. Ballau alive.” A. “It was around eight o’clock that evening.” Q. “What was he doing?” A. “He was telephoning people to come to the supper.” Q. “How did he impress you with regard to his state of mind?” A. “He was in good spirits. He was pleased that I had obtained Miss Ballau’s consent to marry me. He seemed as happy as myself.” Q. “And you left the apartment around eight?” A. “Yes.” Q. “Where did you go?” A. “I walked in Broadway for an hour, dropped in at the Rienza for a bite of food, and then went to call for Miss Ballau at the theater.” Q. “What time was that?” It would be necessary to lie here. But he must be careful and evasive wherever possible. A. “It was twenty minutes after ten.” Q. “Did you see Miss Ballau?” A. “No, she had just left.” Q. “Did you ask any questions of anyone?” Ah, they had Cort up their sleeve. They would produce him next and confound him with the man’s testimony. De Medici’s eyes glanced slowly around the room as if in quest of a memory. Cort was not to be seen. A. “I don’t remember to whom I spoke. I recall asking someone where Miss Ballau was and they told me she had left.” Q. “Did you think it strange that Miss Ballau should leave the theater in the middle of the show?” Ah, now they were closing in. His eyes rested intently upon the reddish face of Lieutenant Norton. The man was watching him, as he had watched him that night in the apartment. A. “Yes, I thought it odd. But I knew Miss Ballau was under mental stress.” Q. “What sort of mental stress?”