The

listen to that

listen to that either.”
“On the other hand,” Kat added, no longer smiling, “I can tell you who killed Bishop Capuletti.”
“She . . . never . . .”—pant—“did it, Dorma.” It was Lodovico Montescue, red faced, with rivulets of sweat on his choleric face. He looked ready to keel over.
“Grandpapa!”
“Away from him . . . girl.” The old man went off into a paroxysm of coughing. Benito, quicker on the uptake than most, grabbed a chair from against the wall and sat the old man down on it. “Thank you. You’re a good lad. Listen, Dorma. My granddaughter knows nothing about this . . . killing.”
“I do.” Kat said firmly.
Lodovico shook his head. “She’s got a maggot in her head about this Marco Valdosta here. But leave my granddaughter out of this. I’ve forsworn my