“As I said,” Norton added sourly, “the point is of minor importance. If you don’t like that theory there’s another. The false beard was placed in the dead man’s hand by Miss Ballau and the mucilage added. A part of her camouflage to put us on a wrong scent.” “Very nice,” Dr. Lytton smiled, “except that, if I recall, the dead man was clutching the thing. His fingers had to be unfastened. However, we may pass over this point, as you say.” The doctor chuckled. “Just one moment, if you please,” Norton cried, “before you laugh too heartily. I expect Miss Ballau’s confession by morning. In the meantime you may be interested in the circumstances of her arrest.” He had grown heavily sarcastic. “I told you that Miss Ballau eluded us,” he said, “a few days after the inquest. But my men picked up her trail again two days ago. She had hidden herself in a cheap rooming-house district. We watched her closely. She remained secluded for a day without emerging once. But yesterday morning she left her rooming house. She went straight to the Ballau apartment. She was heavily veiled and escaped the doorman’s attention. She went up in the elevator and let herself in with the key. Michaelson of my staff was on guard in the apartment. He’d been there since the night of the murder—waiting. He heard Miss Ballau enter and, unseen by her, watched her. He followed her down the hall and saw her enter her bedroom. But she was almost too quick for him. Before he was able to get to her, she had lighted a candle and set fire to a letter taken from her bureau drawer.” The detective paused and, with a return of his former composure, extracted a small envelope from the manila wrapper on his desk. From the envelope he carefully removed the fragments of a piece of charred letter paper. “Michaelson managed to save this,” he added. De Medici and the doctor arose and stared at the burned fragment. All that was visible was the last line of what evidently had been a short letter. The line read: “So I warn you I am desperate....” Beneath the line was part of the signature. The flame had burned away all but the letters F-l-o-r.... “Floria,” murmured De Medici. “Florence,” announced the detective, “Florence Ballau.” Raising his voice, he added to an aide in the doorway: “Bring Miss Ballau in here....” CHAPTER IX THE HIDDEN VOICE In which a scientist half opens a reluctant door—The strange sleep of Florence Ballau—The broken murmur—“It was ... it was ...”—In which a detective scratches his ear and sighs—In which Julien De Medici puts on his armor. “May I examine this?” Dr. Lytton asked as the aide walked out of the lieutenant’s office. “Yes, of course.” Dr. Lytton and De Medici studied the bit of charred paper. “The lady of the dagger,” the doctor spoke softly. De Medici nodded, and the lieutenant concealed a growing curiosity behind an official indifference.