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oppressive, he could not help but admire the grandiose
conception that underlay it.
    Yet as the first
unrewarding results of the investigation became apparent, his
admiration was replaced by a profound frustration, and he wished he
could raze the enormous building, hammer it down into its constituent
stones, because, he thought, only by doing so, only by eliminating
the profusion of formal inessentials and blind alleys it emblemized,
would he ever unearth the vital fact necessary to a solution. Not one
of the Family had failed to account for their whereabouts during the
time of the murder, and though a number of their alibis were
certainly fraudulent, it would be impossible to discredit them in the
time available. No bloodstained clothing had been found, nor was
there evidence that any of the guests suffered from an affliction of
the eye. He had wasted most of an entire night, and he was near the
end of his rope, unable to think how to proceed, when Lady Alexandra
Conforti, perhaps the most powerful women of the Valea branch, burst
into his quarters, followed by a breathless and agitated Giselle.
    “This thing of yours,” said Lady Alexandra coldly, indicating Giselle with
a toss of her long auburn hair, “has had the gall to invade my
rooms.”
    Giselle flushed,
and her cheekbones appeared to sharpen; but she kept silent.
    “I
apologize for whatever inconvenience you may have suffered, but you
must be aware of the exceptional circumstances,” said Beheim,
crossing the bedroom toward Lady Alexandra. “And I would be
grateful if you would refer to my servant either by her position or
by her name—Giselle.”
    Lady Alexandra
turned a deaf ear to this. She looked away from Beheim, offering him
a view of her graceful neck and stunning profile. She was so extreme
in proportion, it was impossible to deem her beautiful in any
ordinary sense of the word. Though her suitors tended to describe her
as “willowy,” as far as Beheim was concerned she gave new
and eccentric meaning to the word, being freakishly tall, nearly four
inches over six feet. Her limbs, particularly her legs, had an alien
elongation. Her heart-shaped face, with its porcelain skin and
lustrous, widely set green eyes, arched eyebrows, and full crimson
mouth, verged upon an erotic caricature. Yet due to the cautious
grace with which her every movement was invested, making a balletic
act out of even the simplest gesture—likely a conscious
compensation for a fear of clumsiness resulting from her unusual
height—and because of the sexual confidence that rose from her
like steam, she nonetheless conveyed an impression of great beauty.
Giselle had apparently caught the lady at her toilette, for she was
wearing a robe of pale blue silk worked with gilt thread, its loose
fit allowing Beheim a glimpse of the freckled upper slopes of her
breasts, cupped in shells of white lace. But from what he knew of the
Valeas, and of Alexandra in particular, who had flirted with him on
several previous occasions, he understood that no matter how
compelling her anger, she would never have visited him dressed in
this fashion unless she had desired her appearance to have an effect,
and this caused him to doubt the depth of her mood, and to wonder
toward what end she wanted to manipulate him.
    “I take it
as an insult that you would send a thing to question me,” she
said, showing him her back. “Send it from the room.”
    Beheim made
silent speech with his eyes to Giselle, at once offering an apology
and asking her to do the lady’s bidding. After she had gone, he
stepped to the lady’s shoulder, an intimate proximity from
which she did not withdraw, and asked in what way he could assist
her.
    With a languid
gesture, keeping her back to him, she held up her right hand, showing
him the antique silver bottle cap that he had discovered on the
turret.
    “I believe
it is I who can help you.”
    “Ah!”
said Beheim, touching the cap with his forefinger. “Then can
you tell me