This was what I wanted, to question the waiter alone, and I welcomed
the opportunity.

"I know it was Miss Van Allen," was the quiet response of the Italian
to my inquiry. "I cannot be mistaken. I had seen her many times during
the evening. I, therefore, recognized the gown she wore, of light
yellow gauzy stuff and an over-dress of long gold bead fringes. I saw
her stand above the fallen body, looking down at it with a horrified
face. I saw stains of blood on her gown--"

"Where?" I interrupted. "What part of her gown?"

Luigi thought a moment. "On the lower flounces, as if her skirts had
brushed against the--the victim, when she stooped over him."

"Did she herself observe these stains?"

"Yes; she looked at them, and looked frightened and then she ran to
the hall."

"And you saw no other person near?"

"None."

"And heard nobody?"

"I heard only the voices from the parlor. There was much noise of
laughter and talk there."

No amount of questioning could change or add to Luigi's story. It was