The detective went in, looked about and suddenly pounced upon a towel
on which there were stains of blood.
"What is this?" he asked sharply. "What is the meaning of this?"
Malipieri showed his scarred hands.
"After I got out of the vault, I washed here," he said. "I had cut my
hands a good deal, as you see. Of course the blood came off on the
towels."
The detective assumed his smile of professional cunning.
"I understand," he said. "But do you generally wash in your servant's
room?"
"No. It happened to be convenient when I got in. There was water here,
and there were towels."
"It is strange," said the detective.
Even Volterra looked curiously at Malipieri, for he was much puzzled.
But he was impatient, too, and came to the rescue.
"Do you not see," he asked of the detective, "that Signor Malipieri
was covered with dust and that his clothes were very wet? There they
are, lying on the floor. He did not wish to go to his bedroom as he
was, taking all that dirt and dampness with him, so he came here."
"That is a sufficient explanation, I am sure," said Malipieri.
"Perfectly, perfectly," answered the detective, smiling. "Wrap up
those towels in a newspaper," he said to the two soldiers. "We will
take them with us. You see," he continued in an apologetic tone, "we
are obliged to be very careful in the execution of our duties.
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