“Wait a minute!” the creature cried. “She was Florence Bandoux, whose first husband used to own the company at the Goldsmith. And she was Miss Florence’s mother. Yes, I know all about that. You’ve come to the right place, young man, to find out all about that. Nobody knows as much as me what happened at the old Goldsmith.” Through De Medici’s mind flitted the memory of the leather purse he had picked up in the Ballau library on the night of the murder, with the initials F. B. in the corner. “Do you know what became of Florence Bandoux?” he asked. The old woman was staring at him. Her body had grown rigid. “Yes,” she whispered finally, “I know. And I ain’t ever whispered a word of it to anybody. I know what became of Madam Bandoux. Victor Ballau killed her. Don’t you tell anybody I told you, but that’s it. That’s what happened. He killed her, I tell you. He was a murderer, was Victor Ballau. He fooled them all but he didn’t fool me. But he’s dead now and I never said a word of it when he was alive.” De Medici placed his hand soothingly on her arm. “Come now, Fanny, tell me about it. It all happened long ago and there’s nothing to be afraid of, now Mr. Ballau’s dead.” “I’ll tell you, young man,” she answered. “We were to have finished the season, but Ballau took her away. He was stage manager then at the Goldsmith and there was a lot of talk. Madam Bandoux was a great actress but a bad woman. She broke poor Victor’s heart. And after that he took her away and nobody ever heard of her again. Everybody thought she came to America with him. But I know better. She died in England, and he killed her. She broke his heart, I tell you. And that’s why he killed her. When she was young she ran away and married Bandoux, the Frenchman. And a year later she came back to London with the baby Florence. Bandoux came back, too, but he refused to have anything more to do with her. And, what’s more, he said they weren’t married. All the time this went on poor Victor Ballau was in love with her and she threw him over to run off with the Frenchman. But when she came back poor Victor took up with her again. But she hated him. She hated him all the time, and nothing he could do was any use. The girl was Bandoux’s daughter, not Victor’s.” “But how do you know he killed her?” De Medici persisted softly.