“The inquest stands adjourned until tomorrow,” Coroner Holbein announced as the lieutenant concluded. De Medici remained, without moving, beside the girl. A respite. Nothing had happened. There would be no damning headlines in the press. His eyes studied the face of the girl. She was in danger. The clumsy evasions of the officials were ominous. “Come,” he whispered, “I would like to talk to you.” They made their way through the crowd of friends. De Medici nodded politely in return to the greetings that followed his passage through the room. Norton was watching them, watching them go out together. There would be someone listening when they talked. De Medici leaned close to her ear. “We must get away. Alone.” She nodded. “The theater,” he whispered. It would be empty. Seated on the empty stage facing the vacant seats, they could be certain of not being overheard. “You have avoided me,” he said as they walked in the street. “Yes.” They continued in silence. The morning was brisk. Inside the theater, he led the way to the stage. The curtain was up. The scenery for the first act of his play was in place—dungeon walls and a single door at the rear. “We’ve probably been followed,” he said softly as they sat down in two chairs near the dark footlights. “But we can talk easily here.” “What do you want?” “I love you,” he whispered. “You have forgotten that.” “No.” “Yet you hide from me.” “What do you want?” she repeated. “To warn you,” he whispered. “They know about the telephone call. And about the time you spent in the apartment.” “Yes.” “Tell me....” His voice was soft. His hand sought hers. “Ah, Francesca mia, do you think I care? Does it matter to me? Look at me. Do my eyes hide from you? I adore you. Tell me ... and I will fall at your feet. I will kiss your hands....” “That I killed him?” Her voice was low in a question. “Whatever you wish. Only tell me so I can love you.” “You are strange.” “I am mad with desire for you. Nothing matters to me but that my heart bows before you.” “You believe I killed him?” “I want to save you. They know all I know. We must circumvent them.” “What else do you know?” “I found a purse in the chair that night,” he whispered. “With your initials on it.” “Give it to me.” She held out her hand. He shook his head. “First you must tell me what you know. Then I will obey you blindly.” “There is nothing to tell.” De Medici smiled at her. “Someone called you on the telephone,” he said softly. “And you answered, ‘Oh, God!’ and fled. You were in the apartment for a half hour or more before you gave the alarm. And you removed your costume—the ‘Dead Flower’ costume—which you had worn out of the theater. You ... you washed your hands and face—for there was no make-up on you when I saw you in the vestibule....” [Illustration: {uncaptioned}] His arm had circled her as he talked, his voice had grown warm.