“Not a conclusion,” Dr. Lytton laughed. “An inevitability. Whom does she protect? Her mother. The thing answers itself. Her mother, of course. Miss Ballau is trying to save her mother from being arrested for the murder of Victor Ballau. And Miss Ballau’s mother is the Floria who baffles us. And I think if we caught a train tonight we would find this Floria hidden away somewhere in Rollo, Maine.” “Will you go?” De Medici asked gently. “And you?” Dr. Lytton fixed his excited eyes on his friend. “I would rather stay near Florence,” he answered. “Very well.” Dr. Lytton stood up. “Of course the unexpected may upset us. One must always keep one’s mind open to the unexpected and study it and resolve it automatically into the expected. But at this moment I am convinced that Rollo, Maine, is the end of our search.” De Medici appeared to galvanize into sudden activity. “Excellent, Hugo,” he cried. “I’ll telephone. There must be a train leaving before morning. It’s only eleven.” He busied himself raising the railroad information clerk on the wire. “She leaves at eleven thirty,” De Medici cried, hanging up. “Just enough time for you to take it. Gets in to Rollo or somewhere near Rollo at daybreak.” “Thanks.” Dr. Lytton looked at him. “I’ll take it. And you’ll probably hear by telegraph from me before noon.” The two men shook hands. “Calm, now,” Dr. Lytton smiled. De Medici was bustling him out of the room. “Good-by,” he called, “and good luck.” “Thanks,” said the doctor. For a moment he hesitated, his eyes questioningly on the elongated face of his host. Then with a shrug of his shoulders the pathologist walked away in the direction of the Grand Central station. De Medici returned to his room—the room of shadows and pointed candle flames where a few hours before the intolerable vision had sent him sprawling in horror at the curtain edge. Sighing, he seated himself in the chair. Thank God, the prying, restless eyes of his friend were gone. He was alone. He could breathe, think, allow telltale expressions to play over his face. All without fear ... of what? De Medici shook his head. His finger nails scratched at the side of his chair. In response to this curious summons, the curtains over the door stirred. A new shadow swayed across the floor. The lithe, black body of a cat approached the scratching with stiff-legged caution. De Medici watched the animal pause in the center of the room, its back languidly arched under the yellow candle rays. Its eyes burned in the half dark—two tiny crosses green and phosphorescent. “Ah,” murmured De Medici, staring at his pet, “I must be wary.” He laughed. “Fool! And what do you think, Francesca?” His hand stretched toward the waiting cat. It approached and stood nearer his feet. Its burning eyes seemed fastened on his. He sat silent, watching the animal.