THESILENT HOUSE

BYFERGUS HUME

New YorkC. H. DOSCHER

Copyright, 1907, byC. H. DOSCHER

[Illustration: I have ample time at my command, and I shall only betoo happy to place it and myself at your service]

 CONTENTS

 CHAP. PAGE

 I--The Tenant of the Silent House 1

 II--Shadows on the Blind 10

 III--An Unsatisfactory Explanation 20

 IV--Mrs. Kebby's Discovery 29

 V--The Talk of the Town 38

 VI--Mrs. Vrain's Story 47

 VII--The Assurance Money 56

 VIII--Diana Vrain 65

 IX--A Marriage That Was a Failure 74

 X--The Parti-Coloured Ribbon 83

 XI--Further Discoveries 93

 XII--The Veil and Its Owner 101

 XIII--Gossip 111

 XIV--The House in Jersey Street 121

 XV--Rhoda and the Cloak 131

 XVI--Mrs. Vrain at Bay 141

 XVII--A Denial 151

 XVIII--Who Bought the Cloak? 160

 XIX--The Defence of Count Ferruci 169

 XX--A New Development 179

 XXI--Two Months Pass 187

 XXII--At Berwin Manor 196

 XXIII--A Startling Theory 206

 XXIV--Lucian Is Surprised 215

 XXV--A Dark Plot 224

 XXVI--The Other Man's Wife 233

 XXVII--A Confession 241

XXVIII--The Name of the Assassin 252

 XXIX--Link Sets a Trap 262

 XXX--Who Fell into the Trap 272

 XXXI--A Strange Confession 282

 XXXII--The Confession (_continued_) 291

XXXIII--What Rhoda Had to Say 301

 XXXIV--The End of It All 310

THE SILENT HOUSE

CHAPTER I

THE TENANT OF THE SILENT HOUSE

Lucian Denzil was a briefless barrister, who so far departed from thetraditions of his brethren of the long robe as not to dwell within thepurlieus of the Temple. For certain private reasons, not unconnectedwith economy, he occupied rooms in Geneva Square, Pimlico; and, for thepurposes of his profession, repaired daily, from ten to four, toSerjeant's Inn, where he shared an office with a friend equallybriefless and poor. 

This state of things sounds hardly enviable, but Lucian, being young andindependent to the extent of £300 a year, was not dissatisfied with hisposition. As his age was only twenty-five, there was ample time, hethought, to succeed in his profession; and, pending that desirableconsummation, he cultivated the muses on a little oatmeal, after thefashion of his kind. There have been lives less happily circumstanced. 

Geneva Square was a kind of backwater of the great river of town lifewhich swept past its entrance with speed and clamour without disturbingthe peace within. One long, narrow street led from a roaringthoroughfare into a silent quadrangle of tall grey houses, occupied bylodging-house keepers, city clerks and two or three artists, whorepresented the Bohemian element of the place. In the centre there wasan oasis of green lawn, surrounded by rusty iron railings the height ofa man, dotted with elms of considerable age, and streaked with narrowpaths of yellow gravel. 

The surrounding houses represented an eminently respectable appearance, with their immaculately clean steps, white-curtained windows, and neatboxes of flowers. The windows glittered like diamonds, the door-knobsand plates shone with a yellow lustre, and there were no sticks, orstraws, or waste paper lying about to mar the tidy look of the square. 

With one exception, Geneva Square was a pattern of all that wasdesirable in the way of cleanliness and order. One might hope to findsuch a haven in some somnolent cathedral town, but scarcely in thegrimy, smoky, restless metropolis of London. 

The exception to the notable spotlessness of the neighborhood was No. 13, a house in the centre of the side opposite to the entrance. Itswindows were dusty, and without blinds or curtains, there were noflower-boxes on the ledges, the steps lacked whitewash, and the ironrailings looked rusty for want of paint. Stray straws and scraps ofpaper found their way down the area, where the cracked pavement was dampwith green slime. Such beggars as occasionally wandered into the square, to the scandal of its inhabitants, camped on the doorstep; and the verydoor itself presented a battered, dissolute appearance. 

Yet, for all its ill looks and disreputable suggestions, those who dweltin Geneva Square would not have seen it furbished up and occupied forany money. They spoke about it in whispers, with ostentatioustremblings, and daunted looks, for No. 13 was supposed to be haunted, and had been empty for over twenty years. By reason of its legend, itsloneliness and grim appearance, it was known as the Silent House, andformed quite a feature of the place. Murder had been done long ago inone of its empty, dusty rooms, and it was since then that the victimwalked. Lights, said the ghost-seers, had been seen flitting from windowto window, groans were sometimes heard, and the apparition of a littleold woman in brocaded silk and high-heeled shoes appeared on occasions. Hence the Silent House bore an uncanny reputation. 

How much truth there was in these stories it is impossible to say; butsure enough, in spite of a low rental, no tenant would take No. 13 andface its ghostly terrors. House and apparition and legend had becomequite a tradition, when the whole fantasy was ended in the summer of '95by the unexpected occupation of the mansion. Mr. Mark Berwin, agentleman of mature age, who came from nobody knew where, rented No. 13, and established himself therein to lead a strange and lonely life. 

At first, the gossips, strong in ghostly tradition, declared that thenew tenant would not remain a week in the house; but as the weekextended into six months, and Mr. Berwin showed no signs of leaving, they left off speaking of the ghost and took to discussing the manhimself. In a short space of time quite a collection of stories weretold about the newcomer and his strange ways. 

Lucian heard many of these tales from his landlady. How Mr. Berwin livedall alone in the Silent House without servant or companion; how he spoketo none, and admitted no one into the mansion; how he appeared to haveplenty of money, and was frequently seen coming home more or lessintoxicated; and how Mrs. Kebby, the deaf charwoman who cleaned out Mr. Berwin's rooms, declined to sleep in the house because she consideredthat there was something wrong about her employer. 

To such gossip Denzil paid little attention, until his skein of lifebecame unexpectedly entangled with that of the strange gentleman. Themanner of their meeting was unforeseen and peculiar. 

One foggy November night, Lucian, returning from the theatre, shortlyafter eleven o'clock, dismissed his hansom at the entrance to the squareand walked thereinto through the thick mist, trusting to find his wayhome by reason of two years' familiarity with the precincts. As it wasimpossible to see even the glare of the near gas lamp in the murky air, Lucian felt his way cautiously along the railings. The square was filledwith fog, dense to the eye and cold to the feel, so that Lucian shiveredwith the chill, in spite of the fur coat over his evening clothes. 

As he edged gingerly along, and thought longingly of the fire and supperawaiting him in his comfortable rooms, he was startled by hearing adeep, rich voice boom out almost at his feet. To make the phenomenonstill more remarkable, the voice shaped itself into certain well-knownwords of Shakespeare:

"Oh!" boomed this _vox et pręterea nihil_ in rather husky tones, "Oh!that a man should put an enemy in his mouth to steal away his brains!"And then through the mist and darkness came the unmistakable sound ofsobs. 

"God bless me!" cried Lucian, leaping back, with shaken nerves. "Who isthis? Who are you?"

"A lost soul!" wailed the deep voice, "which God will not bless!" Andthen came the sobbing again. 

It made Denzil's blood run cold to hear this unseen creature weeping inthe gloom. Moving cautiously in the direction of the sound, he stumbledagainst a man with his folded arms resting on the railings, and his facebent down on his arms. He made no attempt to turn when Lucian touchedhim, but with downcast head continued to weep and moan in a very frenzyof self-pity. 

"Here!" said the young barrister, shaking the stranger by the shoulder, "what is the matter with you?"

"Drink!" stuttered the man, suddenly turning with a dramatic gesture. "Iam an object lesson to teetotalers; a warning to topers; a modern helotmade shameful to disgust youth with vice. "

"You had better go home, sir, " said Lucian sharply. 

"I can't find home. It is somewhere hereabout, but where, I don't know. "

"You are in Geneva Square, " said Denzil, trying to sharpen the dulledwits of the man. 

"I wish I was in No. 13 of it, " sighed the stranger. "Where the deuce isNo. 13? Not in this Cloudcuckooland, anyhow. "

"Oh!" cried Lucian, taking the man's arm. "Come with me. I'll lead youhome, Mr. Berwin. "

Scarcely had the name passed his lips than the stranger drew backsuddenly, with a hasty exclamation. Some suspicion seemed to engender amixture of terror and defiance which placed him on his guard againstundue intimacy, even when some undefined fear was knocking at his heart. "Who are you?" he demanded in a steadier tone. "How do you know myname?"

"My name is Denzil, Mr. Berwin, and I live in one of the houses of thissquare. As you mention No. 13, I know you can be none other than Mr. Mark Berwin, the tenant of the Silent House. "

"The dweller in the haunted house, " sneered Berwin, evidently relieved, "who stays there with ghosts, and worse than ghosts. "

"Worse than ghosts?"

"The phantoms of my own sins, young man. I have sowed folly, and now Iam reaping the crop. I am----" Here his further speech was interruptedby a fit of coughing, which shook his lean figure severely. At itsconclusion he was so exhausted that he was forced to support himselfagainst the railings. "A portion of the crop, " he murmured. 

Lucian was sorry for the man, who seemed scarcely capable of lookingafter himself, and he thought it unwise to leave him in such a plight. At the same time, he was impatient of lingering in the heart of theclammy fog at such a late hour; so, as his companion seemed indisposedto move, he caught him again by the arm without ceremony. The abruptaction seemed to waken again the fears of Berwin. 

"Where would you take me?" he asked, resisting the gentle force used byLucian. 

"To your own house. You will be ill if you stay here. "

"You are not one of them?" asked the man suddenly. 

"One of whom?"

"One of those who wish to harm me?"

Denzil began to think he had to do with a madman, and to gain his endshe spoke to him in a soothing manner, as he would to a child: "I wish todo you good, Mr. Berwin, " said he gently. "Come to your home. "

"Home! home! Ah, God, I have no home!"

Nevertheless, he gathered himself together, and with his arm in that ofhis guide, stumbled along in the thick, chill mist. Lucian knew theposition of No. 13 well, as it almost faced the lodgings occupied byhimself, and by skirting the railings with due caution, he managed tohalf lead, half drag his companion to the house. When they stood beforethe door, and Berwin had assured himself that he was actually home bythe use of his latch-key, Denzil wished him a curt good-night. "And Ishould advise you to go to bed at once, " he concluded, turning todescend the steps. 

"Don't go! Don't go!" cried Berwin, seizing the young man by the arm. "Iam afraid to go in by myself--all is so dark and cold! Wait until I geta light!"

As the creature's nerves seemed to be unhinged by over-indulgence inalcohol, and he stood gasping and shivering on the threshold like somebeaten animal, Lucian took compassion on him. 

"I'll see you indoors, " said he, and striking a match, stepped into thedarkness after the man. The hall of No. 13 seemed to be almost as coldas the world without, and the trifling glimmer of the lucifer servedrather to reveal than dispel the surrounding darkness. The light, as itwere, hollowed a gulf out of the tremendous gloom and made the housetenfold more ghostly than before. The footsteps of Denzil and Berwinsounding on the bare boards--for the hall was uncarpeted--waked hollowechoes, and when they paused the silence which ensued seemed almostmenacing. The grim reputation of the mansion, its gloom and silence, appealed powerfully to the latent superstition of Lucian. How much morenearly, then, would it touch the shaken and excited nerves of the tragicdrunkard who dwelt continually amid its terrors!

Berwin opened a door on the right-hand side of the hall and turned upthe light of a handsome oil-lamp which had been screwed down pending hisarrival. This lamp was placed on a small square table covered with awhite cloth and a dainty cold supper. The young barrister noted that thenapery, cutlery, and crystal were all of the finest; that the viandswere choice; that champagne and claret were the beverages. EvidentlyBerwin was a luxurious gentleman and indulgent to his appetites. 

Lucian tried to gain a long look at him in the mellow light, but Berwinkept his face turned away, and seemed as anxious now for his visitor togo as he had been for him to enter. Denzil, quick in comprehension, tookthe hint at once. 

"I'll go now, as you have the light burning, " said he. "Good-night. "

"Good-night, " replied Berwin shortly, and added to his discourtesy byletting Lucian find his way out alone. 

And so ended the barrister's first meeting with the strange tenant ofthe Silent House. 

CHAPTER II

SHADOWS ON THE BLIND

The landlady of Denzil was a rather uncommon specimen of the class. Sheinclined to plumpness, was lively in the extreme, wore very fashionablegarments of the brightest colours, and--although somewhat elderly--stillcherished a hope that some young man would elevate her to the rank of amatron. 

At present, Miss Julia Greeb was an unwedded damsel of forty summers, who, with the aid of art, was making desperate but ineffectual effortsto detain the youth which was slipping from her. She pinched her waist, dyed her hair, powdered her face, and affected juvenile dress of thewhite frock and blue sash kind. In the distance she looked a girlishtwenty; close at hand various artifices aided her to pass for thirty;and it was only in the solitude of her own room that her real age wasapparent. Never did woman wage a more resolute fight with Time than didMiss Greeb. 

But this was the worst and most frivolous side of her character, for shewas really a good-hearted, cheery little woman, with a brisk manner, anda flow of talk unequalled in Geneva Square. She had been born in thehouse she occupied, after the death of her father, and had grown up toassist her mother in ministering to the exactions of a continuousprocession of lodgers. These came and went, married and died; but notone of the desirable young men had borne Miss Greeb to the altar, sothat when her mother died the fair Julia almost despaired of attainingto the dignity of wifehood. Nevertheless, she continued to keepboarders, and to make attempts to captivate the hearts of such bachelorsas she judged weak in character. 

Hitherto all her efforts had been more or less of a mercantilecharacter, with an eye to money; but when Lucian Denzil appeared on thescene, the poor little woman really fell in love with his handsome face. But, in strange contrast to her other efforts, Miss Greeb never for amoment deemed that Lucian would marry her. He was her god, her ideal ofmanhood, and to him she offered worship, and burnt incense after themanner of her kind. 

Denzil occupied a bedroom and sitting-room, both pleasant, airyapartments, looking out on to the square. Miss Greeb attended to hisneeds herself, and brought up his breakfast with her own fair hands, happy for the day if her admired lodger conversed with her for a fewmoments before reading the morning paper. Then Miss Greeb would retireto her own sitting-room and indulge in day dreams which she well knewwould never be realised. The romances she wove herself were even moremarvellous than those she read in her favourite penny novelettes; but, unlike the printed tales, her romance never culminated in marriage. Poorbrainless, silly, pitiful Miss Greeb; she would have made a good wifeand a fond mother, but by some irony of fate she was destined to beneither; and the comedy of her husband-hunting youth was now changinginto the lonely tragedy of disappointed spinsterhood. She was one of theworld's unknown martyrs, and her fate merits tears rather than laughter. 

On the morning after his meeting with Berwin, the young barrister sat atbreakfast, with Miss Greeb in anxious attendance. Having poured out histea, and handed him his paper, and ascertained that his breakfast was tohis liking, Miss Greeb lingered about the room, putting this straightand that crooked, in the hope that Lucian would converse with her. Inthis she was gratified, as Denzil wished to learn details about thestrange man he had assisted on the previous night, and he knew that noone could afford him more precise information than his brisk landlady, to whom was known all the gossip of the neighbourhood. His first wordmade Miss Greeb flutter back to the table like a dove to its nest. 

"Do you know anything about No. 13?" asked Lucian, stirring his tea. 

"Do I know anything about No. 13?" repeated Miss Greeb in shrillamazement. "Of course I do, Mr. Denzil. There ain't a thing I don'tknow about that house. Ghosts and vampires and crawling spectres live init--that they do. "

"Do you call Mr. Berwin a ghost?"

"No; nor nothing half so respectable. He is a mystery, sir, that's whatMr. Berwin is, and I don't care if he hears me commit myself so far. "

"In what way is he a mystery?" demanded Denzil, approaching the matterwith more particularity. 

"Why, " said Miss Greeb, evidently puzzled how to answer this leadingquestion, "no one can find out anything about him. He's full of secretsand underhand goings on. It ain't respectable not to be fair and aboveboard--that it ain't. "

"I see no reason why a quiet-living old gentleman should tell hisprivate affairs to the whole square, " remarked Lucian drily. 

"Those who have nothing bad to conceal needn't be afraid of speakingout, " retorted Miss Greeb tartly. "And the way in which Mr. Berwin livesis enough to make one think him a coiner, or a thief, or even amurderer--that it is!"

"But what grounds have you to believe him any one of the three?"

This question also puzzled the landlady, as she had no reasonablegrounds for her wild statements. Nevertheless, she made a determinedattempt to substantiate them by hearsay evidence. "Mr. Berwin, " said shein significant tones, "lives all alone in that haunted house. "

"Why not? Every man has the right to be a misanthrope if he chooses. "

"He has no right to behave so, in a respectable square, " replied MissGreeb, shaking her head. "There's only two rooms of that large housefurnished, and all the rest is given up to dust and ghosts. Mr. Berwinwon't have a servant to live under his roof, and Mrs. Kebby, who doeshis charing, says he drinks awful. Then he has his meals sent in fromthe Nelson Hotel round the corner, and eats them all alone. He don'treceive no letters, he don't read no newspapers, and stays in all day, only coming out at night, like an owl. If he ain't a criminal, Mr. Denzil, why does he carry on so?"

"He may dislike his fellow-men, and desire to live a secluded life. "

Miss Greeb still shook her head. "He may dislike his fellow-men, " shesaid with emphasis, "but that don't keep him from seeing them--ah! thatit don't. "

"Is there anything wrong in that?" said Lucian, contemptuous of thesecobweb objections. 

"Perhaps not, Mr. Denzil; but where do those he sees come from?"

"How do you mean, Miss Greeb?"

"They don't go in by the front door, that's certain, " continued thelittle woman darkly. "There's only one entrance to this square, sir, and Blinders, the policeman, is frequently on duty there. Two or threenights he's met Mr. Berwin coming in after dark and exchanged friendlygreetings with him, and each time Mr. Berwin has been alone!"

"Well! well! What of that?" said Denzil impatiently. 

"This much, Mr. Denzil, that Blinders has gone round the square, afterseeing Mr. Berwin, and has seen shadows--two or three of them--on thesitting-room blind. Now, sir, " cried Miss Greeb, clinching her argument, "if Mr. Berwin came into the square alone, how did his visitors get in?"

"Perhaps by the back, " conjectured Lucian. 

Again Miss Greeb shook her head. "I know the back of No. 13 as well as Iknow my own face, " she declared. "There's a yard and a fence, but noentrance. To get in there you have to go in by the front door or downthe aiery steps; and you can't do neither without coming past Blindersat the square's entrance, and that, " finished Miss Greeb triumphantly, "these visitors don't do. "

"They may have come into the square during the day, when Blinders wasnot on duty. "

"No, sir, " said Miss Greeb, ready for this objection. "I thought of thatmyself, and as my duty to the square I have inquired--that I have. Ontwo occasions I've asked the day policeman, and he says no one passed. "

"Then, " said Lucian, rather puzzled, "Mr. Berwin cannot live alone inthe house. "

"Begging your pardon, I'm sure, " cried the pertinacious woman, "but hedoes. Mrs. Kebby has been all over the house, and there isn't anothersoul in it. No, Mr. Denzil, take it what way you will, there'ssomething that ain't right about Mr. Berwin--if that's his real name, which I don't believe it is. "

"Why, Miss Greeb?"

"Just because I don't, " replied the landlady, with feminine logic. "Andif you think of having anything to do with this mystery, Mr. Denzil, Ibeg of you not to, else you may come to something as is too terrible toconsider--that you may. "

"Such as--"

"Oh, I don't know, " cried Miss Greeb, tossing her head and glidingtowards the door. "It ain't for me to say what I think. I am the lastperson in the world to meddle with what don't concern me--that I am. "And thus ending the conversation, Miss Greeb vanished, with significantlook and pursed-up lips. 

The reason of this last speech and rapid retreat lay in the fact thatMiss Greeb could bring no tangible charge against her oppositeneighbour; and therefore hinted at his complicity in all kinds ofhorrors, which she was quite unable to define save in terms more or lessvague. 

Lucian dismissed such hints of criminality from his mind as the outcomeof Miss Greeb's very lively imagination; yet, even though he reduced hercommunications to bare facts, he could not but acknowledge that therewas something queer about Mr. Berwin and his mode of life. The man'sself-pity and self-condemnation; his hints that certain people wishedto do him harm; the curious episode of the shadows on the blind--thesethings engaged the curiosity of Denzil in no ordinary degree; and hecould not but admit to himself that it would greatly ease his mind toarrive at some reasonable explanation of Berwin's eccentricities. 

Nevertheless, he held that he had no right to pry into the secrets ofthe stranger, and honourably strove to dismiss the tenant of No. 13 andhis tantalising environments from his mind. But such dismissal ofunworthy curiosity was more difficult to effect than he expected. 

For the next week Lucian resolutely banished the subject from histhoughts, and declined to discuss the matter further with Miss Greeb. That little woman, all on fire with curiosity, made various inquiries ofher gossips regarding the doings of Mr. Berwin, and in default ofreporting the same to her lodger, occupied herself in discussing themwith her neighbours. The consequence of this incessant gossip was thatthe eyes of the whole square fixed themselves on No. 13 in expectationof some catastrophe, although no one knew exactly what was going tohappen. 

This undefinable feeling of impending disaster communicating itself toLucian, stimulated his curiosity to such a pitch that, with some feelingof shame for his weakness, he walked round the square on two severalevenings in the hope of meeting Berwin. But on both occasions he wasunsuccessful. 

On the third evening he was more fortunate, for having worked at hislaw books until late at night, he went out for a brisk walk beforeretiring to rest. The night was cold, and there had been a slight fallof snow, so Lucian wrapped himself up well, lighted his pipe, andproceeded to take the air by tramping twice or thrice round the square. Overhead the sky was clear and frosty, with chill glittering stars and awintry moon. A thin covering of snow lay on the pavement, and there wasa white rime on the bare branches of the central trees. 

On coming to the house of Berwin, the barrister saw that thesitting-room was lighted up and the curtains undrawn, so that the windowpresented a square of illuminated blind. Even as he looked, two shadowsdarkened the white surface--the shadows of a man and a woman. Evidentlythey had come between the lamp and the window, and so, quiteunknowingly, revealed their actions to the watcher. Curious to see theend of this shadow pantomime, Lucian stood still and looked intently atthe window. 

The two figures seemed to be arguing, for their heads nodded violentlyand their arms waved constantly. They retreated out of the sphere oflight, and again came into it, still continuing their furious gestures. Unexpectedly the male shadow seized the female by the throat and swungher like a feather to and fro. The struggling figures reeled out of theradiance and Lucian heard a faint cry. 

Thinking that something was wrong, he rushed up the steps and rang thebell violently. Almost before the sound died away the light in the roomwas extinguished, and he could see nothing more. Again and again herang, but without attracting attention; so Lucian finally left the houseand went in search of Blinders, the policeman, to narrate hisexperience. At the entrance of Geneva Square he ran against a man whomhe recognised in the clear moonlight. 

To his surprise he beheld Mark Berwin. 

CHAPTER III

AN UNSATISFACTORY EXPLANATION

"Mr. Berwin!" cried Lucian, recognising the man. "Is it you?"

"Who else should it be?" replied Berwin, bending forward to see who hadjostled him. "Who else should it be, Mr. Denzil?"

"But I thought--I thought, " said the barrister, unable to conceal hissurprise, "that is, I fancied you were indoors. "

"Your fancy was wrong, you see. I am not indoors. "

"Then who is in your house?"

Berwin shrugged his shoulders. "No one, so far as I know. "

"You are mistaken, sir. There was a light in your room, and I saw theshadows of a man and a woman struggling together thrown on the blind. "

"People in my house!" said Berwin, laying a shaking hand on the arm ofLucian. "Impossible!"

"I tell you it is so!"

"Come, then, and we will look for them, " said Berwin in a tremulousvoice. 

"But they have gone by this time!"

"Gone!"

"Yes, " said Denzil rapidly. "I rang the bell, as I fancied there wassome fatal quarrel going on within. At once the light was put out, andas I could attract no one to the door, I suppose the man and woman musthave fled. "

For a moment or so Berwin said nothing, but his grip on Lucian's armrelaxed, and he moved forward a few steps. "You must be mistaken, Mr. Denzil, " said he in altered tones, "there can be no person in my house. I locked the door before I went out, and I have been absent at least twohours. "

"Then I must be mad, or dreaming!" retorted Lucian, with heat. 

"We can soon prove if you are either of the two, sir. Come with me andexamine the house for yourself. "

"Pardon me, " said Denzil, drawing back, "it is none of my business. ButI warn you, Mr. Berwin, that others are more curious than I am. Severaltimes people have been known to be in your house while you were absent, and your mode of life, secretive and strange, does not commend itself tothe householders in this neighbourhood. If you persist in giving rise togossip and scandal, some busybody may bring the police on the scene. "

"The police!" echoed the old man, now greatly alarmed, as would appearfrom his shaking voice. "No! no! That will never do! My house is mycastle! The police dare not break into it! I am a peaceful and veryunfortunate gentleman, who wishes to live quietly. All this talk ofpeople being in my house is nonsense!"

"Yet you seemed afraid when I told you of the shadows, " said Lucianpointedly. 

"Afraid! I am afraid of nothing!"

"Not even of those who are after you?" hinted Denzil, recalling theconversation of the previous occasion. 

Berwin gave a kind of eldritch shriek and stepped back a pace, as thoughto place himself on his guard. "What--what do you know about such--suchthings?" he panted. 

"Only so much as you hinted at when I last saw you. "

"Yes, yes! I was not myself on that night. The wine was in and the witwas out. "

"The truth also, it would seem, " said Lucian drily, "judging by youragitation then and now. "

"I am an unfortunate gentleman, " whimpered Berwin tremulously. 

"If you will excuse me, sir, I shall leave you, " said Lucianceremoniously. "It seems to be my fate to hold midnight conversationswith you in the cold, but I think this one had better be cut short. "

"One moment, " Mr. Berwin exclaimed. "You have been good enough to placeme on my guard as to the talk my quiet course of life is causing. Prayadd to your kindness by coming with me to my house and exploring it fromattic to basement. You will then see that there are no grounds forscandal, and that the shadows you fancy you saw on the blind are notthose of real people. "

"They can't be those of ghosts, at all events, " replied Lucian, "as Inever heard, to my knowledge, that spirits could cast shadows. "

"Well, come and see for yourself that the house is empty. "

Warmly as this invitation was given, Lucian had some scruples aboutaccepting it. To explore an almost unfurnished mansion with a completestranger--and one with an ill reputation--at the midnight hour, is notan enterprise to be coveted by any man, however bold he may be. Still, Lucian had ample courage, and more curiosity, for the adventure, as thechance of it stirred up that desire for romance which belongs peculiarlyto youth. Also he was anxious to satisfy himself concerning the blindshadows, and curious to learn why Berwin inhabited so dismal andmysterious a mansion. Add to these reasons a keen pleasure in profitingby the occurrence of the unexpected, and you will guess that Denzilended by accepting the strange invitation of Berwin. 

Being now fully committed to the adventure, he went forward with coolcourage and an observant eye, to spy out, if possible, the secret uponwhich hinged these mysteries. 

As on the former occasion, Berwin inducted his guest into thesitting-room, and here, as previously, a dainty supper was spread. Berwin turned up the lamp light and waved his hand round theluxuriously furnished room, pointing particularly to the space betweentable and window. 

"The figures whose shadows you saw, " said he, "must have struggledtogether in this space, so as to be between the lamp and the blind forthe performance of their pantomime. But I would have you observe, Mr. Denzil, that there is no disturbance of the furniture to show that sucha struggle as you describe took place; also that the curtains are drawnacross the window, and no light could have been thrown on the blind. "

"The curtains were, no doubt, drawn after I rang the bell, " said Lucian, glancing towards the heavy folds of crimson velvet which veiled thewindow. 

"The curtains, " retorted Berwin, stripping off his coat, "were drawn byme before I went out. "

Lucian said nothing, but shook his head doubtfully. Evidently Berwin wastrying, for his own ends, to talk him into a belief that his eyes haddeceived him; but Denzil was too clear-headed a young man to be sogulled. Berwin's explanations and excuses only confirmed the idea thatthere was something in the man's life which cut him off from humanity, and which would not bear the light of day. Hitherto, Lucian had heardrather than seen Berwin; but now, in the clear light of the lamp, he hadan excellent opportunity of observing both the man and his quarters. 

Berwin was of medium height, and lean, with a clean-shaven face, hollowcheeks, and black, sunken eyes. His hair was grey and thin, his lookswild and wandering, and the hectic colouring of his face and narrowchest showed that he was far gone in consumption. Even as Lucian lookedat him he was shaken by a hollow cough, and when he withdrew hishandkerchief from his lips the white linen was spotted with blood. 

He was in evening dress, and looked eminently refined, although worn andhaggard in appearance. Denzil noted two peculiar marks about him; thefirst, a serpentine cicatrice extending on the right cheek from lipalmost to ear; the second, the loss of the little finger of the lefthand, which was cut off at the first joint. As he examined the man asecond and more violent fit of coughing shook him. 

"You seem to be very ill, " said Lucian, pitying the feebleness of thepoor creature. 

"Dying of consumption--one lung gone!" gasped Berwin. "It will soon beover--the sooner the better. "

"With your health, Mr. Berwin, it is sheer madness to dwell in thisrigorous English climate. "

"No doubt, " replied the man, pouring himself out a tumbler of claret, "but I can't leave England--I can't leave this house, even; but on thewhole, " he added, with a satisfied glance around, "I am not badlylodged. "

Lucian agreed with this speech. The room was furnished in the mostluxurious manner. The prevailing hue was a deep, warm red--carpet, walls, hangings, and furniture were all of this cheerful tint. Thechairs were deep, and softly cushioned; on the walls were several oilpaintings by celebrated modern artists; there were dwarf bookcasesfilled with well-chosen books, and on a small bamboo table near the firelay magazines and papers. 

The mantelpiece, reaching nearly to the ceiling, was of oak, framingmirrors of bevelled glass; and on the numerous shelves, cups, saucers, and vases of old and valuable china were placed. There was also a giltclock, a handsome sideboard, and a neat smoking-table, on which stood acut-glass spirit-stand and a box of cigars. The whole apartment wasfurnished with taste and refinement, and Lucian saw that the man whoowned such luxurious quarters must be possessed of money, as well as thecapability of using it in the most civilised way. 

"You have certainly all that the heart of man can desire in the way ofmaterial comforts, " said he, looking at the supper table, which, withits silver and crystal and spotless covering, glittered like a jewelunder the brilliant lamplight. "My only wonder is that you shouldfurnish one room so finely and leave the others bare. "

"My bedroom and bathroom are yonder, " replied Berwin, pointing towardslarge folding doors draped with velvet curtains, and placed opposite tothe window. "They are as well furnished as this. But how do you know therest of this house is bare?"

"I can hardly help knowing it, Mr. Berwin. Your contrast of poverty andriches is an open secret in this neighbourhood. "

"No one has been in my house save yourself, Mr. Denzil. "

"Oh, I have said nothing. You turned me out so quickly the other nightthat I had no time for observation. Besides, I am not in the habit ofremarking on matters which do not concern me. "

"I beg your pardon, " said Berwin weakly. "I had no intention ofoffending you. I suppose Mrs. Kebby has been talking?"

"I should think it probable. "

"The skirling Jezebel!" cried Berwin. "I'll pack her off right away!"

"Are you a Scotchman?" asked Denzil suddenly. 

"Why do you ask?" demanded Berwin, without replying. 

"You used an essentially Scotch word--'skirling. '"

"And I used an essentially American phrase--'right away, '" retorted theman. "I may be a Scot, I may be a Yankee, but I would remind you that mynationality is my own secret. "

"I have no wish to pry into your secrets, " said Denzil, rising from thechair in which he had seated himself, "and in my turn I would remind youthat I am here at your invitation. "

"Don't take offense at a hasty word, " said Berwin nervously. "I am gladof your company, although I seem rather brusque. You must go over thehouse with me. "

"I see no necessity to do so. "

"It will set your mind at rest regarding the shadows on the blind. "

"I can trust my eyes, " said Lucian, drily, "and I am certain that beforeI met you a man and a woman were in this room. "

"Well, " said Berwin, lighting a small lamp, "come with me and I'll provethat you are mistaken. "

CHAPTER IV

MRS. KEBBY'S DISCOVERY

The pertinacity which Berwin displayed in insisting that Lucian shouldexplore the Silent House was truly remarkable. He appeared to be bentupon banishing the idea which Denzil entertained that strangers werehiding in the mansion. 

From attic to basement, from front to back premises, he led the way, andmade Lucian examine every corner of the empty rooms. He showed him eventhe unused kitchen, and bade him remark that the door leading into theyard was locked and bolted, and, from the rusty condition of theironwork, could not have been opened for years. Also, he made him lookout of the window into the yard itself, with its tall black fencedividing it from the other properties. 

This exploration finished, and Lucian being convinced that himself andhis host were the only two living beings in the house, Berwin conductedhis half-frozen guest back to the warm sitting-room and poured out aglass of wine. 

"Here, Mr. Denzil, " said he in good-natured tones, "drink this and drawnear the fire; you must be chilled to the bone after our Arcticexpedition. "

Lucian willingly accepted both these attentions, and sipped hiswine--it was particularly fine claret--before the fire, while Berwincoughed and shivered, and muttered to himself about the cold of theseason. When Lucian stood up to take his departure, he addressed himdirectly:

"Well, sir, " said he, with a sardonic smile, "are you convinced that thestruggling shadows on yonder blind were children of your heated fancy?"

"No, " said Denzil stoutly, "I am not!"

"Yet you have seen that there is no one in the house!"

"Mr. Berwin, " said Lucian, after a moment's thought, "you propose ariddle which I cannot answer, and which I do not wish to answer. Icannot explain what I saw to-night, but as surely as you were out ofthis house, some people were in it. How this affects you, or what reasonyou have for denying it, I do not ask. Keep your own secrets, and goyour own way. I wish you good-night, sir, " and Lucian moved towards thedoor. 

Berwin, who was holding a full tumbler of rich, strong port, drank thewhole of it in one gulp. The strong liquor reddened his pallid face andbrightened his sunken eyes; it even strengthened his already sonorousvoice. 

"At least you can inform my good neighbours that I am a peaceful man, desirous of being left to lead my own life, " he said urgently. 

"No, sir! I will have nothing to do with your business. You are astranger to me, and our acquaintance is too slight to warrant mydiscussing your affairs. Besides, " added Lucian, with a shrug, "they donot interest me. "

"Yet they may interest the three kingdoms one day, " said Berwin softly. 

"Oh, if they deal with danger to society, " said Denzil, thinking hisstrange neighbour spoke of anarchistic schemes, "I would----"

"They deal with danger to myself, " interrupted Berwin. "I am a huntedman, and I hide here from those who wish me ill. I am dying, as yousee, " he cried, striking his hollow chest, "but I may not die quicklyenough for those who desire my death. "

"Who are they?" cried Lucian, rather startled by this outburst. 

"People with whom you have no concern, " replied the man sullenly. 

"That is true enough, Mr. Berwin, so I'll say good-night!"

"Berwin! Berwin! Ha! ha! A very good name, Berwin, but not for me. Oh, was there ever so unhappy a creature as I? False name, false friend, indisgrace, in hiding! Curse everybody! Go! go! Mr. Denzil, and leave meto die here like a rat in its hole!"

"You are ill!" said Lucian, amazed by the man's fury. "Shall I send adoctor to see you?"

"Send no one, " cried Berwin, commanding himself by a visible effort. "Only go away and leave me to myself. 'Thou can'st not minister to amind diseased. ' Go! go!"

"Good-night, then, " said Denzil, seeing that nothing could be done. "Ihope you will be better in the morning. "

Berwin shook his head, and with a silent tongue, which contrastedstrangely with his late outcry, ushered Denzil out of the house. 

As the heavy door closed behind him Lucian descended the steps andlooked thoughtfully at the grim mansion, which was tenanted by somysterious a person. He could make nothing of Berwin--as he chose tocall himself--he could see no meaning in his wild words and madbehaviour; but as he walked briskly back to his lodgings he came to theconclusion that the man was nothing worse than a tragic drunkard, haunted by terrors engendered by over-indulgence in stimulants. Theepisode of the shadows on the blind he did not attempt to explain, forthe simple reason that he was unable to find any plausible explanationto account therefor. 

"And why should I trouble my head to do so?" mused Lucian as he went tobed. "The man and his mysteries are nothing to me. Bah! I have beeninfected by the vulgar curiosity of the Square. Henceforth I'll neithersee nor think of this drunken lunatic, " and with such resolve hedismissed all thoughts of his strange acquaintance from his mind, which, under the circumstances, was perhaps the wisest thing he could do. 

But later on certain events took place which forced him to alter hisdetermination. Fate, with her own ends to bring about is not to bedenied by her puppets; and of these Lucian was one, designed for animportant part in the drama which was to be played. 

Mrs. Margery Kebby, who attended to the domestic economy of Berwin'shouse, was a deaf old crone with a constant thirst, only to be assuagedby strong drink; and a filching hand which was usually in every pocketsave her own. She had neither kith nor kin, nor friends, nor evenacquaintances; but, being something of a miser, scraped and screwed toamass money she had no need for, and dwelt in a wretched littleapartment in a back slum, whence she daily issued to work little andpilfer much. 

Usually at nine o'clock she brought in her employer's breakfast from theNelson Hotel, which was outside the Square, and while he was enjoying itin bed, after his fashion, she cleaned out and made tidy thesitting-room. Berwin then dressed and went out for a walk, despite MissGreeb's contention that he took the air only at night, like an owl, andduring his absence Mrs. Kebby attended to the bedroom. She then wentabout her own business, which was connected with the cleaning of variousother apartments, and only returned at midday and at night to lay thetable for Berwin's luncheon and dinner, or rather dinner and supper, which were also sent in from the hotel. 

For these services Berwin paid her well, and only enjoined her to keep aquiet tongue about his private affairs, which Mrs. Kebby usually diduntil excited by too copious drams of gin, when she talked freely andunwisely to all the servants in the Square. It was to her observationand invention that Berwin owed his bad reputation. 

Well-known in every kitchen, Mrs. Kebby hobbled from one to the other, gossiping about the various affairs of her various employers; and whenabsolute knowledge failed she took to inventing details which did nosmall credit to her imagination. Also, she could tell fortunes byreading tea-leaves and shuffling cards, and was not above aiding themaid servants in their small love affairs. 

In short, Mrs. Kebby was a dangerous old witch, who, a century back, would have been burnt at the stake; and the worst possible person forBerwin to have in his house. Had he known of her lying and prating shewould not have remained an hour under his roof; but Mrs. Kebby wascunning enough to steer clear of such a danger in the most dexterousmanner. She had a firm idea that Berwin had, in her own emphatic phrase, "done something" for which he was wanted by the police, and was alwayson the look out to learn the secret of his isolated life, in order tobetray him, or blackmail him, or get him in some way under her thumb. Asyet she had been unsuccessful. 

Deeming her a weak, quiet old creature, Berwin, in spite of hissuspicious nature, entrusted Mrs. Kebby with the key of the front door, so that she could enter for her morning's work without disturbing him. The sitting-room door itself was not always locked, but Berwin usuallybolted the portal of his bedroom, and had invariably to rise and admitMrs. Kebby with his breakfast. 

The same routine was observed each morning, and everything wentsmoothly. Mrs. Kebby had heard of the blind shadows from several people, and had poked and pryed about all over the house in the hope of arrivingat some knowledge of the substantial flesh and blood figures which castthem. But in this quest, which was intended to put money into her ownpocket, she failed entirely; and during the whole six months of Berwin'stenancy she never saw a living soul in No. 13 save her employer; norcould she ever find any evidence to show that Berwin had receivedvisitors during her absence. The man was as great a mystery to Mrs. Kebby as he was to the square, in spite of her superior opportunities oflearning the truth. 

On Christmas Eve the old woman brought in a cold supper for Berwin, asusual, making several journeys to and fro between hotel and house forthat purpose. She laid the table, made up the fire, and before takingher leave asked Mr. Berwin if he wanted anything else. 

"No, I think not, " replied the man, who looked wretchedly ill. "You canbring my breakfast to-morrow. "

"At nine, sir?"

"At the usual time, " answered Berwin impatiently. "Go away!"

Mrs. Kebby gave a final glance round to see that all was in order, andshuffled out of the room as fast as her rheumatism would let her. As sheleft the house eight o'clock chimed from the steeple of a near church, and Mrs. Kebby, clinking her newly-received wages in her pocket, hurriedout of the square to do her Christmas marketing. As she went down thestreet which led to it, Blinders, a burly, ruddy-faced policeman, whoknew her well, stopped to make an observation. 

"Is that good gentleman of yours home, Mrs. Kebby?" he asked, in theloud tones used to deaf people. 

"Oh, he's home, " grumbled Mrs. Kebby ungraciously, "sittin' afore thefire like Solomon in all his glory. What d'ye want to know for?"

"I saw him an hour ago, " explained Blinders, "and I thought he lookedill. "

"So he do, like a corpse. What of that? We've all got to come to it someday. 'Ow d'ye know but what he won't be dead afore morning? Well, Idon't care. He's paid me up till to-night. I'm going to enj'y myself, Iam. "

"Don't you get drunk, Mrs. Kebby, or I'll lock you up. "

"Garn!" grunted the old beldame. "Wot's Christmas Eve for, if it ain'tfor folk to enj'y theirselves? Y'are on duty early. "

"I'm taking the place of a sick comrade, and I'll be on duty all night. That's my Christmas. "

"Well! well! Let every one enj'y hisself as he likes, " muttered Mrs. Kebby, and shuffled off to the nearest public house. 

Here she began to celebrate the season, and afterwards went shopping;then she celebrated the season again, and later carried home herpurchases to the miserable garret she occupied. In this den Mrs. Kebby, with the aid of gin and water, celebrated the season until she drankherself to sleep. 

Next morning she woke in anything but an amiable mood, and had tofortify herself with an early drink before she was fit to go about herbusiness. 

It was almost nine when she reached the Nelson Hotel, and found thecovered tray with Mr. Berwin's breakfast waiting for her; so she hurriedwith it to Geneva Square as speedily as possible, fearful of a scolding. Having admitted herself into the house, Mrs. Kebby took up the tray withboth hands, and pushed open the sitting-room door with her foot. Here, at the sight which met her eyes, she dropped the tray with a crash, andlet off a shrill yell. 

The room was in disorder, the table was overturned, and amid thewreckage of glass and china lay Mark Berwin, with outspread hands--stonedead--stabbed to the heart. 

CHAPTER V

THE TALK OF THE TOWN

Nowadays, events, political, social, and criminal, crowd so closely onone another's heels that what was formerly a nine days' wonder isscarcely marvelled at the same number of minutes. Yet in certain casesepisodes of a mysterious or unexpected nature engage the attention of acareless world for a somewhat longer period, and provoke an immenseamount of discussion and surmise. In this category may be placed thecrime committed in Geneva Square; for when the extraordinarycircumstances of the case became known, much curiosity was manifestedregarding the possible criminal and his motive for committing soapparently useless a crime. 

To add to the wonderment of the public, it came out in the evidence ofLucian Denzil at the inquest that Berwin was not the real name of thevictim; so here the authorities were confronted with a three-foldproblem. They had first to discover the name of the dead man; second, tolearn who it was had so foully murdered him; and third, to find out thereason why the unknown assassin should have slain an apparently harmlessman. 

But these hidden things were not easily brought to light; and themeagre evidence collected by the police failed to do away with any oneof the three obstacles--at all events, until after the inquest. When thejury brought in a verdict that the deceased had been violently done todeath by some person or persons unknown, the twelve good men and truestated the full extent of knowledge gained by Justice in her futilescramble after clues. Berwin--so called--was dead, his assassin hadmelted into thin air, and the Silent House had added a second legend toits already uncanny reputation. Formerly it had been simply haunted, nowit was also blood-stained, and its last condition was worse than itsfirst. 

The dead man had been found stabbed to the heart by some long, thin, sharp-pointed instrument which the murderer had taken away with him--orperhaps her, as the sex of the assassin, for obvious reasons, could notbe decided. Mrs. Kebby swore that she had left the deceased sitting overthe fire at eight o'clock on Christmas Eve, and that he had then beenfairly well, though far from enjoying the best of health. When shereturned, shortly after nine, on Christmas morning, the man was dead andcold. Medical aid was called in at the same time as the police weresummoned; and the evidence of the doctor who examined the body went toprove that Berwin had been dead at least ten hours; therefore, he musthave been assassinated between the hours of eleven and twelve of theprevious night. 

Search was immediately made for the murderer, but no trace could befound of him, nor could it be ascertained how he had entered the house. The doors were all locked, the windows were all barred, and neither atthe back nor in the front was there any outlet left open whereby theman--if it was a man who had done the deed--could have escaped. 

Blinders, the policeman on duty at the entrance of the square, gaveevidence that he had been on duty there all night, and that althoughmany servants and owners of houses belonging to the square had passed infrom their Christmas marketings, yet no stranger had entered. Thepoliceman knew every one, even to the errand-boys of the neighbourhood, who brought parcels of Christmas goods, and in many cases had exchangedgreetings with the passers-by; but he was prepared to swear, and, infact, did swear at the inquest, that no stranger either came into orwent out of Geneva Square. 

Also he deposed that when the traffic died away after midnight he hadwalked round the square, and had looked at every window, including thatof No. 13, and had tried every door, also including that of No. 13, onlyto find that all was safe. Blinders declared on oath that he had not onChristmas Eve the slightest suspicion of the horrid tragedy which hadtaken place in the Silent House during the time he was on duty. 

When the police took possession of the body and mansion, search was madein bedroom and sitting-room for papers likely to throw light on theidentity of the victim, but in vain. No letters or telegrams, or evenwriting of any kind, could be discovered; there was no name in the deadman's books, no mark on his clothes, no initials on his linen. 

The landlord of the house declared that the deceased had hired themansion six months before, but had given no references, and as thelandlord was glad to let the haunted No. 13 on any terms, he had notinsisted upon having them. The deceased, said the landlord, had paid amonth's rent in advance in ready money, and at the end of every month hehad discharged his liability in the same way. He gave neither cheque nornotes, but paid always in gold; and beyond the fact that he calledhimself Mark Berwin, the landlord knew nothing about him. 

The firm who had furnished the rooms made almost the same report, quiteas meagre and unsatisfactory. Mr. Berwin--so the deceased had given hisname--had ordered the furniture, and had paid for it in gold. Altogether, in spite of every effort, the police were obliged to declarethemselves beaten. They could not find out the name of the victim, andtherefore were unable to learn his past life, or trace thereby if he hadan enemy likely to harm him. 

Beyond the report given by Lucian of his conversation with the man, which showed that Berwin certainly had some enemy whom he dreaded, therewas nothing discovered to show reason for the committal of the crime. 

Berwin--so called--was dead; he was buried under his assumed name, andthere, so far as the obtainable evidence went, was an end to the strangetenant of the Silent House. Gordon Link, the detective charged with theconduct of the case, confessed as much to Denzil. 

"I do not see the slightest chance of tracing Berwin's past, " said he tothe barrister. "We are as ignorant about him as we are of the name ofthe assassin. "

"Are you sure there is no clue, Mr. Link?"

"Absolutely none; even the weapon with which the crime was committedcannot be found. "

"You have searched the house?"

"Every inch of it, and with the result that I have found nothing. Thesurroundings of the case are most mysterious. If we do not identify thedead we cannot hope to trace the murderer. How the wretch got into thehouse is more than I can discover. "

"It is strange, " admitted Lucian thoughtfully, "yet in some secret waypeople were in the habit of entering the house, and Berwin knew as much;not only that, but he protected them from curiosity by denying that theyeven existed. "

"I don't quite follow you, Mr. Denzil. "

"I allude to the shadows on the blind, which I saw myself a week beforethe murder took place. They were those of a man and a woman, and musthave been cast by bodies of flesh and blood. Therefore, two people musthave been in Berwin's sitting-room on that night; yet when I met Berwinwho was absent at the time--he denied that anyone could have entered hishouse without his knowledge. More, he actually insisted that I shouldsatisfy myself as to the truth of this by examining the house. "

"Which you did?"

"Yes, but found nothing; yet, " said Lucian, with an air of conviction, "however the man and woman entered, they were in the house. "

"Then the assassin must have come in by the same way; but where that waycan be, or how it can be found, is more than I can say. "

"Does the landlord know of any secret passages?"

"No; I asked him, " replied the detective, "but he stated that housesnowadays were not built with secret passages. When Berwin denied thatanyone was in the house, was he afraid, Mr. Denzil?"

"Yes, he seemed to be nervous. "

"And he told you he had enemies?"

"He hinted that there were people who wished to see him dead. From theway he spoke and the language he used I am satisfied that he was hidingfrom the vengeance of some one. "

"Vengeance!" repeated Link, raising his eyebrows. "Is not that word atrifle melodramatic?"

"Perhaps; but to my mind there is more melodrama in actual life thanpeople fancy. However, Mr. Link, " added Lucian, "I have come to certainconclusions. Firstly, that Berwin was in hiding; secondly, that he sawpeople secretly who entered in some way we cannot discover; andthirdly, that to solve the problem it will be necessary to look into thepast life of the dead man. "

"Your third conclusion brings us round to the point whence we started, "retorted Link. "How am I to discover the man's past?"

"By learning who he is, and what is his real name. "

"An easy task, " said the detective sarcastically, "considering themeagre material upon which we have to work. And how is the business tobe accomplished?"

"By advertisement. "

"Advertisement!"

"Yes. I wonder the idea did not strike you before, seeing how often itis used in similar cases. Advertise a full description of the man whocalled himself Berwin, note his physical peculiarities and looks, andcirculate such description by means of handbills and newspapers. "

Link looked angry, and laughed rather contemptuously, as hisprofessional pride was touched by the fact of being advised by anindividual not of his calling. 

"I am not so ignorant of my business as you think, " he said sharply. "What you suggest has already been done. There are handbills describingthe appearance of Berwin in every police office in the kingdom. "

"In the newspapers, also?" asked Lucian, nettled by the detective'stone. 

"No; it is not necessary. "

"I don't agree with you. Many people in private life are not likely tosee your handbills. I don't pretend to advise, Mr. Link, " he added insoothing tones, "but would it not be wise to use the medium of the dailypapers?"

"I'll think of it, " said Link, too jealous of his dignity to give way atonce. 

"Oh, I quite rely on your discretion, " said Denzil hastily. "You knowyour own business best. But if you succeed in identifying Berwin, willyou let me know?"

Link looked keenly at the young man. 

"Why do you wish to know about the matter?" he asked. 

"Out of simple curiosity. The case is so mysterious that I should liketo watch you unravel it. "

"Well, " said Link, rather gratified by this tribute to his power, "Ishall indulge your fancy. "

The result of this conversation was that Lucian observed in thenewspapers next day an advertisement describing the looks and name, andphysical peculiarities of the deceased, with special mention of the lossof the left hand's little finger, and the strange cicatrice on the rightcheek. Satisfied that the only way to learn the truth had been adoptedby the authorities, Lucian impatiently waited for the development of thescheme. 

Within the week he received a visit from the detective. 

"You were right and I was wrong, Mr. Denzil, " admitted Link generously. "The newspapers were of more use than the handbills. Yesterday Ireceived a letter from a lady who is coming to see me to-morrow at myoffice. So if you care to be present at the interview you have only tosay so. "

"I should like it above all things, " said Lucian eagerly. "Who is thelady?"

"A Mrs. Vrain, who writes from Bath. "

"Can she identify the dead man?"

"She thinks she can, but, of course, she cannot be certain until shesees the body. Going by the description, however, " added Link, "she isinclined to believe that Berwin was her husband. "

CHAPTER VI

MRS. VRAIN'S STORY

Denzil was much pleased with the courtesy of the detective Link inpermitting him to gain, at first hand, further details of thismysterious case. With a natural curiosity, engendered by his shortacquaintance with the unfortunate Berwin, he was most anxious to learnwhy the man had secluded himself from the world in Geneva Square; whowere the enemies he hinted at as desirous of his death; and in whatmanner and for what reason he had met with so barbarous a fate at theirhands. It seemed likely that Mrs. Vrain, who asserted herself to be thewife of the deceased, would be able to answer these questions in full;therefore, he was punctual in keeping the appointment at the office ofLink. 

He was rather astonished to find that Mrs. Vrain had arrived, and wasdeep in conversation with the detective, while a third person, who hadevidently accompanied her, sat near at hand, silent, but attentive towhat was being discussed. As the dead man had been close on sixty yearsof age, and Mrs. Vrain claimed to be his wife, Denzil had quiteexpected to meet with an elderly woman. Instead of doing so, however, he beheld a pretty young lady of not more than twenty-five, whoseraiment of widow's weeds set off her beauty to the greatest advantage. She was a charming blonde, with golden hair and blue eyes, and acomplexion of rose-leaf hue. In spite of her grief her demeanour waslively and engaging, and her smile particularly attractive, lighting upher whole face in the most fascinating manner. Her hands and feet weresmall, her stature was that of a fairy, and her figure was perfect inevery way. 

Altogether, Mrs. Vrain looked like a sylph or a dainty shepherdess ofDresden china, and should have been arrayed in gossamer robes, ratherthan in the deep mourning she affected. Indeed, Lucian considered thatsuch weeds were rather premature, as Mrs. Vrain could not yet be certainthat the murdered man was her husband; but she looked so charming andchildlike a creature that he forgave her being too eager to considerherself a widow. Perhaps with such an elderly husband her eagerness wasnatural. 

From this charming vision Lucian's eyes wandered to the attentive thirdperson, a rosy-cheeked, plump little man, of between fifty and sixty. From his resemblance to Mrs. Vrain--for he had the same blue eyes andpink-and-white complexion--Lucian guessed that he was her father, andsuch, indeed, proved to be the case. Link, on Lucian's entrance, introduced him to the sylph in black, who in her turn presented him tothe silvery-haired, benevolent old man, whom she called Mr. Jabez Clyne. 

At the first sound of their voices Lucian detected so pronounced atwang, and so curious a way of collocating words, as to conclude thatMrs. Vrain and her amiable parent hailed from the States. The littlelady seemed to pride herself on this, and indicated her republicanorigin in her speech more than was necessary--at least, Denzil thoughtso. But then, on occasions, he was disposed to be hyper-critical. 

"Say, now, " said Mrs. Vrain, casting an approving glance on Lucian'sface, "I'm right down glad to see you. Mr. Link here was just saying youknew my husband, Mr. Vrain. "

"I knew him as Mr. Berwin--Mark Berwin, " replied Denzil, taking a seat. 

"Just think of that now!" cried Mrs. Vrain, with a liveliness rathersubdued in compliment to her apparel; "and his real name was Mark Vrain. Well, I guess he won't need no name now, poor man, " and the widowtouched her bright eyes carefully with a doll's pocket-handkerchief, which Lucian noted, somewhat cynically, was perfectly dry. 

"Maybe he's an angel by this time, Lyddy, " said Mr. Clyne, in acheerful, chirping voice, "so it ain't no use wishing him back, as I cansee. We've all got to negotiate kingdom-come some time or another. "

"Not in the same way, I hope, " said Lucian dryly. "But I beg yourpardon, Link, I interrupt your conversation. "

"By no means, " replied the detective readily. "We had just begun whenyou entered, Mr. Denzil. "

"And it wasn't much of a talk, anyhow, " said Mrs. Vrain. "I was onlyreplying to some stupid questions. "

"Stupid, if you will, but necessary, " observed Link, with gravity. "Letus continue. Are you certain that this dead man is--or rather was--yourhusband?"

"I'm as sure as sure can be, sir. Berwin Manor is the name of our placenear Bath, and it looks as though my husband called himself after itwhen he changed his colours. And isn't his first name Mark?" pursued thepretty widow. "Well, my husband was called Mark, too, so there youare--Mark Berwin. "

"Is this all your proof?" asked Link calmly. 

"I guess not, though it's enough, I should say. My husband had a mark onhis right cheek--got it fighting a duel with a German student when hewas having a high time as one of the boys at Heidelberg. Then he lostpart of his little finger--left-hand finger--in an accident out West. What other proof do you want, Mr. Link?"

"The proofs you have given seem sufficient, Mrs. Vrain, but may I askwhen your husband left his home?"

"About a year ago, eh, poppa?"

"You are overdoing it, Lyddy, " corrected the father. "Size it up as tenmonths, and you'll do. "

"Ten months, " said Lucian suddenly, "and Mr. Berwin----"

"Vrain!" struck in Lydia, the widow, "Mark Vrain. "

"I beg your pardon! Well, Mark Vrain took the house in Geneva Square sixmonths back. Where was he during the other four?"

"Ask me something easier, Mr. Denzil. I know no more than you do. "

"Did you not know where he went on leaving Berwin Manor?"

"Sakes! how should I? Mark and I didn't pull together nohow, so hekicked over the traces and made tracks for the back of beyond. "

"And you might square it, Lyddy, by saying as 'twasn't you who upset theapple cart. "

"Well, I should smile to think so, " said Mrs. Vrain vigorously. "I wasas good as pie to that old man. "

"You did not get on well together?" said Link sharply. 

"Got on as well as a cat hitched along with a dog. My stars! there wasno living with him. If he hadn't left me, I'd have left him--that's analmighty truth. "

"So the gist of all this is that Mr. Vrain left you ten months ago, anddid not leave his address?"

"That's so, " said the widow calmly. "I've not seen nor heard of him formost a year, till pop there tumbled across your paragraph in thepapers. Then I surmised from the name and the missing finger and thescarred cheek, that I'd dropped right on to Mark. I wouldn't take allthis trouble for any one else; no, sir, not me!"

"My Lyddy does not care about being a grass-widow, gentlemen. "

"I don't mind being a grass-widow or a real one, so long as I know howto ticket myself, " said the candid Lydia; "but seems to me there's noquestion that Mark's sent in his checks. "

"I certainly think that this man who called himself Berwin was yourhusband, " said Denzil, for Mrs. Vrain's eyes rested on him, and sheseemed to expect an answer. 

"Well, then, that means I'm Mr. Vrain's widow?"

"I should say so. "

"And entitled to all his pile?"

"That depends on the will, " said Lucian dryly, for the light tone of thepretty woman jarred upon his ear. 

"Oh, that's all right, " replied Mrs. Vrain, putting a gold-toppedsmelling bottle to her nose. "I saw the will made, and know exactly howI come out. The old man's daughter by his first wife gets the manor andthe rents, and I take the assurance money!"

"Was Mr. Berwin--I beg pardon, Vrain--was he married twice?"

"I should think so!" said Lydia. "He was a widower with a grown-updaughter when I took him to church. Well, can I get this assurancemoney?"

"I suppose so, " said Link, "provided you can prove your husband'sdeath. "

"Sakes alive!" cried Mrs. Vrain briskly. "Wasn't he murdered?"

"The man called Berwin was murdered. "

"Well, sir, " said the rosy-cheeked Clyne, with more sharpness than mighthave been expected from his peaceful aspect, "and ain't Berwin Vrain?"

"It would seem so, " replied Link coolly. "All your evidence goes toprove it, yet the assurance company may not be satisfied with the proof. I expect the grave will have to be opened, and the remains identified. "

"Ugh!" said Mrs. Vrain with a shrug, "how disgusting! I mean, " sheadded, colouring as she saw that Lucian was rather shocked by herflippancy, "that sorry as I am for the old man, he wasn't a good husbandto me, and corpses a week old ain't pleasant things to look on. "

"Lyddy, " interposed Clyne, hastening to obliterate, if possible, theimpression made on the two men by this foolish speech, "how you do goon. But you know your heart is better than your tongue. "

"It was, to put up so long with Mr. Vrain, " said Lydia resentfully; "butI'm honest, if I'm nothing else. I guess I'm sorry that Vrain got stucklike a pig; but it wasn't my fault, and I've done my best to showrespect by wearing black. But it is no good going on in this way, poppa, for I've no call to excuse myself to strangers. What I want toknow is how I'm going to get the dollars. "

"You'll have to see the assurance company about that, " said Link coldly;"my business with you, Mrs. Vrain, is about this murder. "

"I know nothing about it, " retorted the widow. "I haven't set eyes onMark for most a year. "

"Have you any idea who killed him?"

"I guess not! How should I?"

"You might know if he had enemies. "

"He, " said Mrs. Vrain, with supreme contempt, "why, he hadn't backboneenough for folks to get riz at him! He was half baked!"

"Crazy, that is, " remarked Clyne; "always thought the world was againsthim, and folks wanted to get quit of him. "

"He said he had enemies, " hinted Lucian. 

"You bet! He no doubt made out that all Europe was against him, " saidClyne. "That was my son-in-law all over. Lyddy and he had a tiff, justlike other married couples, and he clears out to lie low in anout-of-the-way shanty in Pimlico. I tell you, gentlemen, that Vrain hada chip out of his head. He fancied things, he did; but no one wanted toharm him that I know of. "

"Yet he died a violent death, " said Denzil gravely. 

"That's a frozen fact, sir, " cried Clyne, "and both Lyddy and I want tolynch the reptile as did it; but we neither of us know who laid himout. "

"I'm sure I don't, " said Mrs. Vrain in a weeping voice. "Every one thatI knew was civil to him; he had no one who wanted to kill him when heleft Berwin Manor. Why he went away, or how he died, I can't say. "

"If you want to know how he died, " explained Link, "I can tell you. Hewas stabbed. "

"So the journals said; with a bowie!"

"No, not with a bowie, " corrected Lucian, "but with some long, sharpinstrument. "

"A dagger?" suggested Clyne. 

"I should be even more precise, " said Denzil slowly. "I should say astiletto--an Italian stiletto. "

"A stiletto!" gasped Mrs. Vrain, whose delicate pink colour had faded toa chalky white. "Oh!--oh! I--I--" and she fainted forthwith. 

CHAPTER VII

THE ASSURANCE MONEY

Mrs. Vrain's fainting fit was of no great duration, and she shortlyrecovered her senses, but not her sprightliness. Her excuse was that thelong discussion of her husband's murder, and the too precise detailsrelated to her by Link before Denzil's arrival, had so wrought on hernerves as to occasion her temporary indisposition. 

This reason, which was a trifle weak, since she seemed to bear herhusband's loss with great stoicism, awakened suspicions in Lucian's mindas to her truthfulness. However, these were too vague and confused to beput into words, so the young man remained silent until Mrs. Vrain andher father departed. This they did almost immediately, after the widowhad given her London and country addresses to the detective, in case heshould require her in the conduct of the case. 

This matter being attended to, she left the room, with a parting smileand especial bow to Lucian. 

Link smiled in his turn as he observed this Parthian shaft, the shootingof which was certainly out of keeping with Mrs. Vrain's character of amourning widow. 

"You seem to have made an impression on the lady, Mr. Denzil, " he said, with a slight cough to conceal his amusement. 

"Nonsense!" replied Lucian, his fair face crimsoning with vexation. "Sheseems to me one of those shallow women who would sooner flirt with atinker than pass unnoticed by the male sex. I don't like her, " heconcluded, with some abruptness. 

"On what grounds?"

"Well, she spoke very hardly about her husband, and seemed rather moreconcerned about this assurance money than his death. She is a flippantdoll, with a good deal of the adventuress about her. I don't think, "said the barrister significantly, "that she is altogether so ignorant ofthis matter as she pretends to be. "

The detective raised his eyebrows. "You don't propose to accuse her ofthe murder?" he asked sceptically. 

"Oh, no!" answered Denzil hastily. "I don't say she is as guilty as allthat; but she knows something, or suspects something. "

"How do you make that out?"

"She fainted at the mention of stiletto; and I am convinced thatVrain--as I suppose we must call him now--was killed with one. Andagain, Link, this woman admitted that she had married her elderlyhusband in Florence. Now, Florence, as you know, is an Italian town; astiletto is an Italian weapon. Putting these two things together, whatdo you make of Mrs. Vrain's fainting?"

"I make nothing of it, Mr. Denzil. You are too suspicious. The womanhad no reason to rid herself of her husband as you hint. "

"What about the assurance money?"

"There is a motive there, certainly--a motive of gain. Still, I thinkyou are making a mountain out of a molehill, for I am satisfied that sheknows no more who committed the crime than does the Pope himself. "

"It is as well to look in every direction, " said Lucian obstinately. 

"Meaning that I should follow this clue you suggest, which has noexistence save in your own fancy. Well, I'll keep my eye on Mrs. Vrain, you may be sure of that. It won't be difficult, as she will certainlystay in town until she identifies the body of her dead husband and getsthe money. If she is guilty, I'll track her down; but I am certain shehas nothing to do with the crime. If she had, it is not likely that shewould enter the lion's den by coming to see me. No, no, Mr. Denzil; youhave found a mare's nest. "

Lucian shrugged his shoulders, and took up his hat to go. 

"You may be right, " said he reluctantly, "but I have my doubts of Mrs. Vrain, and shall continue to have them until she supplies a morefeasible explanation of her fainting. In the meantime, I'll leave you tofollow out the case in the manner you judge best. We shall see who isright in the long run, " and Denzil, still holding to his opinion, tookhis departure, leaving Link confident that the young man did not knowwhat he was talking about. 

As the detective sat thinking over the late conversation, and wonderingif he could shape any definite course out of it, Denzil put his head inat the door. 

"I say, Link, " he called out, "you'd better find out if Mrs. Vrain isreally the wife of this dead man before you are guided by her story!"After which speech he hurriedly withdrew, leaving Link to digest it athis leisure. 

At first, Link was indignant that Denzil should deem him so easilyhoodwinked as the speech implied. Afterwards he began to laugh. 

"Wife!" said he to himself. "Of course she is the man's wife! She knowstoo much about him to be otherwise; but even granting that Denzil isright--which I don't for a moment admit--there is no need for me toprove the truth of his assumption. If this pretty woman is not the truewife of Berwin, or Vrain, or whatever this dead man's name actually maybe, the assurance company will get at the rights of the matter beforepaying over the money. "

Subsequent events reflected credit on this philosophical speech anddetermination of Mr. Link. Had Mrs. Vrain been an imposter, her house ofcards would have been knocked down, as soon as reared, by the searchinginquiry instituted by the Sirius Assurance Company. It appeared that thelife of the late Mark Vrain was on the books of the company for no lessa sum than twenty thousand pounds; and under the will this was to bepaid over to Lydia Vrain, _née_ Clyne. The widow, aided by herfather--who was a shrewd business man, in spite of his innocentlooks--and the family lawyer of the Vrains, went systematically to workto establish her own identity, the death of her husband, and herconsequent right to the money. 

The first thing to be done was to prove that the dead man was reallyVrain. There was some little difficulty in obtaining an order from theauthorities for the opening of the grave and the exhumation of the body;but finally the consent of those in power was obtained, and there waslittle difficulty in the identification of the remains. The lawyer, Mr. Clyne, Mrs. Vrain herself, and several people brought up from Bath bythe assurance company, swore that the corpse--buried under the falsename of Berwin--was that of Mark Vrain, for decomposition had notproceeded so far but what the features could be recognised. There waseven no need to unwrap the body from its cerements, as the face itself, and the scar thereon, were quite sufficient for the friends of thedeceased to swear to the corpse. Thereupon the assurance company, on thefullest of evidence, was compelled to admit that their client was dead, and expressed themselves ready to pay over the money to Mrs. Vrain assoon as the will should be proved. 

Pending the legal process necessary to do this, the widow made a greatparade of her grief and affection for the dead man. She had the bodyre-enclosed in a new and sumptuous coffin, and removed the same toBerwin Manor, near Bath, where, after a short lapse of time, it was dulyplaced in the family vault of the Vrains. 

The widow, having thus disposed of her husband, bethought herself of herstepdaughter, who at that time was on a visit to some friends inAustralia. A long letter, giving full details, was despatched by Mrs. Vrain, and the daughter was requested, both by the widow and the lawyer, to come back to England at once and take up her abode in Berwin Manor, which, with its surrounding acres, had been left to her under the will. 

Matters connected with the death and its consequences having beendisposed of thus far, Mrs. Vrain sat down, and, folding her hands, waited till such time as she would receive the assurance money, andbegin a new life as a wealthy and fascinating widow. Every one said thatthe little woman had behaved very well, and that Vrain--weak-headed ashe was supposed to be--had shown excellent judgment in dividing hisproperty, real and personal, so equally between the two claimants. MissVrain, as became the child of the first wife, received the home andacres of her ancestors; while the second wife obtained the assurancemoney, which every one candidly admitted she quite deserved for havingsacrificed her youth and beauty to an old man like Vrain. In those days, when all these details were being settled, the widow was the mostpopular personage in Bath. 

Matters went smoothly with Mrs. Vrain in every respect. The will wasduly proved, the twenty thousand pounds was duly paid over; so, findingherself rich, the widow came with her father to take up her abode inLondon. When settled there one of her first acts was to send a note toLucian, telling him that she was in town. The good looks of the youngman had made a considerable impression on Mrs. Vrain, and she appearedanxious to renew the acquaintance, although it had been soinauspiciously begun in the purlieus of the police courts. 

On his part, Lucian lost no time in paying his respects, for after thesearching inquiry conducted by the Sirius Assurance Company, out ofwhich ordeal Mrs. Vrain had emerged unscathed, he began to think that hehad been too hasty in condemning the little widow. So he called upon heralmost immediately after receiving the invitation, and found her, afterthe lapse of three months, as pretty as ever, and clothed in less heavymourning. 

"It's real sweet of you to call, Mr. Denzil, " said she vivaciously. "Ihaven't seen anything of you since we met in Mr. Link's office. Andsakes! have I not had a heap of trouble since then?"

"Your trouble has done you no harm, Mrs. Vrain. So far as your looks go, three minutes, rather than three months, might have passed. "

"Oh, that's all right. I guess it's not good enough to cry one's selfsick for what can't be helped. But I want to ask you, Mr. Denzil, howthat policeman is progressing with the case. "

"He has found out nothing, " replied Lucian, shaking his head, "and, sofar as I can see, there's not much chance of learning the truth. "

"I never thought there was, " said Mrs. Vrain, with a shrug. "Seems to meyou don't get round much in this old country. Well, it don't seem as Ican do much more. I've told all I know, and I've offered a reward of£500 to discover the man who stuck Mark. If he ain't found for dollarshe won't be found at all. "

"Probably not, Mrs. Vrain. It is now over three months since the crimewas committed, and every day makes the chance of discovery less. "

"But for all that, Diana Vrain's going on the trail, Mr. Denzil. "

"Diana Vrain! Who is she?"

"My stepdaughter--Mark's only child. She was in Australia--out in thewild west of that country--and only lately got the news of her father'sdeath. I got a letter from her last week, and it seems as she's comingback here to find out who laid her poppa out. "

"I am afraid she'll not succeed, " said Denzil dubiously. 

"She'll do her best to, " replied Mrs. Vrain, with a shrug. "She's asobstinate as a battery mule; but it's no use talking, she will have herown way, " and dismissing the subject of Miss Vrain, the pretty widow, with an air of relief, talked on more frivolous subjects until Luciantook his departure. 

CHAPTER VIII

DIANA VRAIN

Although over three months had elapsed since the murder of Mark Vrain, and the crime had been relegated to oblivion both by press and people, curiosity concerning it was still active in Geneva Square. The gossipsin that talkative quarter had exhausted their tongues and imaginationsin surmising who had committed the deed, and how it had beenaccomplished. 

It was now known that the deceased had been of a good county family, whohad left his pretty young wife in a fit of groundless suspicion; that hehad no enemies; and had withdrawn to the Silent House to save himselffrom the machinations of purely imaginary beings. The general opinionwas that Vrain had been insane; but even this did not explain the reasonof his tragic and unforeseen death. 

Since the murder the Silent House had acquired a tenfold interest in theeyes of all. The crime, added to its reputation for being haunted, invested it with horror; and its commonplace looks assumed to fancifulonlookers a grim and menacing aspect, in keeping with its blood-stainedfloor and ghostly rooms. 

Disheartened by the late catastrophe, which had so greatly enhanced thealready evil reputation of the house, the landlord did not attempt torelet it, as he knew very well that no tenant would be bold enough totake it, even at a nominal rent. Mrs. Vrain had sold off the furnitureof the two apartments which her unfortunate husband had inhabited, andnow these were as bare and lonely as the rest of the rooms. 

The landlord made no effort to furbish up or renovate the mansion, deeming that such expense would be useless; so No. 13, deserted by man, and cursed by God, remained vacant and avoided. People came from far andnear to look at it, but no one entered its doors lest some evil fateshould befall them. Yet, in strange contradiction to the horror itcreated in every breast, the houses on either side continued to beoccupied. 

Miss Greeb frequently took a peep across the way at the empty house, with its curtainless, dusty windows and smokeless chimneys. She hadtheorised often on the murder of Vrain, and being unable to come to anyreasonable conclusion, finally decided that a ghost--the ghost whichhaunted the mansion--had committed the crime. In support of thisfantastic opinion she related to Lucian at least a score of stories inwhich people foolishly sleeping in haunted rooms had been found dead inthe morning. 

"With black finger-marks on their throats, " said Miss Greebdramatically, "and looks of horror in their eyes, and everything lockedup, just like it was in No. 13, to show that nothing but a ghost couldhave killed them. "

"You forget, Miss Greeb, " said Lucian flippantly, "poor Vrain wasstabbed with a stiletto. Ghosts don't use material weapons. "

"How do you know the dagger was a real one?" replied Miss Greeb, sinkingher voice to a horrified whisper. "Was it ever seen? No! Was it everfound? No! The ghost took it away. Depend upon it, Mr. Denzil, it wasn'tflesh and blood as made a spirit of that crazy Berwin. "

"In that case, the ghostly criminal can't be hanged, " said Denzil, witha laugh. "But it's all nonsense, Miss Greeb. I am astonished that awoman of your sense should believe in such rubbish. "

"Wiser people than I have faith in ghosts, " retorted the landladyobstinately. "Haven't you heard of the haunted house in a West Endsquare, where a man and a dog were found dead in the morning, with avalet as gibbered awful ever afterwards?"

"Pooh! Pooh! That's a story of Bulwer Lytton's. "

"It is not, Mr. Denzil--it's a fact. You can see the very house in thesquare for yourself, and No. 13 is just such another. "

"Nonsense! Why, I'd sleep in No. 13 to-morrow night, just to prove thatyour ghostly fears are all moonshine. "

Miss Greeb uttered a screech of alarm. "Mr. Denzil!" she cried, withgreat energy, "sooner than you should do that, I'd--I'd--well, I don'tknow what I'd do!"

"Accuse me of stealing your silver spoons and have me locked up, " saidLucian, laughing. "Make yourself easy, Miss Greeb. I have no intentionof tempting Providence. All the same, I don't believe for one minutethat No. 13 is haunted. "

"Lights were seen flitting from room to room. "

"No doubt. Poor Vrain showed me over the house before he died. Hiscandle explains the lights. "

"They have been seen since his death, " said Miss Greeb solemnly. 

"Then, as a ghost, Vrain must be walking about with the old womanphantom who wears brocade and high-heeled shoes. "

Miss Greeb, seeing that she had a sceptic to deal with, retreated withgreat dignity from the argument, but nevertheless to other peoplemaintained her opinion, with many facts drawn from her imagination andfrom books on the supernatural compiled from the imagination--or, as thevarious writers called it--the experience of others. Some agreed withher, others laughed at her; but one and all acknowledged that, howeverit came about, whether by ghostly or mortal means, the murder of Vrainwas a riddle never likely to be solved; and, with other events of alike nature and mystery, it was relegated to the list of undiscoveredcrimes. 

After several interviews with Link, the barrister was also inclined totake this view of the matter. He found the detective quite discouragedin his efforts to find the assassin. 

"I have been to Bath, " said Link dismally. "I have examined, so far as Iwas able, into the past life of Vrain, but I can find nothing likely tothrow light on the subject. He did not get on well with his wife, andleft Bath ten months before the murder. I tried to trace where he wentto, but could not. He vanished from Bath quite unexpectedly, and fourmonths later turned up in Geneva Square, as we know, but who killed him, or why he was killed, I can't say. I'm afraid I'll have to give it up asa bad job, Mr. Denzil. "

"What! and lose a reward of five hundred pounds!" said Lucian. 

"If it was five thousand, I must lose it, " returned the dejected Link. "This case beats me. I don't believe the murderer will ever be rundown. "

"Upon my word, I am inclined to agree with you, " said Denzil, andbarrister and detective departed, each convinced that the Vrain case wasended, and that in the face of the insuperable obstacles presented by itthere was not the slightest chance of avenging the murder of theunfortunate man. The reading of the mystery was beyond mortal powers toaccomplish. 

 * * * * *

About the middle of April, nearly four months after the tragedy, Lucianreceived a letter containing an invitation which caused him no littleastonishment. The note was signed Diana Vrain, and, having intimatedthat the writer had returned only that week from Australia, requestedthat Mr. Denzil would be kind enough to call the next day at the RoyalJohn Hotel in Kensington. Miss Vrain ended by stating that she had aparticular desire to converse with Mr. Denzil, and hoped that he wouldnot fail to keep the appointment. 

Wondering greatly how the lady--who was no doubt the stepdaughterreferred to by Mrs. Vrain--had obtained his address, and why she desiredto see him so particularly, Lucian, out of sheer curiosity, obeyed thesummons. Next day, at four o'clock--the appointed hour--he presentedhimself as requested, and, on giving his name, was shown immediatelyinto the presence of his correspondent, who occupied a small privatesitting-room. 

When Miss Vrain rose to greet him, Lucian was amazed to see howbeautiful and stately she was. With dark hair and eyes, oval face, andfirm mouth, majestic figure and imperial gait, she moved towards him anapparent queen. A greater contrast to Mrs. Vrain than her stepdaughtercan scarcely be imagined: the one was a frivolous, volatile fairy, theother a dignified and reserved woman. She also was arrayed in blackgarments, but these were made in the plainest manner, and showed none ofthe coquetry of woe such as had characterised Mrs. Vrain's elaboratecostume. The look of sorrow on the face of Diana was in keeping with hermourning apparel, and she welcomed Lucian with a subdued courtesy whichprepossessed him greatly in her favour. 

Quick in his likes and dislikes, the young man was as drawn towards thisbeautiful, sad woman as formerly he had been repulsed by the feignedgrief and ensnaring glances of silly Mrs. Vrain. 

"I am much obliged to you for calling, Mr. Denzil, " said Miss Vrain in adeep voice, rather melancholy in its tone. "No doubt you wondered how Iobtained your address. "

"It did strike me as peculiar, I confess, " said Lucian, taking a chairto which she pointed, "but on considering the matter I fancied that Mrs. Vrain had----"

"Mrs. Vrain!" echoed Diana in a tone of contempt. "No! I have not seenMrs. Vrain since I returned, a week ago, to London. I got your addressfrom the detective who examined into the death of my most unhappyfather. "

"You have seen Link?"

"Yes, and I know all that Link could tell me. He mentioned your namefrequently in his narrative, and gave me to understand that on twooccasions you had spoken with my father; therefore, I asked him to giveme your address, so that I might speak with you personally on thematter. "

"I am quite at your service, Miss Vrain. I suppose you wish to learnall that I know of the tragedy?"

"I wish for more than that, Mr. Denzil, " said Diana quietly. "I wish youto help me in hunting down the assassin of my father. "

"What! Do you intend to reopen the case?"

"Certainly; but I did not know that the case--as you call it--had beenclosed. I have come home from Australia especially to devote myself tothis matter. I should have been in London long ago, but that out inAustralia I was with some friends in a part of the country where it isdifficult to get letters. As soon as Mrs. Vrain's letter about theterrible end of my father came to hand I arranged my affairs and left atonce for England. Since my arrival I have seen Mr. Saker, our familylawyer, and Mr. Link, the detective. They have told me all they know, and now I wish to hear what you have to say. "

"I am afraid I cannot help you, Miss Vrain, " said Lucian dubiously. 

"Ah! You refuse to help me?"

"Oh, no! no! I shall only be too glad to do what I can, " protestedLucian, shocked that she should think him so hard-hearted, "but I knowof nothing likely to solve the mystery. Both myself and Link have doneour best to discover the truth, but without success. "

"Well, Mr. Denzil, " said Diana, after a pause, "they often say that awoman's wit can do more than a man's logic, so you and I must put ourheads together and discover the guilty person. Have you no suspicion?"

"No. I have no suspicion, " replied Lucian frankly. "Have you?"

"I have. I suspect--a lady. "

"Mrs. Vrain?"

"Yes. How do you know I meant her?"

"Because at one time I suspected her myself. "

"You suspected rightly, " replied Diana. "I believe that Mrs. Vrainkilled her husband. "

CHAPTER IX

A MARRIAGE THAT WAS A FAILURE

Denzil did not reply at once to the accusation levelled by Diana at Mrs. Vrain, as he was too astonished at her vehemence to find his voicereadily. When he did speak, it was to argue on the side of the prettywidow. 

"I think you must be mistaken, " he said at length. 

"But, Mr. Denzil, you declared that you suspected her yourself!"

"At one time, but not now, " replied Lucian decisively, "because at thetime of the murder Mrs. Vrain was keeping Christmas in Berwin Manor. "

"Like Nero fiddling when Rome was burning, " retorted Diana sharply; "butyou mistake my meaning. I do not say that Mrs. Vrain committed the crimepersonally, but she inspired and guided the assassin. "

"And who is the assassin, in your opinion?"

"Count Hercule Ferruci. "

"An Italian?"

"As you may guess from the name. "

"Now, that is strange, " cried Lucian, with some excitement, "for, fromthe nature of the wound, I believe that your father was stabbed by anItalian stiletto. "

"Aha!" said Diana, with satisfaction. "That strengthens the accusation Ibring against Ferruci. "

"And, again, " continued Denzil, hardly listening to what she was saying, "when I mentioned my suspicion about the stiletto in the hearing of Mrs. Vrain, she fainted. "

"Which showed that her guilty conscience pricked her. Oh, I am sure ofit, Mr. Denzil! My stepmother and the count are the criminals!"

"Our evidence, as yet, is only circumstantial, " said Lucian cautiously. "We must not jump to conclusions. At present I am completely in the darkregarding this foreigner. "

"I can enlighten you, but it is a long story. "

"The longer the better, " said Denzil, thinking he could hear Diana speakand watch her face for hours without weariness. "I wish for all details, then I shall be in a better position to judge. "

"What you say is only reasonable, Mr. Denzil. I shall tell you myfather's history from the time he went to Italy some three years ago. Itwas in Italy--to be precise, in Florence--that he met with Lydia Clyneand her father. "

"One moment, " said Denzil. "Before you begin, will you tell me what youthink of the couple?"

"Think!" cried Diana disdainfully. "I think they are a couple ofadventurers; but she is the worst of the two. The old man, Jabez Clyne, I think moderately well of; he is a weak fool under the thumb of hisdaughter. If you only knew what I have suffered at the hands of thatgolden-haired doll!"

"I should think you could hold your own, Miss Vrain. "

"Not against treachery and lies!" retorted Diana fiercely. "It is not myhabit to employ such weapons, but my stepmother used no others. It wasshe who drove me out of the house and made me exile myself to theAntipodes to escape her falseness. And it was she, " added Miss Vrainsolemnly, "who treated my father so ill as to drive him out of his ownhome. Lydia Vrain is not the doll you think her to be; she is a false, cruel, clever adventuress, and I hate her--I hate her with all my heartand soul!"

This feminine outburst of anger rather bewildered Denzil, who saw veryplainly that Diana was by no means the lofty angel he had taken her tobe in the first appreciation of her beauty. But her passion of themoment suited so well with her stately looks that she seemed rather aMargaret of Anjou defying York and his faction than an injured womanconcerned with so slight a thing as the rebuke of one of her own sex forwhom she had little love. Diana saw the surprise expressed on Lucian'sface, and her own flushed a little with annoyance that she should havebetrayed her feelings so openly. With a vexed laugh, she recovered hertemper and composed demeanour. 

"You see I am no saint, Mr. Denzil, " she said, resuming her seat, forin her anger she had risen to her feet. "But even if I were one, I couldnot have restrained myself from speaking as I did. When you know mystepmother as well as I do--but I must talk calmly about her, or youwill not understand my reasons for thinking her concerned in theterrible fate of my poor father. "

"I am all attention, Miss Vrain. "

"I'll tell you all I know, as concisely as possible, " she replied, "andyou can judge for yourself if I am right or wrong. Three years ago myfather's health was very bad. Since the death of my mother--now some tenyears--he had devoted himself to hard study, and had lived more or lessthe life of a recluse in Berwin Manor. He was writing a history of theElizabethan dramatists, and became so engrossed with the work that heneglected his health, and consequently there was danger that he mightsuffer from brain fever. The doctors ordered him to leave his books andto travel, in order that his attention might be distracted by new scenesand new people. I was to go with him, to see that he did not resume hisstudies, so, in an evil hour for us both, we went to Italy. "

"Your father was not mad?" said Lucian, thinking of the extraordinarybehaviour of Vrain in the square. 

"Oh, no!" cried Diana indignantly. "He was a trifle weak in the headfrom overwork but quite capable of looking after himself. "

"Did he indulge in strong drink?"

Miss Vrain looked scandalised. "My father was singularly abstemious ineating and drinking, " she said stiffly. "Why do you ask such aquestion?"

"I beg your pardon, " replied Lucian, with all humility, "but it wasreported in Geneva Square that Berwin--the name by which your father wasknown--drank too much; and when I met him he was certainly not--notquite himself, " finished the barrister delicately. 

"No doubt his troubles drove him to take more than was good for him, "said Diana in a low voice. "Yet I wonder at it, for his health was noneof the best. Sometimes, I admit, he took sleeping draughtsand--and--drugs. "

"He was consumptive, " said Lucian, noticing Diana's hesitation to speakplainly. 

"His chest was weak, and consumption may have developed itself, but whenI left England, almost two years back, he was certainly not sufferingfrom that disease. But I see how it is, " said Diana, wringing her hands. "During my short absence, and under the tyranny of his wife, hisphysical health and moral principles gave way. Drink and consumption!Ah! God! were not these ills enough but what the woman must add murderto cap them both?"

"We do not know yet if she is guilty, " said Lucian quietly. "Will you goon with your story, Miss Vrain? Later on we can discuss these matters, when I am in possession of the facts. You say it was an evil hour whenyou went to Italy. "

"It was indeed, " said Diana sorrowfully, "for in Florence, at thePension Donizetti, on the Lung Arno, we met with Lydia Clyne and herfather. They had only lately arrived in Italy--from New York, Isuppose--but already she was said to be engaged to a needy Italiannobleman named Hercule Ferruci. "

"Then I suppose the Clynes were rich, " said Lucian, "for I know thoseItalian nobles too well to suspect that this Count Ferruci would payattention to any one but an heiress. "

"She was supposed to be rich, Mr. Denzil. All Americans, for somereason, are supposed to be millionaires; but after she married my fatherI learned that Mr. Clyne had a very moderate fortune indeed, and hisdaughter nothing. It was for that reason that Lydia threw over thecount, to whom she was almost engaged, and began to pay attention to myfather. She heard talk of his estates in the gossip of the Pension, andbelieving him to be rich, she decided to marry him instead of throwingherself away in a romantic fit on Ferruci. "

"Did she love this Italian?"

"Yes, I am sure she did; and, what is more, she loves him still!"

"What! Is Count Ferruci still acquainted with Mrs. Vrain?"

"He is, as you shall hear. Miss Clyne, as I said, determined to make arich marriage by becoming the second Mrs. Vrain. I never liked her, knowing that she was false and frivolous; but though I did my best tostop the marriage, my father would not be controlled. You know that thiswoman is pretty and fascinating. "

"She is certainly the first, but not the last, " interposed Lucian. 

"At all events, " resumed Diana disconsolately, "she was sufficientlyfascinating to snare my poor foolish old father. We remained four monthsin Florence, and before we left it Lydia Clyne became Mrs. Vrain. Icould do nothing with my father, as he was possessed of the headstrongpassion of an old man, and, moreover, Lydia had learned to know his weakpoints so well that she could twist him round her finger. But, angeredas I was at my father's folly, I loved him too well to leave him at thetime, therefore I returned to Berwin Manor with the pair. 

"There, Mr. Denzil, " continued Miss Vrain, her face growing dark, "Lydiamade my life so wretched, and insulted me so openly, that I was forced, out of self-respect, to leave the house. I had some relatives inAustralia, to whom I went out on a visit. Alas! I wish I had not doneso; yet remain with my colonial cousins I did, until recalled to Englandby the terrible intelligence of my father's untimely end. "

"So the marriage was a failure?"

"Yes; even before I left, Lydia openly neglected my father. I am boundto say that Mr. Clyne, who is much the better of the two, tried to makeher conduct herself in a more becoming manner. But she defied him andevery one else. After my departure I received letters from a friend ofmine, who told me that Lydia had invited Count Ferruci over on a visit. My father, finding that he could do nothing, and seeing what a mistakehe had made, returned to his books, and soon became ill again. Insteadof looking after him, Lydia--as I heard--encouraged him to study hard, hoping, no doubt, that he would die, and that she would be free to marryCount Ferruci. Then my father left the house. "

"Why? That is a very necessary detail. "

Diana thought for a moment, then shook her head despondingly. "That Icannot explain, " she said, with a sigh, "as I was in Australia at thetime. But I expect that his brain grew weaker with study, and perhapswith the strong drink and drugs which this woman drove him to take. Nodoubt the poor man grew jealous of Ferruci; and, unable to asserthimself, seeing how ill he was, left the house and retired to GenevaSquare to meet his death, as we know. "

"But all this is supposition, " remonstrated Lucian. "We really do notknow why Mr. Vrain left the house. "

"What does Lydia say?"

"She gives no feasible explanation. "

"Nor will she. Oh!" cried Diana, "is there no way of getting at thetruth of this matter? I feel certain that Lydia and the Count areguilty!"

"You have no proofs, " said Denzil, shaking his head. 

"No proofs! Why, you said yourself that a stiletto----"

"That is a supposition on my part, " interrupted Lucian quickly. "Icannot say for certain that the deed was committed with such a weapon. Besides, if it was, how can you connect the Italian with the deed?"

"Can we not find a proof?"

"I fear not. "

"But if we search the house?"

"There is little use in doing that, " rejoined Lucian. "However, if itwill give you any satisfaction, Miss Vrain, I will take you over thehouse to-morrow morning. "

"Do!" cried Diana, "and we may find proof of Lydia's guilt in a way shelittle dreams of. Good-bye, Mr. Denzil--till to-morrow. "

CHAPTER X

THE PARTI-COLOURED RIBBON

The beauty and high spirit of Diana made so deep an impression on Lucianthat he determined to aid her by every means in his power in searchingfor the assassin of her father. As yet Denzil had reached the age oftwenty-five without having been attracted in any marked degree towardswoman-kind; or, to put it more precisely, he had not yet been in love. But now it seemed that the hour which comes to all of Adam's sons hadcome to him; for on leaving Diana he thought of nothing else but herlovely face and charming smile, and, until he met her again, her imagewas never absent from his mind. 

He took but a languid interest in his daily business or social pursuits, and, wrapped up in inwardly contemplating the beauties of Diana, heappeared to move amongst his fellow-men like one in a dream. And dreamerhe was, for there was no substantial basis for his passion. 

Many people--particularly those without imagination--scoff at the ideathat love can be born in a moment, but such is often the case, for alltheir ill-advised jibes. A man may be brought into contact with theloveliest and most brilliant of women, yet remain heart-whole; yetunexpectedly a face--not always the most beautiful--will fire him withsudden fervour, even against his better judgment. Love is not an affairof reason, to be clipped and measured by logic and calculation; but adevouring, destroying passion, impatient of restraint, and utterlyregardless of common sense. It is born of a look, of a smile, of a sigh, of a word; it springs up and fructifies more speedily than did Jonah'sgourd, and none can say how it begins or how it will end. It is the everold, ever new riddle of creation, and the more narrowly its mystery islooked into the more impossible does it become of solution. The lover ofto-day, with centuries of examples at his back, is no wiser in knowledgethan was his father Adam. 

Although Lucian was thus stricken mad after the irrational methods ofCupid, he had sufficient sense not to examine too minutely into thereasons for this sudden passion. He was in love, and admitting as muchto himself, there was an end of all argument. The long lane of hisyouthful and loveless life had turned in another direction at thesignpost of a woman's face, and down the new vista the lover sawflowering meadows, silver streams, bowers of roses, and all thelandscape of Arcadia. He was a piping swain and Diana a complaisantshepherdess; but they had not yet entered into the promised Arcadia, andmight never do so unless Diana was as kindly as he wished her to be. 

Lucian was in love with Diana, but as yet he could not flatter himselfthat she was in love with him, so he resolved to win her affection--ifit was free to be bestowed--by doing her will, and her will was torevenge the death of her father. This was hardly a pleasant task toLucian in his then peace-with-all-the-world frame of mind; but seeing noother way to gain a closer intimacy with the lady of his love, he tookthe bitter with the sweet, and set his shoulder to the wheel. 

The next morning, therefore, Lucian called on the landlord of No. 13 andrequested the keys of the house. But it appeared that these were not inthe landlord's keeping at the moment. 

"I gave them to Mrs. Kebby, the charwoman, " said Mr. Peacock, a retiredgrocer, who owned the greater part of the square. "The house is in sucha state that I thought I'd have it cleaned up a bit. "

"With a view to a possible tenant, I suppose?"

"I don't know, " replied Peacock, with a rueful shake of his bald head, "although I'm hoping against hope. But what with the murder and theghost, there don't seem much chance of letting it. What might you bewanting in No. 13, Mr. Denzil?"

"I wish to examine every room, to find, if possible, a clue to thiscrime, " explained Lucian, suppressing the fact that he was to have acompanion. 

"You'll find nothing, sir. I've looked into every room myself. However, you'll find Mrs. Kebby cleaning up, and she'll let you in if you ringthe bell. You aren't thinking of taking the house yourself, I suppose?"added Peacock wishfully. 

"No, thank you. My nerves are in good order just now; I don't want toupset them by inhabiting a house with so evil a reputation. "

"Ah! that's what every one says, " sighed the grocer. "I wish thatBerwin, or Vrain, or whatever he called himself, had chosen some otherplace to be killed in. "

"I'm afraid people who meet with unexpected deaths can't arrange theselittle matters beforehand, " said Lucian drily, and walked away, leavingthe unfortunate landlord still lamenting over his unlucky possession ofa haunted and blood-stained mansion. 

Before going to No. 13, Lucian walked down the street leading intoGeneva Square, in order to meet Diana, who was due at eleven o'clock. Punctual as the barrister was, he found that Miss Vrain, in herimpatience, was before him; for he arrived to see her dismiss her cab atthe end of the street, and met her half way down. 

His heart gave a bound as he saw her graceful figure, and he felt thehot blood rise to his cheeks as he advanced to meet her. 

Diana, quite unconscious of having, like her namesake, the moon, causedthis springtide of the heart, could not forbear a glance of surprise, but greeted her coadjutor without embarrassment and with allfriendliness. Her thoughts were too taken up with her immediate task ofexploring the scene of the crime to waste time in conjecturing thereason of the young man's blushes. Yet the instinct of her sex mighthave told her the truth, and probably it would have but that it wasblunted, or rather not exercised, by reason of her preoccupation. 

"Have you the key, Mr. Denzil?" said she eagerly. 

"No; but I have seen the landlord, and he has given us permission to goover the house. A charwoman who is cleaning up the place will let usin. "

"A charwoman, " repeated Miss Vrain, stopping short, "and cleaning up thehouse! Is it, then, about to receive a new tenant?"

"Oh, no; but the landlord wishes it to be aired and swept; to keep it insome degree of order, I presume. "

"What is the name of this woman?"

"Mrs. Kebby. "

"The same mentioned in the newspaper reports as having waited on myunhappy father?"

"The same, " replied Lucian, with some hesitation; "but I would adviseyou, Miss Vrain, not to question her too closely about your father. "

"Why not? Ah! I see; you think her answers about his drinking habitswill give me pain. No matter; I am prepared for all that. I don't blamehim so much as those who drove him to intemperance. Is this the house?"she said, looking earnestly at the neglected building before which theywere standing. 

"Yes, " replied Lucian, ringing the bell, "it was in this house that yourfather came to his untimely end. And here is Mrs. Kebby. "

That amiable crone had opened the door while the young man was speaking, and now stood eyeing her visitors with a blear-eyed look of darksuspicion. 

"What is't ye want?" she demanded, with a raven-like croak. 

"Mr. Peacock has given this lady and myself permission to go over thehouse, " responded Lucian, trying to pass. 

"And how do I know if he did?" grumbled Mrs. Kebby, blocking the way. 

"Because I tell you so. "

"And because I am the daughter of Mr. Vrain, " said Diana, steppingforward. 

"Lord love ye, miss! are ye?" croaked Mrs. Kebby, stepping aside. "Andye've come to look at your pa's blood, I'll be bound. "

Diana turned pale and shuddered, but controlling herself by an effort ofwill, she swept past the old woman and entered the sitting-room. "Isthis the place?" she asked Lucian, who was holding the door open. 

"That it is, miss, " cried the charwoman, who had hobbled after them, "and yonder is the poor gentleman's blood; it soaked right through thecarpet, " added Mrs. Kebby, with ghoulish relish. "Lor! 'ow it must 'avepoured out!"

"Hold your tongue, woman!" said Lucian roughly, seeing that Diana lookedas though about to faint. "Get on with your work!"

"I'm going; it's upstairs I'm sweeping, " growled the crone, retreating. "You'll bring me to you if ye give a holler. I'll show ye round for ashilling. "

"You shall have double if you leave us alone, " said Lucian, pointing tothe door. 

Mrs. Kebby's blear eyes lighted up, and she leered amiably at thecouple. 

"I dessay it's worth two shillings, " she said, chuckling hoarsely. "Oh, I'm not so old but what I don't know two turtle doves. He! he! To kissover yer father's blood! Lawks! what a match 'twill be! He! he!"

Still laughing hoarsely, Mrs. Kebby, in the midst of her unholy joy, waspushed out of the door by Lucian, who immediately afterwards turned tosee if Diana had overheard her ill-chosen and ominous words. But MissVrain, with a hard, white face, was leaning against the wall, and gaveno sign of such knowledge. Her eyes were fixed on a dull-looking redstain of a dark hue, irregular in shape, and her hands the while werepressed closely against her bosom, as though she felt a cruel pain inher heart. With bloodless cheek and trembling lip the daughter lookedupon the evidence of her father's death. Lucian was alarmed by herunnatural pallor. 

"Miss Vrain!" he exclaimed, starting forward, "you are ill! Let me leadyou out of this house. "

"No!" said Diana, waving him back. "Not till we examine every inch ofit; don't speak to me, please. I wish to use my eyes rather than mytongue. "

Denzil, both as a lover and a friend, respected this emotion of the pooryoung lady, so natural under the circumstances; and in silence conductedher from room to room. All were empty and still dusty, for Mrs. Kebby'sbroom swept sufficiently light, and the footfalls of the pair echoedhollowly in the vast spaces. 

Diana looked into every corner, examined every fireplace, attemptedevery window, but in no place could she find any extraneous objectlikely to afford a clue to the crime. They went down into the basementand explored the kitchen, the servant's parlour, the scullery, and thepantry, but with the same unsatisfactory result. The kitchen door, whichled out into the back yard, showed signs of having been lately opened;but when Diana drew Lucian's attention to this fact, as the murdererhaving possibly entered thereby, he assured her that it had only latelybeen opened by the detective, Link, when he was searching for clues. 

"I saw this door, " added Lucian, striking it with his cane, "a weekbefore your father was killed. He showed it to me himself, to prove thatno one could have entered the house during his absence; and I wassatisfied then, from the rusty condition of the bolts, and the absenceof the key in the lock, that the door had not been opened--at allevents, during his tenancy. "

"Then how could those who killed him have entered?"

"That is what I wish to learn, Miss Vrain. But why do you speak in theplural?"

"Because I believe that Lydia and Ferruci killed my father. "

"But I have proved to you that Mrs. Vrain remained at Bath. "

"I know it, " replied Diana quickly, "but she sent Ferruci up to kill myfather, and I speak in the plural because I think--in a moral sense--sheis as guilty as the Italian. "

"That may be, Miss Vrain, but as yet we have not proved their guilt. "

Diana made no answer, but, followed by Lucian, ascended to the upperpart of the house, where they found Mrs. Kebby sweeping so vigorouslythat she had raised a kind of dust storm. As soon as she saw the coupleshe hobbled towards them to cajole them, if possible, into giving hermoney. 

For a few moments Diana looked at her haughtily, not relishing thefamiliarity of the old dame, but unexpectedly she stepped forward with alook of excitement. 

"Where did you get that ribbon?" she asked Mrs Kebby, pointing to ascrap of personal adornment on the neck of the rusty old creature. 

"This?" croaked Mrs. Kebby. "I picked it up in the kitchen downstairs. It's a pretty red and yaller thing, but of no value, miss, so I don'ts'pose you'll take it orf me. "

Paying no attention to this whimpering, Diana twitched the ribbon out ofthe old woman's hands and examined it. It was a broad yellow ribbon ofrich silk, spotted with red--very noticeably and evidently of foreignmanufacture. 

"It is the same!" cried Diana, greatly excited. "Mr. Denzil, I boughtthis ribbon myself in Florence!"

"Well, " said Lucian, wondering at her excitement, "and what does thatprove?"

"This: that a stiletto which my father bought in Florence, at the sametime, has been used to kill him! I tied this ribbon myself round thehandle of the stiletto!"

CHAPTER XI

FURTHER DISCOVERIES

The silence which followed Diana's announcement regarding the ribbon andstiletto--for Lucian kept silence out of sheer astonishment--was brokenby the hoarse voice of Mrs. Kebby:

"If ye want the ribbon, miss, I'll not say no to a shilling. With whatyour good gentleman promised, that will be three as I'm ready to take, "and Mrs. Kebby held out a dirty claw for the silver. 

"You'll sell it, will you!" cried out Diana indignantly, pouncing downon the harridan. "How dare you keep what isn't yours? If you had shownthe detective this, " shaking the ribbon in Mrs. Kebby's face, "he mighthave caught the criminal!"

"Pardon me, " interposed Lucian, finding his voice, "I hardly think so, Miss Vrain; for no one but yourself could have told that the ribbonadorned the stiletto. Where did you see the weapon last?"

"In the library at Berwin Manor. I hung it up on the wall myself, bythis ribbon. "

"Are you sure it is the same ribbon?"

"I am certain, " replied Diana emphatically. "I cannot be mistaken; thecolour and pattern are both peculiar. Where did you find it?" sheadded, turning to Mrs. Kebby. 

"In the kitchen, I tell ye, " growled the old woman sullenly. "I onlyfound it this blessed morning. 'Twas in a dark corner, near the door asleads down to the woodshed. How was I to know 'twas any good?"

"Did you find anything else?" asked Lucian mildly. 

"No, I didn't, sir. "

"Not a stiletto?" demanded Diana, putting the ribbon in her pocket. 

"I don't know what's a stiletter, miss; but I didn't find nothing; and Iain't a thief, though some people as sets themselves above others bytaking ribbons as doesn't belong to 'em mayn't be much good. "

"The ribbon is not yours, " said Diana haughtily. 

"Yes it are! Findings is keepings with me!" answered Mrs. Kebby. 

"Don't anger her, " whispered Denzil, touching Miss Vrain's arm. "We mayfind her useful. "

Diana looked from him to the old woman, and opened her purse, at thesight of which Mrs. Kebby's sour face relaxed. When Miss Vrain gave herhalf a sovereign she quite beamed with joy. "The blessing of heaven onyou, my dear, " she said, with a curtsey. "Gold! good gold! Ah! this is abrave day's work for me--thirteen blessed shillings!"

"Ten, you mean, Mrs. Kebby!"

"Oh, no, sir, " cried Mrs. Kebby obsequiously, "the lady gave me ten, bless her heart, but you've quite forgot your three. "

"I said two. "

"Ah! so you did, sir. I'm a poor schollard at 'rithmetic. "

"You're clever enough to get money out of people, " said Diana, who wasdisgusted at the avarice of the hag. "However, for the present you mustbe content with what I have given you. If, in cleaning this house, youfind any other article, whatever it may be, you shall have another tenshillings, on consideration that you take it at once to Mr. Denzil. "

Mrs. Kebby, who was tying up the piece of gold in the corner of herhandkerchief, nodded her old head with much complacency. "I'll do it, miss; that is, if the gentleman will pay on delivery. I like cash. "

"You shall have cash, " said Lucian, laughing; and then, as Dianaintimated her intention of leaving the house, he descended the stairs inher company. 

Miss Vrain kept silence until they were outside in the sunshine, whenshe cast an upward glance at the warm blue sky, dappled with lightclouds. 

"I am glad to be out of that house, " she said, with a shudder. "There issomething in its dark and freezing atmosphere which chills my spirits. "

"It is said to be haunted, you know, " said Lucian carelessly; then, after a pause, he spoke on the subject which was uppermost in his mind. "Now that you have this piece of evidence, Miss Vrain, what do youintend to do?"

"Make sure that I have made no mistake, Mr. Denzil. I shall go down toBerwin Manor this afternoon. If the stiletto is still hanging on thelibrary wall by its ribbon, I shall admit my mistake; if it is absent, why then I shall return to town and consult with you as to what is bestto be done. You know I rely on you. "

"I shall do whatever you wish, Miss Vrain, " said Lucian fervently. 

"It is very good of you, " replied the lady gratefully, "For I have noright to take up your time in this manner. "

"You have every right--that is, I mean--I mean, " stammered Denzil, thinking from the surprised look of Miss Vrain that he had gone too farat so early a stage of their acquaintance. "I mean that as a brieflessbarrister I have ample time at my command, and I shall only be too happyto place it and myself at your service. And moreover, " he added in alighter tone, "I have some selfish interest in the matter, also, for itis not every one who finds so difficult a riddle as this to solve. Ishall never rest easy in my mind until I unravel the whole of thistangled skein. "

"How good you are!" cried Diana, impulsively extending her hand. "It isas impossible for me to thank you sufficiently now for your kindness asit will be to reward you hereafter, should we succeed. "

"As to my reward, " said Lucian, retaining her hand longer than wasnecessary, "we can decide what I merit when your father's death isavenged. "

Diana coloured and turned away her eyes, withdrawing her hand in themeantime from the too warm clasp of the young man. A sense of hismeaning was suddenly borne in upon her by look and clasp, and she felt amaidenly confusion at the momentary boldness of this undeclared lover. However, with feminine tact she laughed off the hint, and shortlyafterwards took her leave, promising to communicate as speedily aspossible with Lucian regarding the circumstances of her visit to Bath. 

The barrister wished to escort her back to the Royal John Hotel inKensington, but Miss Vrain, guessing his feelings, would not permitthis; so Lucian, hat in hand, was left standing in Geneva Square, whilehis divinity drove off in a prosaic hansom. With her went the glory ofthe sunlight, the sweetness of the spring; and Denzil, more in love thanever, sighed hugely as he walked slowly back to his lodgings. 

For doleful moods, hard work and other interests are the sole cure;therefore, that same afternoon Lucian returned to explore the SilentHouse on his own account. It had struck him as suggestive that theparti-coloured ribbon to which Diana attached such importance shouldhave been found in so out-of-the-way a corner as the threshold of thedoor which conducted to what Mrs. Kebby, with characteristicmisrepresentation, called the woodshed. In reality the place inquestion was a cellar, which extended under the soil of the back yard, and was lighted from the top by a skylight placed on a level with theground. 

On being admitted again by Mrs. Kebby, and sending that ancient femaleto her Augean task of cleansing the house, Lucian descended to thebasement in order to examine kitchen and cellar more particularly. If, as Diana stated, the ribbon had been knotted loosely about the hilt ofthe stiletto, it must have fallen off unnoticed by the assassin when, weapon in hand, he was retreating from the scene of crime. 

"He must have come down here from the sitting-room, " mused Denzil, as hestood in the cool, damp kitchen. "And--as the ribbon was found by Mrs. Kebby near yonder door--it is most probable that he left the kitchen bythat passage for the cellar. Now it remains for me to find out how hemade his exit from the cellar; and also I must look for the stiletto, which he possibly dropped in his flight, as he did the ribbon. "

While thus soliloquising, Denzil lighted a candle which he had taken theprecaution to bring with him for the purpose of making his undergroundexplorations. Having thus provided himself with means to dispel thedarkness, he stepped into the door and descended the stone stairs whichled to the cellars. 

At the foot of the steps he found himself in a passage running from thefront to the back of the house, and forthwith turned to the right inorder to reach the particular cellar, which was dug out in the manner ofa cave under the back yard. 

This, as Lucian ascertained by walking round, was faced with stone andhad bins on all four sides for the storage of wine. Overhead there was aglass skylight, of which the glass was so dusty and dirty that only afew rays of light could struggle into the murky depths below. But whatparticularly attracted the attention of Denzil was a short wooden ladderlying on the stone pavement, and which probably was used to reach thewine in the upper bins. 

"And I should not be surprised if it had been used for another purpose, "murmured Lucian, glancing upward at the square aperture of the skylight. 

It struck him as possible that a stranger could enter thereby anddescend by the ladder. To test the truth of this he reared the ladder inthe middle of the cellar so that its top rung rested against the loweredge of the square overhead. Ascending carefully--for the ladder was byno means stout--he pushed the glass frame upward and found that ityielded easily to a moderate amount of strength. Climbing up, step afterstep, Lucian arose through the aperture like a genie out of the earth, and soon found that he could jump easily out of the cellar into theyard. 

"Good!" he exclaimed, much gratified by this discovery. "I now see howthe assassin entered. No wonder the kitchen door was bolted and barred, and that no one was seen to visit Vrain by the front door. Any one whoknew the position of that skylight could obtain admission easily, at anyhour, by descending the ladder and passing through cellar and kitchen tothe upper part of the house. So much is clear, but I must next discoverhow those who entered got into this yard. "

And, indeed, there seemed no outlet, for the yard was enclosed on threesides by a fence of palings the height of a man, and rendered imperviousto damp by a coating of tar; on the fourth side by the house itself. Only over the fence--which was no insuperable obstacle--could a strangerhave gained access to the yard; and towards the fence opposite to thehouse Lucian walked. In it there was no gate, or opening of any kind, soit would appear that to come into the yard a stranger would need toclimb over, a feat easily achieved by a moderately active man. 

As Denzil examined this frail barrier his eye was caught by a flutteringobject on the left--that is, the side in a line with the skylight. Thishe found was the scrap of a woman's veil of thin black gauze spottedwith velvet. At once his thoughts reverted to the shadow of the woman onthe blind, and the suspicions of Diana Vrain. 

"Great heavens!" he thought, "can that doll of a Lydia be guilty, afterall?"

CHAPTER XII

THE VEIL AND ITS OWNER

As may be surmised, Lucian was considerably startled by the discovery ofthis important evidence so confirmative of Diana's suspicions. Yet theknowledge which Link had gained relative to Mrs. Vrain's remaining atBerwin Manor to keep Christmas seemed to contradict the fact; and hecould by no means reconcile her absence with the presence on the fenceof the fragment of gauze; still less with the supposition that she musthave climbed over a tolerably difficult obstacle to enter the yard, letalone the necessity--by no means easy to a woman--of descending into thedisused cellar by means of a shaky and fragile ladder. 

"After all, " thought Lucian, when he was seated that same evening at hisdinner, "I am no more certain that the veil is the property of Mrs. Vrain than I am that she was the woman whose shadow I saw on the blind. Whosoever it was that gained entrance by passing over fence and throughcellar, must have come across the yard belonging to the house facing theother road. Therefore, the person must be known to the owner of thathouse, and I must discover who the owner is. Miss Greeb will know. "

Lucian made this last remark with the greatest confidence, as he wassatisfied, from a long acquaintance with his landlady, that there wasvery little concerning her own neighbourhood of which she was ignorant. The result verified his belief, for when Miss Greeb came in to clear thetable--a duty she invariably undertook so as to have a chance ofconversing with her admired lodger--she was able to afford him thefullest information on the subject. The position of the house inquestion; the name of its owner; the character of its tenants; she wasthoroughly well posted up in every item, and willingly imparted herknowledge with much detail and comment. 

"No. 9 Jersey Street, " said she, unhesitatingly; "that is the number ofthe house at the back of the haunted mansion, Mr. Denzil. I know it aswell as I know my ten fingers. "

"To whom does it belong?" asked Lucian. 

"Mr. Peacock; he owns most of the property round about here, havingbought up the land when the place was first built on. He's seventy yearsof age, you know, Mr. Denzil, " continued Miss Greeb conversationally, "and rich!--Lord! I don't know how rich he is! Building houses cheap andletting them dear; he has made more out of that than in sanding hissugar and chicorying his coffee. He----"

"What is the name of the tenant?" interrupted Lucian, cutting shortthis rapid sketch of Peacock's life. 

"Mrs. Bensusan, one of the largest women hereabouts. "

"I don't quite understand. "

"Fat, Mr. Denzil. She turns the scale at eighteen stone, and has prettywell broke every weighing machine in the place. "

"What reputation has she, Miss Greeb?"

"Oh, pretty good, " said the little woman, shrugging her shoulders, "though they do say she overcharges and underfeeds her lodgers. "

"She keeps a boarding-house, then?"

"Well, she lets rooms, " explained Miss Greeb in a very definite manner, "and those who live in them supply their own food, and pay for serviceand kitchen fire. "

"Who is with her now?"

"No one, " replied the landlady promptly. "She's had her bill up thesethree months. Her last lodger left about Christmas. "

"What is his name--or her name?"

"Oh, it was a 'he, '" said Miss Greeb, smiling. 

"Mrs. Bensusan prefers gentlemen, who are out of doors all day, toladies muddling and meddling all day about the house. I must say I do, too, Mr. Denzil, " ended the lady, with a fascinating glance. 

"What is his name, Miss Greeb?" repeated Lucian, quite impervious to thehint. 

"Let me see, " said Miss Greeb, discomfited at the result of her failure. "A queer name that had to do with payments. Bill as the short forWilliam. No, it wasn't that, although it does suggest an account. Quarterday? No. But it had something to do with quarter-days. Rent!"finished Miss Greeb triumphantly. "Rent, with a 'W' before it. "

"W-r-e-n-t!" spelled Lucian. 

"Yes. Wrent! Mr. Wrent. A strange name, Mr. Denzil--a kind of charade, as I may say. He was with Mrs. Bensusan six months; came to her houseabout the time Mr. Berwin hired No. 13. "

"Very strange!" assented Lucian, to stop further comment. "What kind ofa man was this Mr. Wrent?"

"I don't know. I never heard much about him, " replied Miss Greebregretfully. "May I ask why you want to know all this, Mr. Denzil?"

Lucian hesitated, as he rather dreaded the chattering tongue of hislandlady, and did not wish his connection with the Vrain case to becomepublic property in Geneva Square. Still, Miss Greeb was a valuable ally, if only for her wide acquaintance with the neighbourhood, itsinhabitants, and their doings. Therefore, after a moment's reflection, he resolved to secure Miss Greeb as a coadjutor, and risk her excessivegarrulity. 

"Can you keep a secret, Miss Greeb?" he asked, with impressivesolemnity. 

Struck by his serious air, and at once on fire with curiosity to learnits reason, Miss Greeb loudly protested that she should sooner die thanbreathe a word of what her lodger was about to divulge. She hinted, with many a mysterious look and nod, that secrets endangering thedomestic happiness of every family in the square were known to her, andappealed to the fact that such families still lived in harmony as aproof that she was to be trusted. 

"Wild horses wouldn't drag out of me what I know!" cried Miss Greebearnestly. "You can confide in me as you would in a"--she was about tosay mother, but recollecting her juvenile looks, substituted the word"sister. "

"Very good, " said Lucian, explaining just as much as would serve hispurpose. "Then I may tell you, Miss Greeb, that I suspect the assassinof Mr. Vrain entered through Mrs. Bensusan's house, and so got into theyard of No. 13. "

"Lord!" cried Miss Greeb, taken by surprise. "You don't say, sir, thatMr. Wrent is a murdering villain, steeped in gore?"

"No! No!" replied Lucian, smiling at this highly-coloured description. "Do not jump to conclusions, Miss Greeb. So far as I am aware, this Mr. Wrent you speak of is innocent. Do you know Mrs. Bensusan and her housewell?"

"I've visited both several times, Mr. Denzil. "

"Well, then, tell me, " continued the barrister, "is the house built witha full frontage like those in this square? I mean, to gain Mrs. Bensusan's back yard is it necessary to go through Mrs. Bensusan'shouse?"

"No, " replied Miss Greeb, shutting her eyes to conjure up the image ofher friend's premises. "You can go round the back through the sidepassage which leads in from Jersey Road. "

"H'm!" said Lucian in a dissatisfied tone. "That complicates matters. "

"How so, sir?" demanded the curious landlady. 

"Never mind just now, Miss Greeb. Do you think you could draw me a planof this passage of Mrs. Bensusan's house, and of No. 13, with the yardsbetween?"

"I never could sketch, " said Miss Greeb regretfully, "and I am noartist, Mr. Denzil, but I think I can do what you want. "

"Here is a sheet of paper and a pencil. Will you sketch me the houses asclearly as you can?"

With much reflection and nibbling of the pencil, and casting of her eyesup to the ceiling to aid her memory, Miss Greeb in ten minutes producedthe required sketch. 

"There you are, Mr. Denzil, " said Miss Greeb, placing this work of artbefore the barrister, "that's as good as I can draw. "

"It is excellent, Miss Greeb, " replied Lucian, examining the plan. "Isee that anyone can get into Mrs. Bensusan's yard through the sidepassage. "

"Oh, yes; but I don't think a person could without being seen by Mrs. Bensusan or Rhoda. "

"Who is Rhoda?"

"The servant. She's as sharp as a needle, but an idle slut, for allthat, Mr. Denzil. They say she's a gypsy of some kind. "

"Is the gate of this passage locked at night?"

"Not that I know of. "

"Then what is to prevent any one coming in under cover of darkness andclimbing the fence? He would escape then being seen by the landlady andher servant. "

"I daresay; but he'd be seen climbing over the fence from the backwindows of the houses on each side of No. 13. "

"Not if he chose a dark night for the climbing. "

"Well, even if he did, how could he get into No. 13?" argued Miss Greeb. "You know I've read the report of the case, Mr. Denzil, and it couldn'tbe found out (as the kitchen door was locked, and no stranger enteredthe square) how the murdering assassin got in. "

"I may discover even that, " replied Lucian, not choosing to tell MissGreeb that he had already discovered the entrance. "With time andinquiry and observation we can do much. Thank you, Miss Greeb, " hecontinued, slipping the drawing of the plan into his breast coat pocket. "I am much obliged for your information. Of course you'll repeat ourconversation to no one?"

"I swear to breathe no word, " said Miss Greeb dramatically, and left theroom greatly pleased with this secret understanding, which had quite theair of an innocent intrigue such as was detailed in journals designedfor the use of the family circle. 

For the next day or two Lucian mused over the information he hadobtained, and made a fresh drawing of the plan for his own satisfaction;but he took no steps on this new evidence, as he was anxious to submithis discoveries to Miss Vrain before doing so. At the present time Dianawas at Bath, taking possession of her ancestral acres, and consultingthe family lawyer on various matters connected with the property. 

Once she wrote to Lucian, advising him that she had heard several piecesof news likely to be useful in clearing up the mystery; but these sherefused to communicate save at a personal interview. Denzil was thuskept in suspense, and unable to rest until he knew precisely the valueof Miss Vrain's newly acquired information; therefore it was with afeeling of relief that he received a note from her asking him to call atthree o'clock on Sunday at the Royal John Hotel. 

Since her going and coming a week had elapsed. 

Now that his divinity had returned, and he was about to see her again, the sun shone once more in the heavens for Lucian, and he arrayedhimself for his visit with the utmost care. His heart beat violently andhis colour rose as he was ushered into the little sitting-room, and hethought less of the case at the moment than of the joy in seeing MissVrain once more, in hearing her speak, and watching her lovely face. 

On her part, Diana, recollecting their last meeting, or moreparticularly their parting, blushed in her turn, and gave her hand tothe barrister with a new-born timidity. She also was inclined to likeLucian more than was reasonable for the peace of her heart; so these twopeople, each drawn to the other, should have come together as loverseven at this second meeting. 

But, alas! for the prosaicness of this workaday world, they had toassume the attitudes of lawyer and client; and discourse of crimeinstead of love. The situation was a trifle ironical, and must haveprovoked the laughter of the gods. 

"Well?" asked Miss Vrain, getting to business as soon as Lucian wasseated, "and what have you found out?"

"A great deal likely to be of service to us. And you?"

"I!" replied Miss Vrain in a satisfied tone. "I have discovered that thestiletto with the ribbon is gone from the library. "

"Who took it away?"

"No one knows. I can't find out, although I asked all the servants; butit has been missing from its place for some months. "

"Do you think Mrs. Vrain took it?"

"I can't say, " replied Diana, "but I have made one discovery about Mrs. Vrain which implicates her still more in the crime. She was not inBerwin Manor on Christmas Eve, but in town. "

"Really!" said Lucian much amazed. "But Link was told that she spentChristmas in the Manor at Bath. "

"So she did. Link asked generally, and was answered generally. Mrs. Vrain went up to town on Christmas Eve and returned on Christmas Day;but, " said Diana, with emphasis, "she spent the night in town, and onthat night the murder was committed. "

Lucian produced his pocketbook and took therefrom the fragment of gauze, which he handed to Diana. 

"I found this on the fence at the back of No. 13, " he said. "It is aveil--a portion of a velvet-spotted veil. "

"A velvet-spotted veil!" cried Diana, looking at it. "Then it belongs toLydia Vrain. She usually wears velvet-spotted veils. Mr. Denzil, theevidence is complete--that woman is guilty!"

CHAPTER XIII

GOSSIP

Going by circumstantial evidence, Diana certainly had good grounds toaccuse Mrs. Vrain of committing the crime, for there were four points atleast which could be proved past all doubt as incriminating her stronglyin the matter. 

In the first place, the female shadow on the blind seen by Lucian, showed that a woman had been in the habit of entering the house by thesecret way of the cellar, and during the absence of Vrain. 

Secondly, the finding of the parti-coloured ribbon in the Silent House, which had been knotted round the handle of the stiletto by Diana, andthe absence of the stiletto itself from its usual place on the wall ofthe Berwin Manor library, proved that the weapon had been removedtherefrom to London, and, presumably, used to commit the deed, seeingthat otherwise there was no necessity for its presence in the GenevaSquare mansion. 

Thirdly, Diana had discovered that Lydia had spent the night of themurder in town; and, lastly, she also declared that the fragment ofgauze found by Lucian on the dividing fence was the property of Mrs. Vrain. 

This quartette of charges was recapitulated by Diana in support of heraccusation of her stepmother. 

"I always suspected Lydia as indirectly guilty, " she declared inconcluding her speech for the prosecution, "but I was not certain untilnow that she had actually struck the blow herself. "

"But did she?" said Denzil, by no means convinced. 

"I do not know what further evidence you require to prove it, " retortedDiana indignantly. "She was in town on Christmas Eve; she took thestiletto from the library, and----"

"You can't prove that, " interrupted Lucian decidedly. Then, seeing thelook of anger on Diana's face, he hastened to apologise. "Excuse me, Miss Vrain, " he said nervously. "I am not the less your friend because Icombat your arguments; but in this case it is necessary to look on bothsides of the question. Is it possible to prove that Mrs. Vrain removedthis dagger?"

"Nobody actually saw it in her possession, " replied Diana, who was moreamenable to reason than the majority of her sex, "but I can prove thatthe stiletto, with its ribbon, remained in the library after thedeparture of my father. If Lydia did not take it, who else had occasionto bring it up to London?"

"Let us say Count Ferruci, " suggested Denzil. 

Diana pointed to the fragment of the veil lying on the table. "On theevidence of that piece of gauze, " she said, "it was Lydia who enteredthe house. Again, you saw her shadow on the window blind. "

"I saw two shadows, " corrected Lucian hastily, "those of a man and awoman. "

"In plain English, Mr. Denzil, those of Mrs. Vrain and Count Ferruci. "

"We cannot be certain of that. "

"But circumstantial evidence----"

"Is not always conclusive, Miss Vrain. "

"Upon my word, sir, you seem inclined to defend this woman!"

"Miss Vrain, " said Lucian seriously, "if we don't give her the benefitof every doubt the jury will, should she be tried on this charge. Iadmit that the evidence against this woman is strong, but it is notcertain; and I argue the case looking at it from her point of view--theonly view which is likely to be taken by her counsel. If Mrs. Vrainkilled her husband she must have had a strong motive to do so. "

"Well, " said Diana impatiently, "there is the assurance money. "

"I don't know if that motive is quite strong enough to justify thiswoman in risking her neck, " responded the barrister. "As Mrs. Vrain ofBerwin Manor she had an ample income, for your father seems to have leftall the rents to her, and spent but little on himself; also she had anassured position, and, on the whole, a happy life. Why should she risklosing these advantages to gain more money?"

"She wanted to marry Ferruci, " said Diana, driven to another point ofdefence. "She was almost engaged to him before she married my foolishfather; she invited him to Berwin Manor against the wish of her husband, and showed plainly that she loved him sufficiently to commit a crime forhis sake. With my father dead, and she in possession of £20, 000, shecould hope to marry this Italian. "

"Can you prove that she was so reckless?"

"Yes, I can, " replied Miss Vrain defiantly. "The same person who told methat Lydia was not at Berwin Manor on Christmas Eve can tell you thather behaviour with Count Ferruci was the talk of Bath. "

"Who is this person?" asked Lucian, looking up. 

"A friend of mine--Miss Tyler. I brought her up with me, so that youshould get her information at first hand. You can see her at once, " andDiana rose to ring the bell. 

"One moment, " interposed Lucian, before she could touch the button. "Tell me if Miss Tyler knows your reason for bringing her up. "

"I have not told her directly, " said Diana, with some bluntness, "but asshe is no fool, I fancy she suspects. Why do you ask?"

"Because I have something to tell you which I do not wish your friend tohear, unless, " added Lucian significantly, "you desire to take her intoour confidence. "

"No, " said Diana promptly. "I do not think it is wise to take her intoour confidence. She is rather--well, to put it plainly, Mr. Denzil--rather a gossip. "

"H'm! As such, do you consider her evidence reliable?"

"We can pick the grains of wheat out of the chaff. No doubt sheexaggerates and garbles, after the fashion of a scandal-loving woman, but her evidence is valuable, especially as showing that Lydia was notat Bath on Christmas Eve. We will tell her nothing, so she can suspectas much as she likes; if we do speak freely she will spread the gossip, and if we don't, she will invent worse facts; so in either case itdoesn't matter. What is it you have to tell me?"

Lucian could scarcely forbear smiling at Diana's candidly expressedestimate of her ally's character, but, fearful of giving offence to hiscompanion, he speedily composed his features. With much explanation andan exhibition of Miss Greeb's plan, he gave an account of hisdiscoveries, beginning with his visit to the cellar, and ending with theimportant conversation with his landlady. Diana listened attentively, and when he concluded gave it as her opinion that Lydia had entered thefirst yard by the side passage and had climbed over the fence into thesecond, "as is clearly proved by the veil, " she concluded decisively. 

"But why should she take all that trouble, and run the risk of beingseen, when it is plain that your father expected her?"

"Expected her!" cried Diana, thunderstruck. "Impossible!"

"I don't know so much about that, " replied Lucian drily, "although Iadmit that on the face of it my assertion appears improbable. But when Imet your father the second time, he was so anxious to prove, by lettingme examine the house, that no one had entered it during his absence, that I am certain he was well aware the shadows I saw were those ofpeople he knew were in the room. Now, if the woman was Mrs. Vrain, shemust have been in the habit of visiting your father by the back way. "

"And Ferruci also?"

"I am not sure if the male shadow was Ferruci, no more than I am certainthe other was Mrs. Vrain. "

"But the veil?"

Lucian shrugged his shoulders in despair. "That seems to prove it wasshe, " he said dubiously, "but I can't explain your father's conduct inreceiving her in so secretive a way. The whole thing is beyond me. "

"Well, what is to be done?" said Diana, after a pause, during which theylooked blankly at one another. 

"I must think. My head is too confused just now with this conflictingevidence to plan any line of action. As a relief, let us examine yourfriend and hear what she has to say. "

Diana assented, and touched the bell. Shortly, Miss Tyler appeared, ushered in by a nervous waiter, to whom it would seem she had addresseda sharp admonition on his want of deference. Immediately on entering shepounced down on Miss Vrain like a hawk on a dove, pecked her on bothcheeks, addressed her as "my dearest Di, " and finally permitted herself, with downcast eyes and a modest demeanour, to be introduced to Lucian. 

It might be inferred from the foregoing description that Miss Tyler wasa young and ardent damsel in her teens; whereas she was considerablynearer forty than thirty, and possessed an uncomely aspect unpleasing tomale eyes. Her own were of a cold grey, her lips were thin, her waistpinched in, and--as the natural consequence of tight lacing--her nosewas red. Her scanty hair was drawn off her high forehead very tightly, and screwed into a cast-iron knob at the nape of her long neck; and shesmiled occasionally in an acid manner, with many teeth. She wore aplainly-made green dress, with a toby frill; and a large silver crossdangled on her flat bosom. Altogether, she was about as venomous aspecimen of an unappropriated blessing as can well be imagined. 

"Bella, " said Miss Vrain to this unattractive female, "for certainreasons, which I may tell you hereafter, Mr. Denzil wishes to know ifMrs. Vrain was at Berwin Manor on Christmas Eve. "

"Of course she was not, dearest Di, " said Bella, drooping her elderlyhead on one scraggy shoulder, with an acid smile. "Didn't I tell you so?I was asked by Lydia--alas! I wish I could say my dearest Lydia--tospend Christmas at Berwin Manor. She invited me for my singing andplaying, you know: and as we all have to make ourselves agreeable, Icame to see her. On the day before Christmas she received a letter bythe early post which seemed to upset her a great deal, and told me shewould have to run up to town on business. She did, and stayed all night, and came down next morning to keep Christmas. I thought it _very_strange. "

"What was her business in town, Miss Tyler?" asked Lucian. 

"Oh, she didn't tell _me_, " said Bella, tossing her head, "at least notdirectly, but I gathered from what she said that something was wrongwith poor dear Mr. Clyne--her father, you know, dearest Di. "

"Was the letter from him?"

"Oh, I couldn't say that, Mr. Denzil, as I don't know, and I never speakby hearsay. So much mischief is done in the world by people repeatingidle tales of which they are not sure. "

"Was Count Ferruci at Berwin Manor at the time?"

"Oh, dear me, no, Di! I told you that he was up in London the whole ofChristmas week. I only hope, " added Miss Tyler, with a venomous smile, "that Lydia did not go up to meet him. "

"Why should she?" demanded Lucian bluntly. 

"Oh, I'm not blind!" cried Bella, shrilly laughing. "No, indeed. TheCount--a most amiable man--was _very_ attentive to me at one time; andLydia--a married woman--I regret to say, did not like him being so. I amindeed sorry to repeat scandal, Mr. Denzil, but the way in which Mrs. Vrain behaved towards me and carried on with the Count was notcreditable. I am a gentlewoman, Mr. Denzil, and a churchwoman, and assuch cannot countenance such conduct as his. "

"You infer, then, that Mrs. Vrain was in love with the Italian?"

"I shouldn't be at all surprised to hear it, " cried Bella again. "But hedid not care for her! Oh, dear, no! It is my belief, Mr. Denzil, thatMrs. Vrain knows more about the death of her husband than she chooses toadmit. Oh, I've read _all_ the papers; I know _all_ about the death. "

"Miss Tyler!" said Lucian, alarmed. 

"Bella!" cried Miss Vrain. "I----"

"Oh, I'm not blind, dearest, " interrupted Bella, speaking very fast. "Iknow you ask me these questions to find out if Lydia killed her husband. Well, she did!"

"How do you know, Miss Tyler?"

"Because I'm sure of it, Mr. Denzil. Wasn't Mr. Vrain stabbed with adagger? Very well, then. There was a dagger hanging in the library ofthe Manor, and I saw it there four days before Christmas. When I lookedfor it on Christmas Day it was gone. "

"Gone! Who took it?"

"Mrs. Vrain!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am!" snapped Miss Tyler. "I didn't see her take it, but it wasthere before she went, and it wasn't there on Christmas Day. If Lydiadid not take it, who did?"

"Count Ferruci, perhaps. "

"He wasn't there! No!" cried Bella, raising her head, "I'm sure Mrs. Vrain stole it and killed her husband, and I don't care who hears me sayso!"

Diana and Lucian looked at one another in silence. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE HOUSE IN JERSEY STREET

As her listeners made no comment on Miss Tyler's accusation of Mrs. Vrain, she paused only for a moment to recover her breath, and was offagain in full cry with a budget of ancient gossip drawn from a veryretentive memory. 

"Of the way in which Lydia treated her poor dear husband I know little, "cried the fair Bella. "Only this, that she drove him out of the house byher scandalous conduct. Yes, indeed; although you may not believe me, Di. You were away in Australia at the time, but I kept a watch on Lydiain your interest, dear, and our housemaid heard from your housemaid themost dreadful things. Why, Mr. Vrain remonstrated with Lydia, andordered Count Ferruci out of the house, but Lydia would not let him go;and Mr. Vrain left the house himself. "

"Where did he go to, Miss Tyler?"

"I don't know; nobody knows. But it is my opinion, " said the spinster, with a significant look, "that he went to London to see about a divorce. But he was weak in the head, poor man, and I suppose let things go on. When next I heard of him he was a corpse in Geneva Square. "

"But did my father tell his wife that he was in Geneva Square?"

"Dearest Di, I can't say; but I don't believe he had anything to do withher after he left the house. "

"Then if she did not know his whereabouts, how could she kill him?"asked Denzil pertinently. 

Brought to a point which she could not evade, Bella declined to answerthis question, but tossed her head and bit her lip, with a fine colour. All her accusations of Mrs. Vrain had been made generally, and, asLucian noted, were unsupported by fact. From a legal point of view thisspiteful gossip of a jealous woman was worth nothing, but in a broadsense it was certainly useful in showing the discord which had existedbetween Vrain and his wife. Lucian saw that little good was to be gainedfrom this prejudiced witness, so thanking Miss Tyler courteously for herinformation, he arose to go. 

"Wait for a moment, Mr. Denzil, " said Diana hurriedly. "I want to askyou something. Bella, would you mind----"

"Leaving the room? Oh, dear, no!" burst out Miss Tyler, annoyed at beingexcluded. "I've said all I have to say, and anything I can do, dearestDi, to assist you and Mr. Denzil in hanging that woman, I----"

"Miss Tyler, " interrupted Lucian sternly, "you must not speak sowildly, for as yet there is nothing to prove that Mrs. Vrain is guilty. "

"She is guilty enough for me, Mr. Denzil; but like all men, I supposeyou take her side, because she is supposed to be pretty. Pretty!"reflected Bella scornfully, "I never could see it myself; a painted upminx, dragged up from the gutter. I wonder at your taste, Mr. Denzil, indeed I do. Pretty, the idea! What fools men are! I'm glad I nevermarried one! Indeed no! He! he!"

And with a shrill laugh to point this sour-grape sentiment, and mark herdisdain for Lucian, the fair Bella took herself and her lean form out ofthe room. 

Diana and the barrister were too deeply interested in their business totake much notice of Bella's hysterical outburst, but looked at oneanother gravely as she departed. 

"Well, Mr. Denzil, " said the former, repeating her earlier question, "what is to be done now? Shall we see Mrs. Vrain?"

"Not yet, " replied Lucian quickly. "We must secure proofs of Mrs. Vrain's being in that yard before we can get any confession out of her. If you will leave it in my hands, Miss Vrain, I shall call on Mrs. Bensusan. "

"Who is Mrs. Bensusan?"

"She is the tenant of the house in Jersey Street. It is possible thatshe or her servant may know something about the illegal use made of theright of way. "

"Yes, I think that is the next step to take. But what am I to do in themeantime?"

"Nothing. If I were you I would not even see Mrs. Vrain. "

"I will not seek her voluntarily, " replied Diana, "but as I have been toBerwin Manor she is certain to hear that I am in England, and mayperhaps find out my address, and call. But if she does, you may be surethat I will be most judicious in my remarks. "

"I leave all that to your discretion, " said Denzil, rising. "Good-bye, Miss Vrain. As soon as I am in possession of any new evidence I shallcall again. "

"Good-bye, Mr. Denzil, and thank you for all your kindness. "

Diana made this remark with so kindly a look, so becoming a blush, andso warm a pressure of the hand, that Lucian felt quite overcome, and nottrusting himself to speak, walked swiftly out of the room. 

In spite of the gravity of the task in which he was concerned, at thatmoment he thought more of Diana's looks and speech than of the detectivebusiness which he had taken up for love's sake. But on reaching hisrooms in Geneva Square he made a mighty effort to waken from these daydreams, and with a stern determination addressed himself resolutely tothe work in hand. 

In this case the bitter came before the sweet. But by accomplishing thedesire of Diana, and solving the mystery of her father's death, Lucianhoped to win not only her smiles but the more substantial reward of herheart and hand. 

Before calling on Mrs. Bensusan the barrister debated within himself asto whether it would not be judicious to call in again the assistance ofLink, and by telling him of the new evidence which had been found placehim thereby in possession of new material to prosecute the case. ButLink lately had taken so pessimistic a view of the matter that Lucianfancied he would scoff at his late discoveries, and discourage him inprosecuting what seemed to be a fruitless quest. 

Denzil was anxious, as Diana's knight, to do as much of the work aspossible in order to gain the reward of her smiles. It is true that hehad no legal authority to make these inquiries, and it was possible thatMrs. Bensusan might refuse to answer questions concerning her ownbusiness, unsanctioned by law; but on recalling the description of MissGreeb, Lucian fancied that Mrs. Bensusan, as a fat woman, might only begood-natured and timid. 

He therefore dismissed all ideas of asking Link to intervene, andresolved to risk a personal interview with the tenant of the JerseyStreet house. It would be time enough to invite Link's assistance, hethought, when Mrs. Bensusan--as yet an unknown quantity in thecase--proved obstinate in replying to his questions. 

Mrs. Bensusan proved to be quite as stout as Miss Greeb had reported. Agigantically fat woman, she made up in breadth what she lacked inlength. Yet she seemed to have some activity about her, too, for sheopened the door personally to Lucian, who was quite amazed when hebeheld her monstrous bulk blocking up the doorway. Her face was whiteand round like a pale moon; she had staring eyes of a china blue, resembling the vacant optics of a wax doll; and, on the whole, appearedto be a timid, lymphatic woman, likely to answer any questions put toher in a sufficiently peremptory tone. Lucian foresaw that he was notlikely to have much trouble with this mountain of flesh. 

"What might you be pleased to want, sir?" she asked Lucian, in themeekest of voices. "Is it about the lodgings?"

"Yes, " answered the barrister boldly, for he guessed that Mrs. Bensusanwould scuttle back into the house like a rabbit to its burrow, did hespeak too plainly at the outset, "that is--I wish to inquire about afriend of mine. "

"Did he lodge here, sir?"

"Yes. A Mr. Wrent. "

"Deary me!" said the fat woman, with mild surprise. "Mr. Wrent left meshortly after Christmas. A kind gentleman, but timid; he----"

"Excuse me, " interrupted Lucian, who wanted to get into the house, "butdon't you think you could tell me about my friend in a more convenientsituation?"

"Oh, yes, sir--certainly, sir, " wheezed Mrs. Bensusan, rolling back upthe narrow passage. "I beg your pardon, sir, for my forgetfulness, butmy head ain't what it ought to be. I'm a lone widow, sir, and not overstrong. "

Denzil could have laughed at this description, as the lady's bulk gavethe lie to her assertion. However, on diplomatic grounds he suppressedhis mirth, and followed his ponderous guide into a sitting-room so smallthat she almost filled it herself. 

As he left the passage he saw a brilliant red head pop down thestaircase leading to the basement; but whether it was that of a man or awoman he could not say. Still, on recalling Miss Greeb's description ofthe Bensusan household, he concluded that the red head was the propertyof Rhoda, the sharp servant, and argued from her appearance in thebackground, and rapid disappearance, that she was in the habit oflistening to conversations she was not meant to hear. 

Mrs. Bensusan sat down on the sofa, as being most accommodating to herbulk, and cast a watery look around the small apartment, which wasfurnished in that extraordinary fashion which seems to be the peculiarcharacteristic of boarding houses. The walls and carpet were patternedwith glowing bunches of red roses; the furniture was covered withstamped red velvet; the ornaments consisted of shells, wax fruit underglass shades, mats of Berlin wool, vases with dangling pendants ofglass, and such like elegant survivals of the early Victorian epoch. 

Hideous as the apartment was, it seemed to afford Mrs. Bensusan--also asurvival--great pleasure; and she cast a complacent look around asLucian seated himself on an uncomfortable chair covered with anantimacassar of crochet work. 

"My rooms are most comfortable, an' much liked, " said Mrs. Bensusan, sighing, "but I have not had many lodgers lately. Rhoda thinks it mustbe on account of that horrible murder. "

"The murder of Vrain in No. 13?"

"Ah!" groaned the fat woman, looking tearfully over her double chin, "Isee you have heard of it. "

"Everybody has heard of it, " replied Lucian, "and I was one of the firstto hear, since I live in Miss Greeb's house, opposite No. 13. "

"Indeed, sir!" grunted Mrs. Bensusan, stiffening a little at the soundof a rival lodging-house keeper's name. "Then you are Mr. Denzil, thegentleman who occupies Miss Greeb's first floor front. "

"Yes. And I have come to ask you a few questions. "

"About what, sir?" said Mrs. Bensusan, visibly alarmed. 

"Concerning Mr. Wrent. "

"You are a friend of his?"

"I said so, Mrs. Bensusan, but as a matter of fact I never set eyes onthe gentleman in my life. "

Mrs. Bensusan gasped like a fish out of water, and patted her fatbreast with her fat hand, as though to give herself courage. "It is notlike a gentleman to say that another gentleman's his friend when heain't, " she said, with an attempt at dignity. 

"Very true, " answered Lucian, with great composure, "but you know thesaying, 'All is fair in love and war. ' I will be plain with you, Mrs. Bensusan, " he added, "I am here to seek possible evidence in connectionwith the murder of Mr. Vrain, in No. 13, on Christmas Eve. "

Mrs. Bensusan gave a kind of hoarse screech, and stared at Lucian in ahorrified manner. 

"Murder!" she repeated. "Lord! what mur--that murder! Mr. Vrain! Mr. Vrain--that murder!" she repeated over and over again. 

"Yes, the murder of Mr. Vrain in No. 13 Geneva Square on Christmas Eve. Now do you understand?"

With another gasp Mrs. Bensusan threw up her fat hands and raised hereyes to the ceiling. 

"As I am a Christian woman, sir, " she cried, "I am as innocent as a babeunborn!"

"Of what?" asked Lucian sharply. 

"Of the murder!" wept Mrs. Bensusan, now dissolved in tears. "Rhodasaid----"

"I don't want to hear what Rhoda said, " interrupted Lucian impatiently, "and I am not accusing you of the murder. But--your house is at the backof No. 13. "

"Yes, " replied Mrs. Bensusan, weeping like a Niobe. 

"And a fence divides your yard from that of No. 13?"

"I won't contradict you, sir--it do. "

"And there is a passage leading from Jersey Street into your yard?"

"There is, Mr. Denzil; it's useful for the trades-people. "

"And I daresay useful to others, " said Lucian drily. "Now, Mrs. Bensusan, do you know if any lady was in the habit of passing throughthat passage at night?"

Before Mrs. Bensusan could answer the door was dashed open, and Rhoda, the red-headed, darted into the room. 

"Don't answer, missus!" she cried shortly. "As you love me, mum, don't!"

CHAPTER XV

RHODA AND THE CLOAK

The one servant of Mrs. Bensusan was a girl of seventeen, who had alocal fame in the neighbourhood on account of her sharp tongue and manyprecocious qualities. No one knew who her parents were, or where the fatlandlady had picked her up; but she had been in the Jersey Street housesome ten years, and had been educated and--in a manner--adopted by itsmistress, although Mrs. Bensusan always gave her cronies to understandthat Rhoda was simply and solely the domestic of the establishment. 

Nevertheless, for one of her humble position, she had a wonderful powerover her stout employer, the power of a strong mind over a weak one, andin spite of her youth it was well known that Rhoda managed the domesticeconomy of the house. Mrs. Bensusan was the sovereign, Rhoda the primeminister. 

This position she had earned by dint of her own sharpness in dealingwith the world. And the local tradesmen were afraid of Rhoda. "Mrs. Bensusan's devil, " they called her, and never dared to give shortweight, or charge extra prices, or pass off damaged goods as new, whenRhoda was the purchaser. On the contrary, No. 9 Jersey Street wassupplied with everything of the best, promptly and civilly, at ordinarymarket rates; for neither butcher, nor baker, nor candlestick maker, wasdaring enough to risk Rhoda's tongue raging like a prairie fire overtheir shortcomings. Several landladies, knowing Rhoda's value, had triedto entice her from Mrs. Bensusan by offers of higher wages and betterquarters, but the girl refused to leave her stout mistress, and socontinued quite a fixture of the lodgings. Even in the city, Rhoda hadbeen spoken of by clerks who had lived in Jersey Street, and so had morethan a local reputation for originality. 

This celebrated handmaid was as lean as her mistress was stout. Her hairwas magnificent in quality and quantity, but, alas! was of the unpopulartint called red; not auburn, or copper hued, or the famous Titian color, but a blazing, fiery red, which made it look like a comic wig. Her facewas pale and freckled, her eyes black--in strange contrast to her hair, and her mouth large, but garnished with an excellent set of white teeth. 

Rhoda was not neat in her attire, perhaps not having arrived at the ageof coquetry, for she wore a dingy grey dress much too short for her, apair of carpet slippers which had been left by a departed lodger, andusually went about with her sleeves tucked up, and a resolute look onher sharp face. Such was the appearance of Mrs. Bensusan's devil, whoentered to forbid her mistress confiding in Lucian. 

"Oh, Rhoda!" groaned Mrs. Bensusan. "You bad gal! I believe as you've'ad your ear to the keyhole. "

"I 'ave!" retorted Rhoda defiantly. "It's been there for five minutes, and good it is for you, mum, as I ain't above listening. What do youmean, sir, " she cried, turning on Lucian like a fierce sparrow, "bycoming 'ere to frighten two lone females, and her as innocent as aspring chicken?"

"Oh!" said Lucian, looking at her composedly, "so you are the celebratedRhoda? I've heard of you. "

"Not much good, then, sir, if Miss Greeb was talking, " rejoined thered-haired girl, with a sniff. "Oh, I know her. "

"Rhoda! Rhoda!" bleated her mistress, "do 'old your tongue! I tell youthis gentleman's a police. "

"He ain't!" said the undaunted Rhoda. "He's in the law. Oh, I knowshim!'

"Ain't the law the police, you foolish gal?"

"Of course it--" began Rhoda, when Lucian, who thought that she haddisplayed quite sufficient eccentricity, cut her short with a quickgesture. 

"See here, my girl, " he said sharply, "you must not behave in thisfashion. I have reason to believe that the assassin of Mr. Vrain enteredthe house through the premises of your mistress. "

"Lawks, what a 'orrible idear!" shrieked Mrs. Bensusan. "Good 'eavens, Rhoda, did you see the murdering villain?"

"Me? No! I never sawr nothing, mum, " replied Rhoda doggedly. 

Lucian, watching the girl's face, and the uneasy expression in her eyes, felt convinced she was not telling the truth. It was no use forcing herto speak, as he saw very plainly that Rhoda was one of those obstinatepeople whom severity only hardened. Much more could be done with her bykindness, and Denzil adopted this--to him--more congenial course. 

"If Rhoda is bound by any promise, Mrs. Bensusan, I do not wish her tospeak, " he said indifferently, "but in the interests of justice I amsure you will not refuse to answer my questions. "

"Lord, sir! I know nothing!" whimpered the terrified landlady. 

"Will you answer a few questions?" asked Denzil persuasively. 

Mrs. Bensusan glanced in a scared manner at Rhoda, who, meanwhile, hadbeen standing in a sullen and hesitating attitude. When she thoughtherself unobserved, she stole swift glances at the visitor, tryingevidently to read his character by observation of his face and manner. It would seem that her scrutiny was favourable, for before Mrs. Bensusancould answer Lucian's question she asked him one herself. 

"What do you want to know, sir?"

"I want to know all about Mr. Wrent. "

"Why?"

"Because I fancy he has something to do with this crime. "

"Lord!" groaned Mrs. Bensusan. "'Ave I waited on a murderer?"

"I don't say he is a murderer, Mrs. Bensusan, but he knows somethinglikely to put us on the track of the criminal. "

"What makes ye take up the case?" demanded Rhoda sharply. 

"Because I know that Mr. Wrent came to board in this house shortly afterMr. Vrain occupied No. 13, " replied Denzil. 

"Who says he did?"

"Miss Greeb, my landlady, and she also told me that he left here twodays after the murder. "

"That's as true as true!" cried Mrs. Bensusan, "ain't it, Rhoda? We losthim 'cause he said he couldn't abide living near a house where a crimehad been committed. "

"Well, then, " continued Lucian, seeing that Rhoda, without speaking, continued to watch him, "the coincidence of Mr. Wrent's stay with thatof Mr. Vrain's strikes me as peculiar. "

"You are a sharp one, you are!" said Rhoda, with an approving nod. "Lookhere, Mr. Denzil, would you break a promise?"

"That depends upon what the promise was. "

"It was one I made to hold my tongue. "

"About what?"

"Several things, " said the girl shortly. 

"Have they to do with this crime?" asked Lucian eagerly. 

"I don't know. I can't say, " said Rhoda; then suddenly her face grewblack. "I tell you what, sir, I hate Mr. Wrent!" she declared. 

"Oh, Rhoda!" cried Mrs. Bensusan. "After the lovely cloak he gave you!"

The red-haired girl looked contemptuously at her mistress; then, withouta word, darted out of the room. Before Lucian could conjecture thereason of her strange conduct, or Mrs. Bensusan could get her breathagain--a very difficult operation for her--Rhoda was back with a bluecloth cloak, lined with rabbit skins, hanging over her arm. This shethrew down at the feet of Lucian, and stamped on it savagely with thecarpet slippers. 

"There's his present!" she cried angrily, "but I wish I could dance onhim the same way! I wish--I wish I could hang him!"

"Can you?" demanded Lucian swiftly, taking her in the moment of wrath, when she seemed disposed to speak. 

"No!" said Rhoda shortly. "I can't!"

"Do you think he killed Mr. Vrain?"

"No, I don't!"

"Do you know who did?"

"Blest if I do!"

"Does Mr. Wrent?" asked Denzil meaningly. 

The girl wet her finger and went through a childish game. "That's wet, "she said; then wiping the finger on her dingy skirt, "that's dry. Cut mythroat if I tell a lie. Ask me something easier, Mr. Denzil. "

"I don't understand you, " said Lucian, quite puzzled. 

"Rhoda! Rhoda! 'Ave you gone crazy?" wailed Mrs. Bensusan. 

"Look here, " said the girl, taking no notice of her mistress, "do youwant to know about Mr. Wrent?"

"Yes, I do. "

"And about that side passage as you talked of to the missis?"

"Yes. "

"Then I'll answer yer questions, sir. You'll know all I know. "

"Very good, " said Lucian, with an approving smile, "now you are talkinglike a sensible girl. "

"Rhoda! You ain't going to talk bad of Mr. Wrent?"

"It ain't bad, and it ain't good, " replied Rhoda. "It's betwixt andbetween. "

"Well, I must 'ear all. I don't want the character of the 'ouse tookaway, " said Mrs. Bensusan, with an attempt at firmness. 

"That's all right, " rejoined Rhoda reassuringly, "you can jine inyerself when y' like. Fire away, Mr. Denzil. "

"Who is Mr. Wrent?" asked Lucian, going straight to the point. 

"I don't know, " replied Rhoda; and henceforth the examination proceededas though the girl were in the witness-box and Lucian counsel for theprosecution. 

Q. When did he come to Jersey Street?

A. At the end of July, last year. 

Q. When did he go away?

A. The morning after Boxing Day. 

Q. Can you describe his appearance?

A. He was of the middle height, with a fresh complexion, white hair, anda white beard growing all over his face. He was untidy about hisclothes, and kept a good deal to his own room among a lot of books. Idon't think he was quite right in his head. 

Q. Did he pay his rent regularly?

A. Yes, except when he was away. He would go away for a week at a time. 

Q. Was he in this house on Christmas Eve?

A. Yes, sir. He came back two days before Christmas. 

Q. Where had he been?

A. I don't know; he did not say. 

Q. Did he have any visitors?

A. He did. A tall, dark man and a lady. 

Q. What was the lady like?

A. A little woman; I never saw her face, as she always kept her veildown. 

Q. What kind of a veil did she wear?

A. A black gauze veil with velvet spots. 

Q. Did she come often to see Mr. Wrent?

A. Yes. Four or five times. 

Q. When did she call last?

A. On Christmas Eve. 

Q. At what hour?

A. She came at seven, and went away at eight. I know that because shehad supper with Mr. Wrent. 

Q. Did she leave the house?

A. Yes. I let her out myself. 

Q. Did you ever hear any conversation between them?

A. No. Mr. Wrent took care of that. I never got any chance of listeningat keyholes with him. He was a sharp one, for all his craziness. 

Q. What was the male visitor like?

A. He was tall and dark, with a black moustache. 

Q. Do you think he was a foreigner?

A. I don't know. I never heard him speak. Mr. Wrent let him out, asusual. 

Q. When did he visit Mr. Wrent last?

A. On Christmas Eve. He came with the lady. 

Q. Did he stay to supper also?

A. No. He went away at half-past seven. Mr. Wrent let him out, as usual. 

Q. Did he go away altogether?

A. I--I--I am not sure! (here the witness hesitated). 

Q. Why did Mr. Wrent give you the cloak?

A. To make me hold my tongue about the dark man. 

Q. Why?

A. Because I saw him in the back yard. 

Q. On what night?

A. On the night of Christmas Eve, about half-past eight. 

CHAPTER XVI

MRS. VRAIN AT BAY

"You saw the dark man in the back yard on Christmas Eve?" repeatedLucian, much surprised by this discovery. 

"Yes, I did, " replied Rhoda decisively, "at half-past eight o'clock. Iwent out into the yard to put some empty bottles into the shed, and Isaw the man standing near the fence, looking at the back of No. 13. Whenhe heard me coming out he rushed past me and out by the side passage. The moon was shining, and I saw him as plain as plain. "

"Did he seem afraid?"

"Yes, he did; and didn't want to be seen, neither. I told Mr. Wrent, andhe promised me a cloak if I held my tongue. He said the dark man waswaiting in the yard until the lady had gone, when he was coming inagain. "

"But the lady, you say, went at eight, and you saw the man half an hourlater?"

"That's it, sir. He told me a lie, for he never came in again to see Mr. Wrent. "

"But already the dark man had seen the lady?"

"Yes. He came in with her at seven, and went away at half-past. "

Lucian mechanically stooped down and picked up the fur cloak. He waspuzzled by the information given by Rhoda, and did not exactly see whatuse to make of it. Going by the complexion of the man who had lurked inthe back yard, it would appear that he was Count Ferruci; while thesmall stature of the woman, and the fact that she wore a velvet-spottedveil, indicated that she was Lydia Vrain; also the pair had been in thevicinity of the haunted house on the night of the murder; and, althoughit was true both were out of the place by half-past eight, yet theymight not have gone far, but had probably returned later--when Rhoda andMrs. Bensusan were asleep--to murder Vrain, between the hours of elevenand twelve on the same night. 

This was all plain enough, but Lucian was puzzled by the account of Mr. Wrent. Who, he asked himself repeatedly, who was this grey-haired, white-bearded man who had so often received Lydia, who had on ChristmasEve silenced Rhoda regarding Ferruci's presence in the yard, by means ofthe cloak, and who--it would seem--possessed the key to the wholemystery?

Rhoda could tell no more but that he had stayed six months with Mrs. Bensusan, and had departed two days after the murder; whereby it wouldseem that his task having been completed, he had no reason to remainlonger in so dangerous a neighbourhood. Yet four months had elapsedsince his departure, and Denzil, after some reflection, asked Mrs. Bensusan a question or two regarding this interval. 

"Has Mr. Wrent returned here since his departure?" he demanded. 

"Lawks! no, sir!" wheezed Mrs. Bensusan, shaking her head. "I've neverset eyes on him since he went. 'Ave you, Rhoda?" Whereat the girl shookher head also, and watched Lucian with an intensity of gaze whichsomewhat discomposed him. 

"Did he owe you any money when he went, Mrs. Bensusan?"

"No, sir. He paid up like a gentleman. I always thought well of Mr. Wrent. "

"Rhoda doesn't seem to share your sentiments, " said Denzil drily. 

"No, I don't!" cried the servant, frowning. "I hated Mr. Wrent!"

"Why did you hate him?"

"Never you mind, sir, " retorted Rhoda grimly. "I hated him. "

"Yet he bought you this cloak. "

"No, he didn't!" contradicted the girl. "He got it from the lady!"

"What!" cried Lucian sharply. "Are you sure of that?"

"I can't exactly swear to it, " replied Rhoda, hesitating, "but it wasthis way: The lady wore a cloak like that, and I admired it awful. Shehad it on when she came, Christmas Eve, and she didn't wear it when Ilet her out, and the next day Mr. Wrent gave it to me. So I suppose itis the same cloak. "

"And did the lady go out into the cold winter weather without thecloak?"

"Yes; but she had a long cloth jacket on, sir, so I don't s'pose shemissed it. "

"Was the lady agitated when she went out?"

"I don't know. She held her tongue and kept her veil down. "

"Can you tell me anything more?" asked Lucian, anxious to make theexamination as exhaustive as possible. 

"No, Mr. Denzil, " answered Rhoda, after some thought, "I can't, exceptthat Mr. Wrent, long before Christmas, promised me a present, and gaveme the cloak then. "

"Will you let me take this cloak away with me?"

"If you like, " replied Rhoda carelessly. "I don't want it. '

"Oh, Rhoda!" wailed Mrs. Bensusan. "Your lovely, lovely rabbit skin!"

"I'll bring it back again, " said Lucian hastily. "I only want to use itas evidence. "

"Ye want to know who the lady is?" said Rhoda sharply. 

"Yes, I do. Can you tell me?"

"No; but you'll find out from that cloak. I guess why you're taking it. "

"You are very sharp, Rhoda, " said Lucian, rising, with a good-humouredsmile, "and well deserve your local reputation. If I find Mr. Wrent, Imay require you to identify him; and Mrs. Bensusan also. "

"I'll be able to do that, but missus hasn't her eyes much. "

"Hasn't her eyes?" repeated Denzil, with a glance at Mrs. Bensusan'sstaring orbs. 

"Lawks, sir, I'm shortsighted, though I never lets on. Rhoda, 'ow canyou 'ave let on to the gentleman as I'm deficient? As to knowing Mr. Wrent, I'd do so well enough, " said Mrs. Bensusan, tossing her head, "with his long white beard and white 'ead, let alone his black velvetskull-cap. "

"Oh, he wore a skull-cap?"

"Only indoors, " said Rhoda sharply, "but here I'm 'olding the door wide, sir, so if you've done, we're done. "

"I'm done, as you call it, for the present, " replied Denzil, putting onhis hat, "but I may come again. In the meantime, hold your tongues. Silence on this occasion will be gold; speech won't even be silver. "

Mrs. Bensusan laughed at this speech in a fat and comfortable sort ofway, while Rhoda grinned, and escorted Lucian to the front door. Shelooked so uncanny, with her red hair and black eyes, that the barristercould not forbear a question. 

"Are you English, my girl?"

"No, I ain't!" retorted Rhoda emphatically. "I'm of the gentle Romany. "

"A gipsy!"

"So you Gorgios call us!" replied the girl, and shut the door with whatseemed to be unnecessary violence. Lucian went off with the cloak overhis arm, somewhat discomposed by this last piece of information. 

"A gipsy!" he repeated. "Humph! Can good come out of Nazareth? I don'ttrust that girl much. If I knew why she hates Wrent, I'd be much moresatisfied with her information. And who the deuce is Wrent?"

Lucian had occasion to ask himself this question many times before hefound its answer, and that was not until afterwards. At the presentmoment he dismissed it from his mind as unprofitable. He was too busyreflecting on the evidence obtained in Jersey Street to waste time inconjecturing further events. On returning to his lodgings he sat down toconsider what was best to be done. 

After much reflection and internal argument, he decided to call uponMrs. Vrain, and by producing the cloak, force her into confessing hershare of the crime. Whether she had been the principal in the deed, oran accessory before the fact, Lucian could not determine; but he wasconfident that in one way or another she was cognizant of the truth;although this she would probably conceal, as its revelation would likelybe detrimental to her own safety. 

At first Denzil intended to see Diana before visiting Mrs. Vrain, inorder to relate all he had learned, and find out from her if the cloakreally belonged to the widow. But on second thoughts he decided not todo so. 

"I can tell her nothing absolutely certain about the matter, " he said tohimself, "as I cannot be sure of anything until I force Mrs. Vrain toconfess. Diana, " so he called her in his discourse to himself, "Dianawill probably know nothing about the ownership of the cloak, as it seemsnew, and was probably purchased by Lydia during the absence of Diana inAustralia. No, I have the address of Mrs. Vrain, which Diana gave me. Itwill be best to call on her, and by displaying the cloak make heracknowledge her guilt. 

"With such evidence she cannot deny that she visited Wrent; and was inthe vicinity of the house wherein her husband was murdered on the verynight the crime was committed. Also she must state Ferruci's reason forhiding in the back yard, and tell me plainly who Wrent is, and why hehelped the pair of them in their devilish plans. I am doubtful if shewill speak; but altogether the evidence I have collected inculpates herso strongly that it will be quite sufficient grounds upon which toobtain a warrant for her arrest. And sooner than risk that, I expect shewill tell as much as she can to exculpate herself--that is, if she isreally innocent. If she is guilty, " Lucian shrugged his shoulders, "thenI cannot guess what course she will take. "

Mrs. Vrain, with her father to protect her, had established herself in asmall but luxurious house in Mayfair, and was preparing to enjoyherself during the coming season. Although her husband had met with aterrible death scarcely six months before, she had already cast off herheavy mourning, and wore only such millinery indications of sorrow assuited with her widowed existence. 

Ferruci was a constant visitor at the house; but although Lydia was nowfree, and wealthy, she by no means seemed ready to marry the Italian. Perhaps she thought, with her looks and riches, she might gain anEnglish title, as more valuable than a Continental one; and in this viewshe was supported by her father. Clyne had no other desire than to seehis beloved Lydia happy, and would willingly have sacrificed everythingin his power to gain such an end; but as he did not like Ferrucihimself, and saw that Lydia's affections towards him had cooled greatly, he did not encourage the idea of a match between them. 

However, these matters were yet in abeyance, as Lydia was too diplomaticto break off with so subtle a man as the Count, who might prove adangerous enemy were his love turned to hate, and Mr. Clyne was quitewilling to remain on friendly terms with the man so long as Lydia chosethat such friendship should exist. In short, Lydia ruled her simplefather with a rod of iron, and coaxed Ferruci--a more difficult man todeal with--into good humour; so she managed both of them skilfully inevery way, and contrived to keep things smooth, pending her plunge intoLondon society. For all her childish looks, Lydia was uncommonlyclever. 

When Lucian's card was brought in, Mrs. Vrain proved to be at home, andas his good looks had made a deep impression on her, she received him atonce. He was shown into a luxuriously furnished drawing-room withoutdelay, and welcomed by pretty Mrs. Vrain herself, who came forward witha bright smile and outstretched hands, looking more charming than ever. 

"Well, I do call this real sweet of you, " said she gaily. "I guess it isabout time you showed up. But you don't look well, that's a fact. What'swrong?"

"I'm worried a little, " replied Lucian, confounded by her coolness. 

"That's no use, Mr. Denzil. You should never be worried. I guess I don'tlet anything put me out. "

"Not even your husband's death?"

"That's rude!" said Lydia sharply, the colour leaving her cheek. "Whatdo you mean? Have you come to be nasty?"

"I came to return you this, " said Denzil, throwing the cloak which hehad carried on his arm before the widow. 

"This?" echoed Mrs. Vrain, looking at it. "Well, what's this old thinggot to do with me?"

"It's yours; you left it in Jersey Street!"

"Did I? And where's Jersey Street?"

"You know well enough, " said Lucian sternly. "It is near the placewhere your husband was murdered. "

Mrs. Vrain turned white. "Do you dare to say----" she began, when Denzilcut her short with a hint at her former discomposure. 

"The stiletto, Mrs. Vrain! Don't forget the stiletto!"

"Oh, God!" cried Lydia, trembling violently. "What do you know of thestiletto?"

CHAPTER XVII

A DENIAL

"What do you know of the stiletto?" repeated Mrs. Vrain anxiously. 

She had risen to her feet, and, with an effort to be calm, was holdingon to the near chair. Her bright colour had faded to a dull white hue, and her eyes had a look of horror in their depths which transformed herfrom her childish beauty into a much older and more haggard woman thanshe really was. It seemed as though Lucian, by some necromantic spell, had robbed her of youth, vitality, and careless happiness. To him thisextraordinary agitation was a proof of her guilt; and hardening hisheart so as not to spare her one iota of her penalty--a mercy she didnot deserve--he addressed her sternly:

"I know that a stiletto purchased in Florence by your late husband hungon the library wall of Berwin Manor. I know that it is gone!"

"Yes! yes!" said Lydia, moistening her white, dry lips, "it is gone; butI do not know who took it. "

"The person who killed your husband. "

"I feared as much, " she muttered, sitting down again. "Do you know thename of the person?"

"As well as you do yourself. The name is Lydia Vrain!"

"I!" She threw herself back on the chair with a look of profoundastonishment on her colourless face. "Mr. Denzil, " she stammered, "is--is this--is this a jest?"

"You will not find it so, Mrs. Vrain. "

The little woman clutched the arms of her chair and leaned forward withher face no longer pale, but red with rage and indignation. "If you area gentleman, Mr. Denzil, I guess you won't keep me hanging on like this. Let us get level. Do you say I killed Mark?"

"Yes, I do!" said Lucian defiantly. "I am sure of it. "

"On what grounds?" asked Mrs. Vrain, holding her temper back with avisible effort, that made her eyes glitter and her breath short. 

"On the grounds that he was killed with that stiletto and----"

"Go slow! How do you know he was killed with that stiletto?"

"Because the ribbon which attached it to the wall was found in theGeneva Square house, where your husband was killed. Miss Vrainrecognised it. "

"Miss Vrain--Diana! Is she in England?"

"Not only in England, but in London. "

"Then why hasn't she been to see me?"

Denzil did not like to answer this question, the more so as Lydia'ssudden divergence from the point of discourse rather disconcerted him. It is impossible to maintain dignity in making a serious accusation whenthe person against whom it is made thinks so little of it as to turnaside to discuss a point of etiquette in connection with another woman. 

Seeing that her accuser was silent and confused, Lydia recovered hertongue and colour, and the equability of her temper. It was, therefore, with some raillery that she continued her speech:

"I see how it is, " she said contemptuously, "Diana has called you intoher councils in order to fix this absurd charge on to me. Afraid to comeherself, she sends you as the braver person of the partnership. Icongratulate you on your errand, Mr. Denzil. "

"You can laugh as much as you like, Mrs. Vrain, but the matter is moreserious than you suppose. "

"Oh, I am sure that my loving stepdaughter will make it as serious aspossible. She always hated me. "

"Pardon me, Mrs. Vrain, " said Lucian, colouring with annoyance, "but Idid not come here to hear you speak ill of Miss Vrain. "

"I know that! She sent you here to speak ill _of_ me and do ill _to_ me. Well, so you and she accuse me of killing Mark? I shall be glad to hearthe evidence you can bring forward. If you can make your charge good Ishould smile. Oh, I guess so!"

Denzil noticed that when Mrs. Vrain became excited she usually spokeplain English, without the U. S. A. Accent, but on growing calmer, and, asit were, recollecting herself, she adopted the Yankee twang and theircurious style of expression and ejaculation. This led him to suspectthat the fair Lydia was not a born daughter of the Great Republic, perhaps not even a naturalised citizeness, but had assumed suchnationality as one attractive to society in Europe and Great Britain. 

He wondered what her past really was, and if she and her father were thedoubtful adventurers Diana believed them to be. If so, it might happenthat Lydia would extricate herself out of her present unpleasantposition by the use of past experience. To give her no chance of suchdodging, Lucian rapidly detailed the evidence against her so that shewould be hard put to baffle it. But in this estimate he quite underratedLydia's nerve and capability of fence, let alone the dexterity withwhich she produced a satisfactory reply to each of his questions. 

"We will begin at the beginning, Mrs. Vrain, " he said soberly, "say fromthe time you drove your unfortunate husband out of his own house. "

"Now, I guess that wasn't my fault, " explained Lydia. "I wasn't in lovewith old man Mark, but I liked him well enough, for he was a realgentleman; and when that make-mischief Diana, who cocked her nose at me, set out for Australia, we got on surprisingly well. Count Ferruci cameover to stay, as much at Mark's invitation as mine, and I didn't paytoo much attention to him anyhow. "

"Miss Tyler says you did!"

"Sakes!" cried Mrs. Vrain, raising her eyebrows, "have you been talkingto that old stump? Well, just you look here, Mr. Denzil! It was BellaTyler who made all the mischief. She thought Ercole was sweet on her, and when she found out he wasn't, she got real mad, and went to tellMark that I was making things hum the wrong way with the Count. Ofcourse Mark had a row with him, and, of course, I got riz--not havingdone anything to lie low for. We had a row royal, I guess, and the endof it was that Mark cleared out. I thought he would turn up again, orapply for a divorce, though he hadn't any reason to. But he did neither, and remained away for a whole year. While he was away I got quit ofErcole pretty smart, I can tell you, as I wanted to shut up that oldmaid's mouth. I never knew where Mark was, or guessed what became ofhim, until I saw that advertisement, and putting two and two together tomake four, I called to see Mr. Link, where I found you running thecircus. "

"Why did you faint on the mention of the stiletto?"

"I told you the reason, and Link also. "

"Yes, but your reason was too weak to----"

"Oh, well, you're right enough there, " interrupted Lydia, smiling. "Allthat talk of nerves and grief wasn't true. I didn't give my real reason, but I will now. When I heard that the old man had been stabbed by astiletto I remembered that the one on the library wall had vanished sometime before the Christmas Eve on which Mark was killed. So you may guessI was afraid. "

"For yourself?"

"I guess not; it wasn't any of my funeral. I didn't take the stiletto, nor did I know who had; but I was afraid you might think Ferruci tookit. The stiletto was Italian, and the Count is Italian, so it struck meyou might put two and two together and suspect Ercole. I never thoughtyou'd fix on me, " concluded Lydia, with a scornful toss of her head. 

"As a matter of fact, I fixed on you both, " said Lucian composedly. 

"And for what reason? Why should I and the Count murder poor Mark, ifyou please? He was a fool and a bore, but I wished him no harm. I wassorry as any one when I heard of his death, and I offered a good rewardfor the catching of the mean skunk that killed him. If I had done somyself I wouldn't have been such a fool as to sharpen the scent of thehounds on my own trail. "

"You were in town on Christmas Eve?" said Denzil, not choosing toexplain the motives he believed the pair had for committing the crime. 

"I was. What of that?"

"You were in Jersey Street, Pimlico, on that night. "

"I was never in Pimlico in my life!" declared Lydia wrathfully, "and, as I said before, I don't know where Jersey Street is. "

"Do you know a man called Wrent?"

"I never heard of him!"

"Yet you visited him in Jersey Street on Christmas Eve, between sevenand eight o'clock. "

"Did I, really?" cried Mrs. Vrain, ironically, "and how can you prove Idid?"

"By that cloak, " said Lucian, pointing to where it lay on a chair. "Youwore that cloak and a velvet-spotted veil. "

"I haven't worn a veil of that kind for over a year, " said Lydiadecisively, "though I admit I used to wear veils of that sort. You canask my maid if I have any velvet-spotted veils in my wardrobe just now. As to the cloak--I never wear rabbit skins. "

"You might as a disguise. "

"Sakes alive, man, what should I want with a disguise? I tell you thecloak isn't mine. You can soon prove that. Find out who made it, and goand ask in the shop if I bought it. "

"How can I find out who made it?" asked Denzil, who was beginning tofeel that Lydia was one too many for him. 

"Here! I'll show you!" said Lydia, and picking up the cloak she turnedover the tab at the neck, by which it was hung up. At the back of thisthere was a small piece of tape with printed black letters. "Baxter &Co. , General Drapers, Bayswater, " she read out, throwing down the cloakcontemptuously. "I don't go to a London suburb for my frocks; I getthem in Paris. "

"Then you are sure this cloak isn't yours?" asked Lucian, muchperplexed. 

"No! I tell you it isn't! Go and ask Baxter & Co. If I bought it. I'llgo with you, if you like; or better still, " cried Mrs. Vrain, jumping upbriskly, "I can take you to see some friends with whom I stayed onChristmas Eve. The whole lot will tell you that I was with them atCamden Hill all the night. "

"What! Can you prove an alibi?"

"I don't know what you call it, " retorted Lydia coolly, "but I can provepretty slick that I wasn't in Pimlico. "

"But--Mrs. Vrain--your friend--Ferruci was there!"

"Was he? Well, I don't know. I never saw him that time he was in town. But if you think he killed Mark you are wrong. I do not believe Ercolewould kill a fly, for all he's an Italian. "

"Do you think he took that stiletto?"

"No, I don't!"

"Then who did?"

"I don't know. I don't even know when it was taken. I missed it afterChristmas, because that old schoolma'am told me it was gone. "

"Old schoolma'am!"

"Well, Bella Tyler, if you like that better, " retorted Mrs. Vrain. "Come, now, Mr. Denzil, I'm not going to let you go away without provingmy--what do you call it?--alibi. Come with me right along to CamdenHill. "

"I'll come just to satisfy myself, " said Lucian, picking up the cloak, "but I am beginning to feel that it is unnecessary. "

"You think I am innocent? Well, " drawled Lydia, as Lucian nodded, "Ithink that's real sweet of you. I mayn't be a saint, but I'm not quitethe sinner that Diana of yours makes me out. "

"Diana of mine, Mrs. Vrain?" said Lucian, colouring. 

The little woman laughed at his blush. 

"Oh, I'm not a fool, young man. I see how the wind blows!" And with anod she vanished. 

CHAPTER XVIII

WHO BOUGHT THE CLOAK?

Mrs. Vrain sacrificed the vanity of a lengthy toilette to a naturalanxiety to set herself right with Lucian, and appeared shortly in aravishing costume fresh from Paris. Perhaps by arraying herself sosmartly she wished to assure Denzil more particularly that she was alady of too much taste to buy rabbit-skin cloaks in Bayswater: orperhaps--which was more probable--she was not averse to ensnaring sohandsome a young man into an innocent flirtation. 

The suspicion she entertained of Lucian's love for Diana only made Lydiathe more eager to fascinate him on her own account. A conceit ofherself, a hatred of her stepdaughter, and a desire to wring admirationout of a man who did not wish to bestow it. These were the reasons whichled Mrs. Vrain to be particularly agreeable to the barrister. When thepair were ensconced in a swift hansom, and rolling rapidly towardsCamden Hill, she began at once to prosecute her amiable designs. 

"I guess you'll not mind being my best boy for the day, " she said, witha coquettish glance. "You can escort me, first of all, to the Pegalls, and afterwards we can drive to Baxter & Co. 's in Bayswater, so that youcan assure yourself I didn't buy that cloak. "

"I am much obliged for the trouble you are taking, Mrs. Vrain, " repliedthe young man, avoiding with some reserve the insinuating glances of hispretty companion. "We shall do as you suggest. Who are the Pegalls, mayI ask?"

"My friends, with whom I stopped on Christmas Eve, " rejoined Mrs. Vrain. "A real good, old, dull English family, as heavy as their own plumpuddings. Mrs. Pegall's a widow like myself, and I daresay she buys herfrocks in the Bayswater stores. She has two daughters who look likebarmaids, and ought to be, only they ain't smart enough. We had a realSunday at home on Christmas Eve, Mr. Denzil. Whist and weak tea ateight, negus and prayers and bed at ten. Poppa wanted to teach thempoker, and they kicked like mad at the very idea; but that was when hevisited them before, I guess. "

"Not the kind of family likely to suit you, I should think, " saidLucian, regarding the little free-lance with a puzzled air. 

"I guess not. Lead's a feather to them for weight. But it's a good thingto have respectable friends, especially in this slow coach of an oldcountry, where you size everybody up by the company they keep. "

"Ah!" said Lucian pointedly and--it must be confessed--rather rudely, "so you have found the necessity of having respectable friends, howeverdull?"

"That's a fact, " acknowledged Mrs. Vrain candidly. "I've had a queersort of life with poppa--ups and downs, and flyings over the moon, Iguess. "

"You are not American?" said Denzil suddenly. 

"Sakes! How do you figure that out?"

"Because you are too pronouncedly Amurrican to be American. "

"That's an epigram with some truth in it, " replied Lydia coolly. "Oh, I'm as much a U. S. A. Article as anything else. We hung out our shinglein Wyoming, Wis. , for a considerable time, and a girl who ticketsherself Yankee this side flies high. But I guess I'm not going to giveyou my history, " concluded Mrs. Vrain drily. "I'm not a Popey nor you aconfessor. "

"H'm! You've been in the South Seas, I see. "

"There's no telling. How do you know?"

"The natives there use the word Popey to designate a Roman Catholic. "

"You are as smart as they make 'em, Mr. Denzil. There's no flies aboutyou; but I'm not going to give myself away. Ask poppa, if you wantinformation. He's that simple he'll tell you all. "

"Well, Mrs. Vrain, keep your own secret; it is not the one I wish todiscover. By the way, you say your father was at Camden Hill onChristmas Eve?"

"I didn't say so, but he was, " answered Lydia quietly. "He was not verywell--pop can't stand these English winters--and wrote me to come up. But he was so sick that he left the Pegalls' about six o'clock. "

"That was the letter which upset you. "

"It was. I see old Bella Tyler kept her eyes peeled. I got the letterand came up at once. I've only got one parent left, and he's too good tobe shoved away in a box underground while fools live. But here we are atthe Pegalls'. I hope you'll like the kind of circus they run. Campmeetings are nothing to it. "

The dwelling of the respectable family alluded to was a tolerably sizedhouse of red brick, placed in a painfully neat garden, and shut in fromthe high road by a tall and jealous fence of green-painted wood. Thestout widow and two stout spinster daughters, who made up the inmates, quite deserved Mrs. Vrain's epithet of "heavy. " They were aggressivelyhealthy, with red cheeks, black hair, and staring black eyes devoid ofexpression; a trio of Dutch dolls would have looked more intellectual. They were plainly and comfortably dressed; the drawing-room was plainlyand comfortably furnished; and both house and inmates looked thoroughlyrespectable and eminently dull. What such a hawk as Mrs. Vrain was doingin this Philistine dove-cote, Lucian could not conjecture; but headmired her tact in making friends with a family whose heavy gentilityassisted to ballast her somewhat light reputation; while the three oftheir brains in unison could not comprehend her tricks, or the reasonsfor which they were played. 

"At all events, these three women are too honest to speak anything butthe truth, " thought Lucian while undergoing the ordeal of beingpresented. "So I'll learn for certain if Mrs. Vrain was really here onChristmas Eve. "

The Misses Pegall and their lace-capped mamma welcomed Lucian with heavygood nature and much simpering, for they also had an eye to a comelyyoung man; but the cunning Lydia they kissed and embraced, and called"dear" with much zeal. Mrs. Vrain, on her part, darted from one to theother like a bird, pecking the red apples of their cheeks, and cast anarch glance at Lucian to see if he admired her talent for manoeuvering. Then cake and wine, port and sherry, were produced in the style of earlyVictorian hospitality, from which epoch Mrs. Pegall dated, and all wentmerry as a marriage bell, while Lydia laid her plans to have herselfexculpated in Lucian's eyes without being inculpated in those of thefamily. 

"We have just come up from our place in Somerset, " explained Mrs. Pegall, in a comfortable voice. "The girls wanted to see the sights, soI just said, 'we'll go, dears, and perhaps we'll get a glimpse of thedear Queen. ' I'm sure she has no more loyal subjects than we three. "

"Are you going out much this year, dear Mrs. Vrain?" asked BeatricePegall, the elder and plainer of the sisters. 

"No, dear, " replied Lydia, with a sigh, putting a dainty handkerchiefto her eyes. "You know what I have lost. "

The two groaned, and Miss Cecilia Pegall, who was by way of being veryreligious in a Low Church way, remarked that "all flesh was grass, " towhich observation her excellent mamma rejoined: "Very true, dear, verytrue. " And then the trio sighed again, and shook their black heads likeso many mandarins. 

"I should never support my grief, " continued Lydia, still tearful, "ifit was not that I have at least three dear friends. Ah! I shall neverforget that happy Christmas Eve!"

"Last Christmas Eve, dear Mrs. Vrain?" said Cecilia. 

"When you were all so kind and good, " sobbed Lydia, with a glance atLucian, to see that he noticed the confirmation. "We played whist, didn't we?"

"Four rubbers, " groaned Mrs. Pegall, "and retired to bed at ten o'clock, after prayers and a short hymn. Quite a carol that hymn was, eh, dears?"

"And your poor pa was so bad with his cough, " said Beatrice, "I hope itis better. He went away before dinner, too! Do say your pa is better!"

"Yes, dear, much better, " said Lydia, and considering it was four monthssince Christmas Eve, Lucian thought it was time Mr. Clyne recovered. 

"He enjoyed his tea, though, " said Cecilia. "Mr. Clyne always says thereis no tea like ours. "

"And no evenings, " cried Lydia, who was very glad there were not. "Poppa and I are coming soon to have a long evening--to play whistagain. "

"But, dear Mrs. Vrain, you are not going?"

"I must, dears, " with a kiss all round. "I have such a lot to do, andMr. Denzil is coming with me, as poppa wants to consult him about somelaw business. He's a barrister, you know. "

"I hope Mr. Denzil will come and see us again, " said Mrs. Pegall, shaking hands with Lucian. A fat, puffy hand she had, and damp. 

"Oh, delighted! delighted!" said Denzil hurriedly. 

"Cards and tea, and sensible conversation, " said Beatrice seriously, "nomore. "

"You forget prayers at ten, dear, " rejoined Cecilia in low tones. 

"We are a plain family, Mr. Denzil. You must take us as we are. "

"Thank you, Mrs. Pegall, I will. "

"Good-bye, dears, " cried Lydia again, and with a final peck all roundshe skipped out and into the hansom, followed by her escort. 

"Damn!" said Mrs. Vrain, when the cab drove away in the direction ofBayswater. "Oh, don't look so shocked, Mr. Denzil. I assure you I am notin the habit of swearing, but the extreme respectability of the Pegallsalways makes me wish to relieve my feelings by going to the otherextreme. What do you think of them?"

"They seem very good people, and genuine. "

"And very genteel and dull, " retorted Lydia. "Like Washington, theycan't tell a lie for a red cent; so you can believe I was there withpoppa on Christmas Eve, only he went away, and I stayed all night. "

"Yes, I believe it, Mrs. Vrain. "

"Then I couldn't have been in Jersey Street or Geneva Square, stickingMark with the stiletto?"

"No! I believe you to be innocent, " said Lucian gravely. "In fact, Ireally don't think it is necessary to find out about this cloak atBaxter & Co. 's. I am assured you did not buy it. "

"I guess I didn't, Mr. Denzil; but you want to know who did, and so doI. Well, you need not open your eyes. I'd like to know who killed Mark, also; and you say that cloak will show it?"

"I didn't say that; but the cloak may identify the woman I wrongfullytook for you. She may have to do with the matter. "

Lydia shook her pretty head. "Not she. Mark was as respectable as thePegall gang; there's no woman mixed up in this matter. "

"But I saw the shadow of a woman on the blind of No. 13!"

"You don't say! In Mark's sitting-room? Well, I should smile to know hewas human, after all. He was always so precious stiff!"

Something in Mrs. Vrain's light talk of her dead husband jarred on thefeelings of Lucian, and in some displeasure he held his peace. In nowise abashed, Lydia feigned to take no notice of this tacit reproof, but chatted on about all and everything in the most frivolous manner. Not until they had entered the shop of Baxter & Co. Did she resumeattention to business. 

"Here, " she said to the smiling shopwalker, "I want to know by whom thiscloak was sold, and to what person. "

The man examined the cloak, and noted a private mark on it, whichevidently afforded him some information not obtainable by the generalpublic, for he guided Lucian and his companion to a counter behind whichstood a brisk woman with sharp eyes. In her turn she also examined thecloak, and departed to refresh her memory by looking at some accountbook. When she returned it was to intimate that the cloak had beenbought by a man. 

"A man!" repeated Lucian, much astonished. "What was he like?"

"A dark man, " replied the brisk shopwoman, "dark hair, dark eyes, and adark moustache. I remember him well, because he was a foreigner. "

"A foreigner?" repeated Lydia in her turn. "A Frenchman?"

"No, madam--an Italian. He told me as much. "

"Sakes alive!" cried Mrs. Vrain. "You are right, Mr. Denzil. It'sFerruci sure enough!"

CHAPTER XIX

THE DEFENCE OF COUNT FERRUCI

"It is quite impossible!" cried Mrs. Vrain distractedly. "I can'tbelieve it nohow!"

The little woman was back again in her own drawing-room, talking toLucian about the discovery which had lately been made regardingFerruci's purchase of the cloak. Mrs. Vrain having proved her owninnocence by the evidence of the Pegall family, was now trying topersuade both herself and Denzil that the Count could not be possiblyimplicated in the matter. He had no motive to kill Vrain, she said, astatement with which Lucian at once disagreed. 

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Vrain, he had two motives, " said the barristerquickly. "In the first place, he was in love, and wished to marry you;in the second, he was poor, and wanted money. By the death of yourhusband he hoped to gain both. "

"He has gained neither, as yet, " replied Lydia sharply. "I like Ercolewell enough, and at one time I was almost engaged to him. But he has anasty temper of his own, Mr. Denzil, so I shunted him pretty smart tomarry Mark Vrain. I wouldn't marry him now if he dumped down a milliondollars at my feet to-morrow. Besides, poppa don't like him at all. I'vegot my money, and I've got my freedom, and I don't fool away either theone or the other on that Italian dude!"

"Is the Count acquainted with these sentiments?" asked Lucian drily. 

"I guess so, Mr. Denzil. He asked me to marry him two months afterMark's death, and I just up and told him pretty plain how the catjumped. "

"In plain English, you refused him?"

"You bet I did!" cried Lydia vigorously. "So you see, Mr. Denzil, hecould not have killed Mark. "

"Why not? He did not know your true mind until two months after themurder. "

"That's a fact, anyhow, " commented Mrs. Vrain. "But what the mischiefmade him buy that rabbit-skin cloak?"

"I expect he bought it for the woman I mistook for you. "

"And who may she be?"

"That is just what I wish to find out. This woman who came to JerseyStreet so often wore this cloak; therefore, she must have obtained itfrom the Count. I'll make him tell me who she is, and what she has to dowith this crime. "

"Do you think she has anything to do with it?" said Mrs. Vraindoubtfully. 

"I am certain. It must have been her shadow I saw on the blind. "

"And the man's shadow was the Count's?" questioned Lydia. 

"I think so. He bought the cloak for the woman, visited the man Wrent atJersey Street, and was seen by the servant in the back yard. He did notact thus without some object, Mrs. Vrain, you may be sure of that. "

"Sakes!" said Lydia, with a weary sigh. "I ain't sure of anything savethat my head is buzzing like a sawmill. Who is Wrent, anyhow?"

"I don't know. An old man with white beard and a skull-cap of blackvelvet. "

"Ugh!" said Mrs. Vrain, with a shiver. "Mark used to wear a blackskull-cap, and the thought of it makes me freeze up. Sounds like a judgeof your courts ordering a man to be lynched. Well, Mr. Denzil, it seemsto me as you'd best hustle Ercole. If he knows who the woman is--and hewouldn't buy cloaks for her if he didn't--he'll know who this Wrent is. I guess he can supply all information. "

"Where does he live?"

"Number 40, Marquis Street, St. James's. You go and look him up, while Itell poppa what a mean white he is. I guess poppa won't let him comenear me again. Pop's an honest man, though he ain't no Washington. "

"Suppose I find out that he killed your husband?" asked Lucian, rising. 

"Then you'd best lynch him right away, " replied Lydia withouthesitation. "I draw the line at murder--some!"

The barrister was somewhat disgusted to hear Mrs. Vrain so coolly devoteher whilom admirer to a shameful death. However, he knew that her heartwas hard and her nature selfish; so there was little use in showing anyoutward displeasure at her want of charity. She had cleared herself fromsuspicion, and evidently cared not who suffered, so long as she was safeand well spoken of. Moreover, Lucian had learned all he wished about hermovements on the night of the crime, and taking a hasty leave, he wentoff to Marquis Street for the purpose of bringing Ferruci to book forhis share in the terrible business. However, the Count proved to be fromhome, and would not be back, so the servant said, until late that night. 

Denzil therefore left a message that he would call at noon the next day, and drove from St. James's to Kensington, where he visited Diana. Herehe detailed what he had learned and done from the time he had visitedMrs. Bensusan up to the interview with Lydia. Also he displayed thecloak, and narrated how Mrs. Vrain had cleared herself of its purchase. 

To all this Diana listened with the greatest interest, and when Lucianended she looked at him for some moments in silence. In fact, Diana, with all her wit and common sense, did not know how to regard thepresent position of affairs. 

"Well, Miss Vrain, " said Lucian, seeing that she did not speak, "whatdo you think of it all?"

"Mrs. Vrain appears to be innocent, " said Diana in a low voice. 

"Assuredly she is! The evidence of the Pegall family--given in allinnocence--proves that she could not have been in Geneva Square or inJersey Street on Christmas Eve. "

"Then we come back to my original belief, Mr. Denzil. Lydia did notcommit the crime herself, but employed Ferruci to do so. "

"No, " replied Denzil decidedly. "Whether the Italian is guilty or not, Mrs. Vrain knows nothing about it. If she were cognisant of his guiltshe would not have risked going with me to Baxter & Co. , and letting mediscover that Ferruci had bought the cloak. Nor would she so lightlysurrender a possible accomplice as she has done Ferruci. Whatever can besaid of Mrs. Vrain's conduct--and I admit that it is far fromperfect--yet I must say that she appears, by the strongest evidence, tobe totally innocent and ignorant. She knows no more about the matterthan her father does. "

"Well, " said Diana, unwilling to grant her stepmother too much grace, "we must give her the benefit of the doubt. What about Ferruci?"

"So far as I can see, Ferruci is guilty, " replied Lucian. "To clearhimself he will have to give the same proof as Mrs. Vrain. Firstly, hewill have to show that he was not in Jersey Street on Christmas Eve;secondly, he will have to prove that he did not buy the cloak. But inthe face of the servant's evidence, and the statement of the shopwoman, he will find it difficult to clear himself. Yet, " added Lucian, remembering his failure with Lydia, "it is always possible that he maydo so. "

"It seems to me, Mr. Denzil, that your only chance of getting at thetruth is to see the Italian. "

"I think so myself. I will see him to-morrow. "

"Will you take Mr. Link with you?"

"No, Miss Vrain. As I have found out so much without Link, I may as wellproceed in the matter until his professional services are required toarrest Count Ferruci. By the way, I have never seen that gentleman. Canyou describe his appearance to me?"

"Oh, as far as looks go there is no fault to be found with him, "answered Diana. "He is a typical Italian, tall, slender, and olivecomplexioned. He speaks English very well, indeed, and appears to bepossessed of considerable education. Certainly, to look at him, and tospeak with him, you would not think he was a villain likely to murder adefenceless old man. But if he did not kill my poor father, I know notwho did. "

"I'll call on him to-morrow at noon, " said Lucian, "and later on I shallcome here to tell you what has passed between us. "

This remark brought the business between them to a close, but Lucianwould fain have lingered to engage Diana in lighter conversation. MissVrain, however, was too much disturbed by the news he had brought herto indulge in frivolous talk. Her mind, busied with recollections of herdeceased father, and anxiously seeking some means whereby to avenge hisdeath, was ill attuned to encourage at the moment the aspirations whichshe knew Lucian entertained. 

The barrister, therefore, sighed and hinted in vain. His Dulcinea wouldhave none of him or his courting, and he was compelled to retire, asdisconsolate a lover as could be seen. To slightly alter the saying ofShakespeare, "the course of true love never does run smooth, " but therewere surely an unusual number of obstacles in the current of Denzil'sdesires. But as he consoled himself with reflecting that the greater theprize the harder it is to win, so it behooved him to do his devoir likea true knight. 

The next day, at noon, Lucian, armed for the encounter with the evidenceof Rhoda and of the cloak, presented himself at the rooms which CountFerruci temporarily inhabited in Marquis Street. He not only found theItalian ready to receive him, but in full possession of the adventure ofthe cloak, which, as he admitted, he had learned from Lydia the previousevening. Also, Count Ferruci was extremely indignant, and informedLucian that he was easily able to clear himself of the suspicion. Whilehe raged on in his fiery Italian way, Denzil, who saw no chance ofstaying the torrent of words, examined him at his leisure. 

Ercole Ferruci was, as Diana had said, a singularly handsome man ofthirty-five. He was dark, slender, and tall, with dark, flashing eyes, aheavy black moustache, and an alert military look about him which showedthat he had served in the army. The above description savours a trifleof the impossible hero of a young lady's dream; and, as a matter offact, Ferruci was not unlike that ideal personage. He had all the looksand graces which women admire, and seemed honest and fiery enough in amanly way--the last person, as Lucian thought, to gain his aims byunderhand ways, or to kill a helpless old man. But Lucian, legallyexperienced in human frailty, was not to be put off with volubleconversation and outward graces. He wished for proofs of innocence, andthese he tried to obtain as soon as Ferruci drew breath in his fieryharangue. 

"If you are innocent, Count, " said Lucian, in reply to the fluent, incorrect English of the Italian, "appearances are against you. However, you can prove yourself innocent, if you will. "

"Sir!" cried Ferruci, "is not my word good?"

"Not good enough for an English court, " replied Lucian coldly. "You sayyou were not in Jersey Street on Christmas Eve. Who can prove that?"

"My friend--my dear friend, Dr. Jorce of Hampstead, sir. I was with him;oh, yes, sir, he will tell you so. "

"Very good! I hope his evidence will clear you, " replied the morephlegmatic Englishman. "And this cloak?"

"I never bought the cloak! I saw it not before!"

"Then come with me to the shop in Bayswater, and hear what the girl whosold it says. "

"I will come at once!" cried Ferruci hastily, catching up his cane andhat. "Come, then, my friend! Come! What does the woman say?"

"That she sold the cloak to a tall man--to a dark man with a moustache, and one who told her he was Italian. "

"Bah!" retorted the Count, as they hailed a hansom. "Is all that she cansay? Why, all we Italians are supposed to be tall and dark, and wearmoustaches. Your common people in England never fancy one of us can befair. "

"You are not fair, " replied Lucian drily, "and your looks correspond tothe description. "

"True! Oh, yes, sir! But that description might describe a dozen of mycountrymen. And, Mr. Denzil, " added the Count, laughing, "I do not goround about saying to common people that I am an Italian. It is not mycustom to explain. "

Lucian shrugged his shoulders, and said no more until they entered theshop in Bayswater. As he knew from the previous visit where thesaleswoman was located, he led the Count rapidly to the place. The girlwas there, as brisk and businesslike as ever. She looked up as theyapproached, and came forward to serve them, with a swift glance at both. 

"I am sorry to trouble you again, " said Lucian ceremoniously, "but youtold me yesterday that you sold a blue cloak, lined with rabbit skin, to an Italian gentleman, and--"

"And am I the gentleman?" interrupted Ferruci. "Did I buy a cloak?"

"No, " replied the shopwoman, after a sharp glance. "This is not thegentleman who bought the cloak. "

CHAPTER XX

A NEW DEVELOPMENT

"You see, Mr. Denzil, " said Ferruci, turning triumphantly to Lucian, "Idid not buy this cloak; I am not the Italian this lady speaks of. "

Lucian was extremely astonished at this unexpected testimony in favourof the Count, and questioned the shopwoman sharply. "Are you certain ofwhat you say?" he asked, looking at her intently. 

"Yes, I am, sir, " replied the girl stiffly, as though she did not likeher word doubted. "The gentleman who bought the cloak was not so tall asthis one, nor did he speak English well. I had great difficulty inlearning what he wanted. "

"But you said that he was dark, with a moustache--and--"

"I said all that, sir; but this is not the gentleman. "

"Could you swear to it?" said Lucian, more chagrined than he liked toshow to the victorious Ferruci. 

"If it is necessary, I could, sir, " said the shopwoman, with thegreatest confidence. And after so direct a reply, and such certainevidence, Denzil had nothing to do but retire from an awkward positionas gracefully as he could. 

"And now, sir, " said Ferruci, who had followed him out of the shop, "youcome with me, please. "

"Where to?" asked Lucian gloomily. 

"To my friend--to my rooms. I have shown I did not buy the cloak youspeak of. Now we must find my friend, Dr. Jorce, to tell you I was notat Jersey Street when you say. "

"Is Dr. Jorce at your rooms?"

"I asked him to call about this time, " said Ferruci, glancing at hiswatch. "When Mrs. Vrain speak to me of what you say I wish to defendmyself, so I write last night to my friend to talk with you this day. Iget his telegram saying he would come at two hours. "

Lucian glanced in his turn at his watch. "Half-past one, " he said, beckoning to a cab. "Very good, Count, we will just have time to getback to your place. "

"And what you think now?" said Ferruci, with a malicious twinkle in hiseyes. 

"I do not know what to think, " replied Lucian dismally, "save that it isa strange coincidence that _another_ Italian should have bought thecloak. "

The Count shrugged his shoulders as they got into the hansom, but he didnot speak until they were well on their way back to Marquis Street. Hethen looked thoughtfully at his companion. "I do not believecoincidence, " he said abruptly, "but in design. "

"What do you mean, Count? I do not quite follow you. "

"Some one who knows I love Mrs. Vrain wish to injure me, " said theItalian rapidly, "and so make theirself like me to buy that cloak. Ah!you see? But he could not make himself as tall as me. Oh, yes, sir, I amsure it is so. "

"Do you know any one who would disguise himself so as to implicate youin the murder?"

"No. " Ferruci shook his head. "I cannot think of one man--not one. "

"Do you know a man called Wrent?" asked Lucian abruptly. 

"I do not, Mr. Denzil, " said Ferruci at once. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I thought he might be the man to disguise himself. But no, " addedLucian, remembering Rhoda's account of Wrent's white hair and beard, "itcannot be him. He would not sacrifice his beard to carry out the plan;in fact he could not without attracting Rhoda's attention. "

"Rhoda! Wrent! What strange names you talk of!" cried Ferrucivivaciously. 

"No stranger than that of your friend Jorce. "

Ferruci laughed. "Oh, he is altogether most strange. You see. "

It was as the Italian said. Dr. Jorce--who was waiting for them in theCount's room--proved to be a small, dried-up atom of a man, who lookedas though all the colour had been bleached out of him. At first sight hewas more like a monkey than a man, owing to his slight, queer figureand agile movements; but a closer examination revealed that he had aclever face, and a pair of most remarkable eyes. These were of asteel-grey hue, with an extraordinary intensity of gaze; and when hefixed them on Lucian at the moment of introduction the young barristerfelt as though he were being mesmerised. 

For the rest, Jorce was dressed sombrely in black cloth, was extremelyvoluble and vivacious, and impressed Lucian with the idea that he wasless a fellow mortal than a changeling from fairyland. Quite anexceptional man was Dr. Jorce, and, as the Italian said, "most strange. "

"My good friend, " said Ferruci, laying his stern hand on the shoulder ofthis oddity, "this gentleman wishes you to decide a--what do yousay?--bet?"

"A bet!" cried the little doctor in a deep bass voice, but with someindignation. "Do I understand, Count, that you have brought me all theway from my place in Hampstead to decide a bet?"

"Ah, but sir, it is a bet most important, " said Ferruci, with a smile. "This Mr. Denzil declares that he saw me in Pim--Pim--what?"

"In Pimlico, " said Lucian, seeing that Ferruci could not pronounce theword. "I say that the Count was in Pimlico on Christmas Eve. "

"You are wrong, sir, " said Jorce, with a wave of his skinny hand. "Myfriend, Count Ferruci, was in my house at Hampstead on that evening. "

"Was he?" remarked Lucian, astonished at this confident assertion. "Andat what time did he leave?"

"He did not leave till next morning. My friend the Count remained undermy roof all night, and left at twelve o'clock on Christmas morning. "

"So you see, " said Ferruci airily to Lucian, "that I could not have donewhat you think, as that was done--by what you said--between eleven andtwelve on that night. "

"Was the Count with you at ten o'clock on that evening?" asked Denzil. 

"Certainly he was; so you have lost your bet, Mr. Denzil. Sorry to bringyou such bad fortune, but truth is truth, you know. "

"Would you repeat this statement, if I wished?"

"Why not? Call on me at any time. 'The Haven, Hampstead'; that willalways find me. "

"Ah, but I do not think it will be necessary for Mr. Denzil to call onyou, sir, " interposed the Count rapidly. "You can always come to me. Well, Mr. Denzil, are you satisfied?"

"I am, " replied Lucian. "I have lost my bet, Count, and I apologise. Good-day, Dr. Jorce, and thank you. Count Ferruci, I wish you good-bye. "

"Not even _au revoir_?" said Ferruci mockingly. 

"That depends upon the future, " replied Lucian coolly, and forthwithwent away in low spirits at the downfall of his hopes. Far fromrevealing the mystery of Vrain's death, his late attempts to solve ithad resulted in utter failure. Lydia had cleared herself; Ferruci hadproved himself innocent; and Lucian could not make up his mind what wasnow to be done. 

In this dilemma he sought out Diana, as, knowing from experience thatwhere a man's logic ends a woman's instinct begins, he thought she mightsuggest some way out of the difficulty. On arriving at the Royal JohnHotel he found that Diana was waiting for him with great impatience; andhardly giving herself time to greet him, she asked how he had fared inhis interview with Count Ferruci. 

"Has that man been arrested, Mr. Denzil?"

"No, Miss Vrain. I regret to say that he has not been arrested. To speakplainly, he has, so far as I can see, proved himself innocent. "

"Innocent! And the evidence against him?"

"Is utterly useless. I brought him face to face with the woman who soldthe cloak, and she denies that Ferruci bought it. "

"But she said the buyer was an Italian. "

"She did, and dark, with a moustache. All the same, she did notrecognise the Count. She says the buyer was not so tall, and spoke worseEnglish. "

"Ferruci could make his English bad if he liked. "

"Probably; but he could not make his stature shorter. No, Miss Vrain, Iam afraid that our Italian friend, in spite of the evidence against him, did not buy the cloak. That he resembles the purchaser in looks andnationality is either a coincidence or----"

"Or what?" seeing that Lucian hesitated. 

"Or design, " finished the barrister. "And, indeed, the Count himself isof this opinion. He believes that some one who wished to get him intotrouble personated him. "

"Has he any suspicions as to whom the person may be?"

"He says not, and I believe him; for if he did suspect any particularindividual he certainly would gain nothing by concealment of the fact. "

"H'm!" said Diana thoughtfully, "so that denial of the saleswomandisposes of the cloak's evidence. What about the Count's presence inJersey Street on Christmas Eve?"

"He was not there!"

"But Rhoda, the servant, saw him both in the house and in the backyard!"

"She saw a dark man, with a moustache, but she could not say that he wasa foreigner. She does not know Ferruci, remember. The man she saw musthave been the same as the purchaser of the cloak. "

"Where does Ferruci say he was?"

"At Hampstead, visiting a friend. "

"Oh! And what does the friend say?"

"He declares that the Count was with him on Christmas Eve and stayed allnight. "

"That is very convenient evidence for the Count, Mr. Denzil. Who is thisaccommodating friend?"

"A doctor called Jorce. "

"Can his word be trusted?"

"So far as I can judge from his looks and a short acquaintance, I shouldsay so. "

"It was half-past eight when the servant saw the dark man run out ofthe yard?"

"Yes!"

"And at half-past eight Ferruci was at Hampstead in the house of Dr. Jorce?"

"Not that I know of, " said Lucian, remembering that he had asked Jorcethe question rather generally than particularly, "but the doctordeclared that Ferruci was with him at ten o'clock on that evening, anddid not leave him until next morning; so as your father was killedbetween eleven and twelve, Ferruci must be innocent. "

"It would seem so, if this doctor is to be believed, " muttered Dianareflectively, "but judging by what you have told me, there is nothing toshow that Ferruci was _not_ in Pimlico at eight-thirty, and was _not_the man whom the servant saw. "

"Well, certainly he could get from Pimlico to Hampstead in an hour and ahalf. However, the main point about all this evidence is, that neitherFerruci nor Lydia Vrain killed your father. "

"No! no! that seems clear. Still! still! they know about it. Oh, I amsure of it. It must have been Ferruci who was in Pimlico on that night. If so, he knows who Wrent is, and why he stayed in Jersey Street. "

"Perhaps, although he denies ever hearing the name of Wrent. But I wouldnot be surprised if the man who could solve the mystery is----"

"Who?--who?"

"Doctor Jorce himself. I feel sure of it. "

CHAPTER XXI

TWO MONTHS PASS

Unwilling to give up prosecuting the Vrain case while the slightest hoperemained of solving its mystery, Lucian sought out Link, the detective, and detailed all the evidence he had collected since the constitutedauthorities had abandoned the matter. Although Mrs. Vrain and Ferrucihad exculpated themselves entirely, Denzil thought that Link, with hisprofessional distrust and trained sense of ferreting out secrets, mightdiscern better than himself whether such exculpations were warranted bycircumstances. 

Link heard all that Denzil had to tell him with outward indifference andinward surprise; for while unwilling, through jealousy of an amateur, toflatter the barrister by a visible compliment, yet he silently admittedthat Denzil had made his discoveries and profited by them with muchacuteness. What annoyed him, however, was that the young man had pushedhis inquiries to the uttermost limit; and that there was no chance ofany glory accruing to himself by prosecuting them further. Still, on thepossibility that something might come of it, he went over the groundalready traversed by the amateur detective. 

"You should have told me of your intentions when Miss Vrain spoke to youin the first instance, " he said to Lucian by way of rebuke. "As it is, you have confused the clues so much that I do not know which one totake. "

"It seems to me that I have pursued each clue until fate or circumstanceclipped it short, " retorted Lucian, nettled by this injustice. "Mrs. Vrain has defended herself successfully, much in the same way as CountFerruci has done. Your only chance of getting at the truth lies indiscovering Wrent; and unless Rhoda helps you there, I do not see howyou can trace the man. "

"I am of a different opinion, " said Link, lying freely to conceal hisdoubts of success in the matter. "As you have failed through lack ofexperience, I shall attempt to unravel this skein. "

"You attempted to do so before, and gave it up because of the tangle, "said Lucian with quiet irony. "And unless you discover more than I havedone, you will dismiss the matter again as impossible. So far as I cansee, the mystery of Vrain's death is more of a mystery than ever, andwill never be solved. "

"I'll make one last attempt to unriddle it, however, " answered Link, with a confidence he was far from feeling, "but, of course--not beingone of your impossible detectives of fiction--I may fail. "

"You are certain to fail, " said Lucian decisively, and with thisdisheartening prophecy he left Link to his task of--apparently--spinningropes of sand. 

Whether it was that Link was so doubtful of the result as to extendlittle energy in the search, or whether he really found the taskimpossible of accomplishment, it is difficult to say, but assuredly hefailed as completely as Lucian predicted. With outward zeal he set towork; interviewed Lydia and the Italian, to make certain that theirdefence was genuine; examined the Pegall family, who were dreadfullyalarmed by their respectability being intruded upon by a commondetective, and obtained a fresh denial from Baxter & Co. 's saleswomanthat Ferruci was the purchaser of the cloak. Also he cross-questionedMrs. Bensusan and her sharp handmaid in the most exhaustive manner, anddid his best to trace out the mysterious Wrent who had so much to dowith the matter. He even called on Dr. Jorce at Hampstead, to satisfyhimself as to the actual time of Ferruci's arrival in that neighbourhoodon Christmas Eve. But here he received a check, for Jorce had goneabroad on his annual holiday, and was not expected back for a month. 

In fact, Link did all that a man could do to arrive at the truth, onlyto find himself, at the end of his labours, in the same position asLucian had been. Disgusted at this result, he threw up his brief, andcalled upon Diana and Denzil, with whom he had previously made anappointment, to notify them of his inability to bring the matter to asatisfactory conclusion. 

"There is not the slightest chance of finding the assassin of Mr. Vrain, " said Link, after he had set forth at length his late failures. "The more I go into the matter the more I see it. "

"Yet you were so confident of doing more than I, " said Lucian quietly. 

Link turned sulkily, after the fashion of a bad loser. 

"I did my best, " he retorted gloomily. "No man can do more. Some crimesare beyond the power of the law to punish for sheer lack of proof. Thisis one of them; and, so far as I can see, this unknown assassin will bepunished on Judgment Day--not before. "

"Then you don't think that Signor Ferruci is guilty?" said Diana. 

"No. He has had nothing to do with the matter; nor has Mrs. Vrainbrought about the death in any way. "

"You cannot say who killed my father?"

"Not for certain, but I suspect Wrent. "

"Then why not find Wrent?" asked Diana bluntly. 

"He has hidden his trail too well, " began Link, "and--and----"

"And if you did find him, " finished Denzil coolly, "he might provehimself guiltless, after the fashion of Mrs. Vrain and Ferruci. "

"He might, sir; there is no knowing. But since you think I have done solittle, Mr. Denzil, let me ask you who it is you suspect?"

"Dr. Jorce of Hampstead. "

"Pooh! pooh!" cried Link, with contempt. "He didn't kill the man--howcould he, seeing he was at Hampstead on that Christmas Eve midnight, asI found out from his servants?"

"I don't suspect him of actually striking the blow, " replied Lucian, "but I believe he knows who did. "

"Not he! Dr. Jorce has too responsible a position to mix himself up in acrime from which he gains no benefit. "

"Why! what position does he hold?"

"He is the owner of a private lunatic asylum. Is it likely that a manlike him would commit a murder?"

"Again I deny that he did commit the crime; but I am certain, from thevery fact of his friendship with Ferruci, that he knows more than hechooses to tell. Why should the Italian be intimate with the owner of aprivate asylum--with a man so much beneath him in rank?"

"I don't know, sir. But if you suspect Dr. Jorce you had better see himwhen he comes back from his holidays--in a month. "

"Where is he now?"

"In Italy, and the Count has gone with him. "

Diana and Lucian looked at one another, and the former spoke: "That isstrange, " she said. "I agree with Mr. Denzil, it is peculiar, to say theleast of it, that an Italian noble should make a bosom friend of a manso far inferior to him in position. Don't you think so yourself, Mr. Link?"

"Madam, " said Link gravely, "I think nothing about it, save that youwill never find out the truth. I have tried my best, and failed; and Iam confident enough in my own power to say that where I have failed noone else will succeed. Miss Vrain, Mr. Denzil, I wish you good-day. "

And with this bragging speech, which revealed the hurt vanity of theman, Mr. Link took his departure. Lucian held his peace, for in the faceof this desertion of a powerful ally he did not know what to say. Dianawalked to the sitting-room window and watched Link disappear into thecrowd of passers-by. At that she heaved a sigh, for with him--shethought--went every chance of learning the truth, since if he, anexperienced person in such matters, turned back from the quest, therecould assuredly be no help in any one not professional, and with lesstrained abilities. 

Then she turned to Lucian. 

"There is nothing more to be done, I suppose, " said she, sighing again. 

"I am afraid not, " replied Lucian dismally, for he was quite of heropinion regarding the desertion of the detective. 

"Then I must leave this unknown assassin to the punishment of God!" saidDiana quietly. "And I can only thank you for all you have done for me, Mr. Denzil, and say"--she hesitated and blushed, then added, with someemphasis--"say _au revoir_. "

"Ah!" ejaculated Denzil, with an indrawn breath of relief, "I am gladyou did not say good-bye. "

"I don't wish to say it, Mr. Denzil. I have not so many friends in theworld that I can afford to lose so good a one as yourself. "

"I am content, " said Lucian softly, "that you should think of me as yourfriend--for the present. "

His meaning was so unmistakable that Diana, still blushing, and somewhatconfused, hastened to prevent his saying more at so awkward a moment. "Then as my friend I hope you will come and see me at Berwin Manor. "

"I shall be delighted. When do you go down?"

"Within a fortnight. I must remain that time in town to see my lawyerabout the estate left by my poor father. "

"And see Mrs. Vrain?"

"No, " replied Diana coldly. "Now that my father is dead, Mrs. Vrain isnothing to me. Indirectly, I look upon her as the cause of his death, for if she had not driven both of us out of our own home, my fathermight have been alive still. I shall not call on Mrs. Vrain, and I donot think she will dare to call on me. "

"I'm not so sure of that, " rejoined Lucian, who was well acquainted withthe lengths to which Mrs. Vrain's audacity would carry her; "but let usdismiss her, with all your other troubles. May I call on you againbefore you leave town?"

"Occasionally, " replied Diana, smiling and blushing; "and you will comedown to Berwin Manor when I send you an invitation?"

"I should think so, " said Denzil, in high glee, as he rose to depart;"and now I will say----"

"Good-bye?" said Miss Vrain, holding out her hand. 

"No. I will use your own form of farewell--_au revoir_. "

Then Lucian went out from the presence of his beloved, exulting that shehad proved so kind as not to dismiss him when she no longer required hisservices. In another woman he would not have minded such ingratitude, but had Diana banished him thus he would have been miserable beyondwords. Also, as Lucian joyfully reflected, her invitation to BerwinManor showed that, far from wishing to lose sight of him, she desired todraw him into yet closer intimacy. There could be nothing but goodresulting from her invitation and his acceptance, and already Denzillooked forward to some bright summer's day in the green and leafycountry, when he should ask this goddess among women to be his wife. Ifencouragement and looks and blushes went for anything, he hardly doubtedthe happy result. 

In the meantime, while Lucian dreamed his dreams, Diana, also dreamingin her own way, remained in town and attended to business. She saw herlawyers, and had her affairs looked into, so that when she went to Bathshe was legally installed as the mistress of Berwin Manor and itssurrounding acres. As Lucian hinted, Lydia did indeed try to see herstepdaughter. She called twice, and was refused admission into Diana'spresence. She wrote three times, and received no reply to her letters;so the consequence was that, finding Diana declined to have anything todo with her in any way whatsoever, she became very bitter. This feelingshe expressed to Lucian, whom she one day met in Piccadilly. 

"As if I had done anything, " finished Lydia, after a recital of all hergrievances. "I call it real mean. Don't you think so, Mr. Denzil?"

"If you ask me, Mrs. Vrain, " said Lucian stiffly, "I think you and MissVrain are better apart. "

"Of course you defend her. But I guess I can't blame you, as I know whatyou are driving at. "

"What about Signor Ferruci?" asked Denzil, parrying. 

"Oh, we are good friends still, but nothing more. As he proved that hedid not kill Mark, I've no reason to give him his walking-ticket. But, "added Mrs. Vrain drily, "I guess you'll be married to Diana before Ihitch up 'longside Ercole. "

"How do you know I shall marry Miss Vrain?" asked Lucian, flushing. 

"If you saw your face in a glass, you wouldn't ask, I guess. Tomatoesain't in it for redness. I won't dance at your wedding, and I won'tbreak my heart, either, " and with a gay nod Mrs. Lydia Vrain trippedaway, evidently quite forgetful of the late tragedy in her life. 

CHAPTER XXII

AT BERWIN MANOR

The heritage of Diana lay some miles from Bath, in a pleasant woodedvalley, through which meandered a placid and slow-flowing stream. Oneither side of this water stretched broad meadow lands, flat andfertile, as well they might be, seeing they were of rich black loam, andwell drained, withal. To the right these meadows were bounded by forestlands, the trees of which grew thickly up and over the ridge, and on thespace where wood met fields was placed the manor, a quaint squarebuilding of Georgian architecture, and some two centuries old. 

Against the green of the trees its warm walls of red brick and slopingroof of bluish slate made a pleasant spot of colour. There stretched aterrace before it; beneath the terrace a flower garden and orchard; andbelow these the meadow lands, white with snow in winter, black inspring, with ridgy furrows, and golden with grain in the hot days ofsummer. Altogether a lovely and peaceful spot, where a man could passpleasant days in rural quiet, a hermitage of rest for the life-worn andheart-weary. 

Here, towards the end of summer, came Lucian, to rest his brain afterthe turmoil of London, and to court his mistress under the mostfavourable circumstances. Diana had established herself in her ancestralhome with a superannuated governess as a chaperon, for without such aguardianship she could hardly have invited the barrister to visit her. Miss Priscilla Barbar was a placid, silver-haired old dame, who, havingtaught Diana for many years, had returned, now that the American Mrs. Vrain had departed, to spend the rest of her days under the roof of herdear pupil. 

She took a great fancy to Lucian, which was just as well, seeing whatwas the object of his visit, and complacently watched the growingattachment between the handsome young couple, who seemed so suited toone another. But her duties as chaperon were nominal, for when notpottering about the garden she was knitting in a snug corner, and whenknitting failed to interest her she slumbered quietly, in defiance ofthe etiquette which should have compelled her to make a third in theconversation of her young friends. 

As for Lucian and his charming hostess, they found that they had so manytastes in common, and enjoyed each other's society so much, that theywere hardly ever apart. Diana saw with the keen eyes of a woman thatLucian was in love with her, and let it be seen in a marvellously shortspace of time, and without much difficulty, that she was in love withhim. 

But even after Lucian had been at the manor a fortnight, and daily inthe society of Diana, he spoke no word of love. Seeing how beautiful shewas, and how dowered with lands and rents and horses, he began to askhimself whether it was not rather a presumption on his part to ask herto share his life. He had only three hundred a year--six pounds aweek--and a profession in which, as yet, he had not succeeded; so hecould offer her very little in exchange for her beauty, wealth, andposition. 

The poor lover became quite pale with fruitless longing, and his spiritsfell so low that good Miss Priscilla one day drew him aside to ask abouthis health. 

"For, " said she, "if you are ill in body, Mr. Denzil, I know of someremedies--old woman's medicines you will call them, no doubt--which, with the blessing of God, may do you good. "

"Thank you, Miss Barbar, but I am not ill in body--worse luck!" andLucian sighed. 

"Why worse luck, Mr. Denzil?" said the old lady severely. "That is anungrateful speech to Providence. "

"I would rather be ill in body than ill in mind, " explained Denzil, blushing, for in some ways he was younger than his years. 

"And are you ill in mind?" asked Miss Priscilla, with a twinkle in hereyes. 

"Alas! yes. Can you cure me?"

"No. For that cure I shall hand you over to Diana. "

"Miss Priscilla!" And Lucian coloured again, this time with vexation. 

"Oh, Mr. Denzil, " laughed the governess, "because I am old you must notimagine that I am blind. I see that you love Diana. "

"Better than my life!" cried the devoted lover with much fervour. 

"Of course! That is the usual romantic answer to make. Well, why do younot tell Diana so, with any pretty additions your fancy suggests?"

"She might not listen to me, " said this doubting lover dolefully. 

"Very true, " replied his consoler. "On the other hand, she might. Besides, Mr. Denzil, however much the world may have altered since myyouth, I have yet to learn that it is the lady's part to propose to thegentleman. "

"But, Miss Barbar, I am poor!"

"What of that? Diana is rich. "

"Don't I know it? For that very reason I hesitate to ask her. "

"Because you are afraid of being called a fortune-hunter, I suppose, "said the old lady drily. "That shows a lack of moral courage which isnot worthy of you, Mr. Denzil. Take an old woman's advice, young man, and put your fortunes to the test. Remember Montrose's advice in thesong. "

"You approve of my marrying Diana--I mean Miss Vrain?"

"From what I have seen of you, and from what Diana has told me aboutyou, I could wish her no better husband. Poor girl! After the tragicaldeath of her father, and her wretched life with that American woman, shedeserves a happy future. "

"And do you think--do you really think that she--that she--would behappy with--with me?" stammered Lucian, hardly daring to believe MissPriscilla, whose acquaintance with him seemed too recent to warrant suchtrust. 

The wise old woman laughed and nodded. 

"Ask her yourself, my dear, " she said, patting his hand. "She will beable to answer that question better than I. Besides, girls like to say'yea' or 'nay, ' themselves. "

This seemed to be good advice, and certainly none could have been moregrateful to the timid lover. That very night he made up his mind to riskhis fortunes by speaking to Diana. It was no easy matter for the youngman to bring himself to do so, for cool, bold, and fluent as he was onordinary occasions, the fever of love rendered him shy and nervous. Thelooks of Diana acted on his spirits as the weather does on a barometer. A smile made him jocund and hilarious, a frown abashed him almost togloom. And in the April weather of her presence he was as variable as aweather-cock. It is, therefore, little to be wondered at that oneordinarily daring should tremble to ask a question which might beanswered in the negative. True, Miss Barbar's partisanship heartened hima trifle, but he still feared for the result. Cupid, as well asconscience, makes cowards of us all--and Lucian was a doubting lover. 

Towards the end of his stay Miss Priscilla--as usual--fell asleep oneevening after dinner, and Diana, feeling the house too warm, stepped outinto the garden, followed by Lucian. The sun had just set behind theundulating hills, and the clear sky, to the zenith, was of a pale rosecolour, striped towards the western horizon with lines of golden cloud. In the east a cold blue prevailed, and here and there a star sparkled inthe arch of the sky. 

The garden was filled with floating shadows, which seemed to glide intoit from the dark recesses of the near woods, and in a copse somedistance away a nightingale was singing to his mate, and filling thesilence with melody. The notes fluted sweetly through the still air, mingling with the sigh of the rising wind and the musical splashing ofthe fountain. This shot up a pillar of silvery water to a great height, and in descending sprinkled the near flower beds with its cold spray. All was inexpressibly beautiful to the eye and soothing to the ear--ascene and an hour for love. It might have been the garden of theCapulets, and those who moved in it--the immortal lovers, as yetuncursed by Fate. 

"Only three more days, " sighed Lucian as he walked slowly down the pathbeside Diana, "and then that noisy London again. "

"Perhaps it is as well, " said Diana, in her practical way. "You wouldrust here. But is there any need for you to go back so soon?"

"I must--for my own peace of mind. "

Diana started and blushed at the meaning of his tone and words. 

Then she recovered her serenity and sat down on an old stone seat, nearwhich stood a weather-beaten statue of Venus. Seeing that she keptsilent in spite of his broad hint, Lucian--to bring matters to acrisis--resolved to approach the subject in a mythological way throughthe image of the goddess. 

"I am sorry I am not a Greek, Miss Vrain, " he said abruptly. 

"Why?" asked Diana, secretly astonished by the irrelevancy of theremark. 

Lucian plucked a red rose from the bush which grew near the statue andplaced it on the pedestal. 

"Because I would lay my offering at the feet of the goddess, and touchher knees to demand a boon. "

"What boon would you ask?" said Diana in a low voice. 

"I would beseech that in return for my rose of flowers she would give methe rose of womanhood. "

"A modest request. Do you think it would be granted?"

"Do you?" asked Lucian, picking up the rose again. 

"How can I reply to your parables, or read your dark sayings?" saidDiana, half in earnest, half in mirth. 

"I can speak plainer if you permit it. "

"If--if you like!"

The young man laid the rose on Diana's lap. "Then in return for my rosegive me--yourself!"

"Mr. Denzil!" cried Diana, starting up, whereby the flower fell to theground. "You--you surprise me!"

"Indeed, I surprise myself, " said Lucian sadly. "That I should dare toraise my eyes to you is no doubt surprising. "

"I don't see that at all, " exclaimed Diana coldly. "I like to be woo'dlike a woman, not honoured like a goddess. "

"You are both woman and goddess! But--you are not angry?"

"Why should I be angry?"

"Because I--I love you!"

"I cannot be angry with--with--shall we say a compliment. "

"Oh, Diana!"

"Wait! wait!" cried Miss Vrain, waving back this too eager lover. "Youcannot love me! You have known me only a month or two. "

"Love can be born in an hour, " cried Lucian eagerly. "I loved you on thefirst day I saw you! I love you now--I shall love you ever!"

"Will you truly love me ever, Lucian?"

"Oh, my darling! Can you doubt it? And you?" He looked at her hopefully. 

"And I?" she repeated in a pretty mocking tone, "and I?" With a laugh, she bent and picked up the flower. "I take the rose and I give you--"

"Yourself!" cried the enraptured lover, and the next moment he wasclasping her to his breast. "Oh, Diana, dearest! Will you really be mywife?"

"Yes, " she said softly, and kissed him. 

For a few moments the emotions of both overcame them too much to permitfurther speech; then Diana sat down and made Lucian sit beside her. 

"Lucian, " she said in a firm voice, "I love you, and I shall be yourwife--when you find out who killed my poor father!"

"It is impossible!" he cried in dismay. 

"No. We must prosecute the search. I have no right to be happy while thewretch who killed him is still at large. We have failed hitherto, but wemay succeed yet! and when we succeed I shall marry you. "

"My darling!" cried Lucian in ecstasy; and then in a more subdued tone:"I'll do all I can to find out the truth. But, after all, from whatpoint can I begin afresh?"

"From the point of Mrs. Vrain, " said Diana unexpectedly. 

"Mrs. Vrain!" cried the startled Lucian. "Do you still suspect her?"

"Yes, I do!"

"But she has cleared herself on the most undeniable evidence. "

"Not in my eyes, " said Diana obstinately. "If Mrs. Vrain is innocent, how did she find out that the unknown man murdered in Geneva Square wasmy father?"

"By his assumption of the name of Berwin, which was mentioned in theadvertisement; also from the description of the body, and particularlyby the mention of the cicatrice on the right cheek, and of the loss ofthe little finger of the left hand. "

Diana started. "I never heard that about the little finger, " she saidhurriedly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I saw myself when I knew your father as Berwin, that he had lostthat little finger. "

"Then, Lucian, you did _not_ see my father!"

"What!" cried Denzil, hardly able to credit her words. 

"My father never lost a finger!" cried Diana, starting to her feet. "Ah, Lucian, I now begin to see light. That man who called himself Berwin, who was murdered, was not my father. No, I believe--on my soul, Ibelieve that my father, Mark Vrain, is alive!"

CHAPTER XXIII

A STARTLING THEORY

When Diana declared that her father yet lived, Lucian drew back from herin amazement, for of all impossible things said of this impossible casethis saying of hers was the strangest and most incredible. Hitherto, nota suspicion had entered his mind but that the man so mysteriously slainin Geneva Square was Mark Vrain, and, for the moment, he thought thatDiana was distraught to deny so positive a fact. 

"It is impossible, " said he, shaking his head, "quite impossible. Mrs. Vrain identified the corpse, and so did other people who knew yourfather well. "

"As to Mrs. Vrain, " said Diana contemptuously, "I quite believe shewould lie to gain her own ends. And it may be that the man who wasmurdered was like my father in the face, but--"

"He had the mark on his cheek, " interrupted Lucian, impatient of thisobstinate belief in the criminality of Lydia. 

"I know that mark well, " replied Miss Vrain. "My father received it in aduel he fought in his youth, when he was a student in a Germanuniversity; but the missing finger. " She shook her head. 

"He might have lost the finger while you were in Australia, " suggestedthe barrister. 

"He might, " rejoined Diana doubtfully, "but it is unlikely. As to otherpeople identifying the body, they no doubt did so by looking at the faceand its scar. Still, I do not believe the murdered man was my father. "

"If not, why should Mrs. Vrain identify the body as that of herhusband?"

"Why? Because she wanted to get the assurance money. "

"She may have been misled by the resemblance of the dead man to yourfather. "

"And who provided that resemblance? My dear Lucian, I would not be atall surprised to learn that there was conspiracy as well as murder inthis matter. My father left his home, and Lydia could not find him. Iquite believe that. As she cannot prove his death, she finds itimpossible to obtain the assurance money; so what does she do?"

"I cannot guess, " said Lucian, anxious to hear Diana's theory. 

"Why, she finds a man who resembles my father, and sets him to play thepart of the recluse in Geneva Square. She selects a man in ill healthand given to drink, that he may die the sooner; and, by being buried asMark Vrain, give her the money she wants. When you told me of this manBerwin's coughing and drinking, I thought it strange, as my father hadno consumptive disease when I left him, and never, during his life, washe given to over-indulgence in drink. Now I see the truth. This dead manwas Lydia's puppet. "

"Even granting that this is so, which I doubt, Diana, why should the manbe murdered?"

"Why?" cried Diana fiercely. "Because he was not dying quickly enoughfor that woman's purpose. She did not kill him herself, if her alibi isto be credited, but she employed Ferruci to murder him. "

"You forget Signor Ferruci also proved an alibi. "

"A very doubtful one, " said Miss Vrain scornfully. "You did not ask thatDr. Jorce the questions you should have done. Go up to London now, Lucian, see him at Hampstead, and find out if Ferruci was at his houseat eight o'clock on Christmas Eve. Then I shall believe him guiltless;till then, I hold him but the creature and tool of Lydia. "

"Jorce declares that Ferruci was with him at the house when the murderwas committed?"

"Can you believe that? Ferruci may have made it worth the while of thisdoctor to lie. And even granting that much, the presence of Ferruci atthe Jersey Street house shows that he knew what was going to take placeon that night, and perhaps arranged with another man to do the deed. Either way you look at it, he and Lydia are implicated. "

"I tell you it is impossible, Diana, " said Lucian, finding it vain tocombat this persistent belief. "All this plotting of crime is such asis found in novels, not in real life----"

"In real life, " cried Diana, taking the words out of his mouth, "moreincredible things take place than can be conceived by the most fantasticimagination of an author. Look at this talk of ours--it began with wordsof love and marriage speeches, and it ends with a discussion of murder. But this I say, Lucian, that if you love me, and would have me marryyou, you must find out the truth of these matters. Learn if this deadman is my father--for from what you have told me of the lost finger I donot believe that he is. Hunt down the assassin, and discover if he iswhom I believe him to be--Ferruci himself; and learn, if you can, whatLydia has to do with all these evil matters. Do this, and I am yours. Refuse, and I shall not marry you!"

"You set me a hard task, " said Lucian, with a sigh, "and I hardly knowhow to set about it. "

"Be guided by me, " replied Diana. "Go up to London and put anadvertisement in the papers offering a reward for the discovery of myfather. He is of medium height, with grey hair, and has a clean-shavenface, with a scar on it----"

"You describe the dead man, Diana. "

"But he has not lost a finger, " continued Diana, as though she had notheard him. "If my father, for fear of Lydia, is in hiding, he will cometo you or me in answer to that advertisement. "

"But he must have seen the report of his death by violence in thepapers, if indeed he is alive, " urged Lucian, at his wit's end. 

"My father is weak in the head, and perhaps was afraid to come out inthe midst of such trouble. But if you put in the advertisement thatI--his daughter--am in England, he will come to me, for with me he knowshe is safe. Also call on Dr. Jorce, and find out the truth about SignorFerruci. "

"And then?"

"Then when you have done these two things we shall see what will come ofthem. Promise me to do what I ask you. "

"I promise, " said Lucian, taking her hand, "but you send me on awild-goose chase. "

"That may be, Lucian, but my heart--mypresentiment--my--instinct--whatever you like to call it--tells meotherwise. Now let us go inside. "

"Shall we tell Miss Barbar of our engagement?" asked Denzil timidly. 

"No; you will tell no one of that until we learn the truth of thisconspiracy. When we do, Lucian, you will find that my father is not deadbut is alive, and will be at our wedding. "

"I doubt it--I doubt it. "

"I am sure of it, " answered Diana, and slipping her hand within the armof her lover she walked with him up to the house. It was the strangestof wooings. 

Miss Barbar, with a true woman's interest in love affairs, was inclinedto congratulate them both when they entered, deeming--as the chance hadbeen so propitious--that Lucian had proposed. But Diana looked sostern, and Lucian so gloomy, that she held her peace. 

Later on, when her curiosity got the better of her desire not to offendher pupil, she asked if Denzil had spoken. 

"Yes, " replied Diana, "he has spoken. "

"And you have refused him?" cried the old lady in dismay, for she didnot relish the idea that Lucian should have lost by her counsel. 

"No; I have not refused him. "

"Then you have said 'yes, ' my dear!"

"I have said sufficient, " replied Diana cautiously. "Please do notquestion me any further, Miss Barbar. Lucian and I understand oneanother very well. "

"She calls him by his Christian name, " thought the wise old dame, "thatis well. She will not speak of her happiness, that is ill, " and invarious crafty ways Miss Barbar tried to learn how matters actuallystood between the pair. 

But if she was skilful in asking questions, Diana was equally skilful inbaffling them, and Miss Barbar learned nothing more than her pupil choseto tell her, and that was little enough. To perplex her still further, Lucian departed for London the next day, with a rather disconsolate lookon his handsome face, and gave his adviser no very satisfactoryexplanation at parting. 

So Miss Barbar was forced to remain in ignorance of the success orfailure of her counsel, and could by no means discover if the marriageshe was so anxious to bring about was likely to take place. And so endedDenzil's visit to Berwin Manor. 

In the meantime, Lucian went back to London with a heavy heart, for hedid not see how he was to set about the task imposed on him by Diana. Atfirst he thought it would be best to advertise, as she advised, but thishe considered would do no good, as if Vrain--supposing him to be aliveand in hiding--would not come out at the false report of his murder, hecertainly would not appear in answer to an advertisement that might be asnare. 

Then Lucian wondered if it would be possible to have the grave opened asecond time that Diana might truly see if the corpse was that of herfather or of another man. But this also was impossible, and--to speakplainly--useless, for by this time the body would not be recognisable;therefore, it would be of little use to exhume the poor dead man, whomsoever he might be, for the second time. Finally, Lucian judged itwould be wisest of all to call on Dr. Jorce, and find out why he wasfriendly with Ferruci, and how much he knew of the Italian's doings. 

While the barrister was making up his mind to this course he wassurprised to receive a visit from no less a person than Mr. Jabez Clyne, the father of Lydia. 

The little man, usually so bright and merry, now looked worried and illat ease. Lucian--so much as he had seen of him--had always liked himbetter than Lydia, and was sorry to see him so downcast. Nor when helearned the reason was he better pleased. Clyne told it to him in aroundabout way. 

"Do you know anything against Signor Ferruci?" he asked, when the firstgreetings were over. 

"Very little, and that bad, " replied Denzil shortly. 

"Do you refer to the horrible death of my son-in-law?"

"Yes, I do, Mr. Clyne. I believe Ferruci had a hand in it, and if youbring him here I'll tell him so. "

"Can you prove it?" asked Clyne eagerly. 

"No. As yet, Ferruci has proved that he was not in Geneva Square on thenight of the crime--or rather, " added Lucian, correcting himself, "atthe hour when the murder was committed. "

Clyne's face fell. "I wish you could discover if he is guilty or not, "he said. "I am anxious to know the truth. "

"Why?" asked Lucian bluntly. 

"Because if he is guilty, I don't want my daughter to marry a murderer. "

"What! Is Mrs. Vrain going to marry him?"

"Yes, " said the little man disconsolately, "and I wish she wasn't. "

"So do I--for her own sake. I thought she did not like him. She said asmuch to me. "

"I can't make her out, Mr. Denzil. She grew tired of him for a time, butnow she has taken up with him again, and nothing I can say or do willstop the marriage. I love Lydia beyond words, as she is my only child, and I don't want to see her married to a man of doubtful reputation likeFerruci. So I thought I'd call and see if you could help me. "

"I can't, " replied Lucian. "As yet I have found out nothing likely toimplicate Ferruci in the crime. "

"But you may, " said Clyne hopefully. 

Lucian shrugged his shoulders. 

"If I do, you shall know at once, " he said. 

CHAPTER XXIV

LUCIAN IS SURPRISED

Although Denzil received Mr. Clyne with all courtesy, and promised toaid him, if he could, in breaking off the marriage with Ferruci, byrevealing his true character to Mrs. Vrain, he by no means made aconfidant of the little man, or entrusted him with the secret of hisplans. Clyne, as he well knew, was dominated in every way by his astutedaughter, and did he learn Lucian's intentions, he was quitecapable--through sheer weakness of character--of revealing the same toLydia, who, in her turn--since she was bent upon marrying Ferruci--mightretail them to the Italian, and so put him on his guard. 

Denzil, therefore, rid himself of the American by promising to tell him, on some future occasion, all that he knew about Ferruci. Satisfied withthis, Clyne departed in a more cheerful mood, and, apparently, hoped forthe best. 

After his departure, Lucian again began to consider his idea of callingon Jorce regarding the alibi of Ferruci. On further reflection he judgedthat, before paying the visit to Hampstead, it might be judicious tosee Rhoda again, and refresh his memory in connection with the events ofChristmas Eve. With this idea he put on his hat, and shortly after thedeparture of Clyne walked round to Jersey Street. 

On ringing the bell, the door was opened by Rhoda in person, lookingsharper and more cunning than ever. She informed him that he could notsee Mrs. Bensusan, as that good lady was in bed with a cold. 

"I don't want to see your mistress, my girl, " said Lucian quickly, tostop Rhoda from shutting the door in his face, which she seemed disposedto do. "I desire to speak with you. "

"About that there murder?" asked Rhoda sharply. Then in reply to the nodof Lucian she continued: "I told you all I knew about it when you calledbefore. I don't know nothing more. "

"Can you tell me the name of the dark man you saw in the yard?"

"No, I can't. I know nothing about him. "

"Did you ever hear Mr. Wrent mention his name?"

"No, sir. He called and he went, and I saw him in the back yard at 8. 30. I never spoke to him, and he never spoke to me. "

"Could you swear to the man if you saw him?"

"Yes, I could. Have you got him with you?" asked Rhoda eagerly. 

"Not at present, " answered Lucian, rather surprised by the vindictiveexpression on the girl's face. "But later on I may call upon you toidentify him. "

"Do you know who he is?" asked the servant quickly. 

"I think so. "

"Did he kill that man?"

"Possibly, " said Denzil, wondering at these very pointed questions. "Whydo you ask?"

"I have my reasons, sir. Where is my cloak?"

"I will return it later on; it will probably be used as evidence. "

Rhoda started. "Where?" she demanded, with a frown. 

"At the trial. "

"Do you think they'll hang the person who killed Mr. Vrain?"

"If the police catch him, and his guilt is proved, I am sure they willhang him. "

The girl's eyes flashed with a wicked light, and she clasped andunclasped her hands with a quick, nervous movement. "I hope they will, "she said in a low, rapid voice. "I hope they will. "

"What!" cried Lucian, with a step forward. "Do you know the assassin?"

"No!" cried Rhoda, with much vehemence. "I swear I don't, but I thinkthe murderer ought to be hanged. I know--I know--well, I knowsomething--see me to-morrow night, and you'll hear. "

"Hear what?"

"The truth, " said this strange girl, and shut the door before Luciancould say another word. 

The barrister, quite dumbfounded, remained on the step looking at theclosed door. So important were Rhoda's words that he was on the point ofringing again, to interview her once more and force her to speak. Butwhen he reflected that Mrs. Bensusan was in bed, and that Rhoda alonecould reopen the door--which from her late action it was pretty evidentshe would not do--he decided to retire for the present. It was littleuse to call in the police, or create trouble by forcing his way into thehouse, as that might induce Rhoda to run away before giving herevidence. So Lucian departed, with the intention of keeping the nextnight's appointment, and hearing what Rhoda had to say. 

"The truth, " he repeated, as he walked along the street. "Evidently sheknows who killed this man. If so, why did she not speak before, and whyis she so vindictive? Heavens! If Diana's belief should be a true one, and her father not dead? Conspiracy! murder! this gypsy girl, thatsubtle Italian, and the mysterious Wrent! My head is in a whirl. Icannot understand what it all means. To-morrow, when Rhoda speaks, Imay. But--can I trust her? I doubt it. Still, there is nothing else forit. I _must_ trust her. "

Talking to himself in this incoherent way, Lucian reached his rooms andtried to quiet the excitement of his brain caused by the strange wordsof Rhoda. It was yet early in the afternoon, so he took up a book andthrew himself on the sofa to read for an hour, but he found it quiteimpossible to fix his attention on the page. The case in which he wasconcerned was far more exciting than any invention of the brain, andafter a vain attempt to banish it from his mind he jumped up and threwthe book aside. 

Although he did not know it, Lucian was suffering from a sharp attack ofdetective fever, and the only means of curing such a disease is to learnthe secret which haunts the imagination. Rhoda, as she stated--ratherambiguously, it must be confessed--could reveal this especial secrettouching the murder of Vrain; but, for some hidden reason, chose todelay her confession for twenty-four hours. Lucian, all on fire withcuriosity, found himself unable to bear this suspense, so to distracthis mind and learn, if possible, the true relationship existing betweenFerruci and Jorce, he set out for Hampstead to interview the doctor. 

"The Haven, " as Jorce, with some humour, termed his private asylum, wasa red brick house, large, handsome, and commodious, built in a woodedand secluded part of Hampstead. It was surrounded by a high brick wall, over which the trees of its park could be seen, and possessed a pair ofelaborate iron gates, opening on to a quiet country lane. Externally, itlooked merely the estate of a gentleman. 

The grounds were large, and well laid out in flower gardens andorchards; and as it was Dr. Jorce's system to allow his least crazypatients as much liberty as possible, they roamed at will round thegrounds, giving the place a cheerful and populated look. The moreviolent inmates were, of course, secluded; but these were well andkindly treated by the doctor. Indeed, Jorce was a very humane man, andhad a theory that more cures of the unhappy beings under his chargecould be effected by kindness than by severity. 

His asylum was more like a private hotel with paying guests than anestablishment for the retention of the insane, and even to an outsideobserver the eccentricities of the doctor's family--as he loved to callthem--were not more marked than many of the oddities possessed by peopleat large. Indeed, Jorce was in the habit of saying that "There were moremad people in the world than were kept under lock and key, " and in thishe was doubtless right. However, the kindly and judicious little man waslike a father to those under his charge, and very popular with them all. Anything more unlike the popular conception of an asylum than theestablishment at Hampstead can scarcely be imagined. 

When Lucian arrived at "The Haven, " he found that Jorce had long sincereturned from his holiday, and was that day at home; so on sending inhis card he was at once admitted into the presence of the localpotentate. Jorce, looking smaller and more like a fairy changeling thanever, was evidently pleased to see Lucian, but a look on his dry, yellowface indicated that he was somewhat puzzled to account for the visit. However, preliminary greetings having passed, Lucian did not leave himlong in doubt. 

"Dr. Jorce, " he said boldly, and without preamble, "I have called to seeyou about that alibi of Signor Ferruci's. "

"Alibi is a nasty word, Mr. Denzil, " said Jorce, looking sharply at hisvisitor. 

"Perhaps, but it is the only word that can be used with propriety. "

"But I thought that I was called on to decide a bet. "

"Oh, that was Count Ferruci's clever way of putting it, " respondedLucian, with a sneer. "He did not wish you to know too much about hisbusiness. "

"H'm! Perhaps I know more than you think, Mr. Denzil. "

"What do you mean, sir?" cried Lucian sharply. 

"Softly, Mr. Denzil, softly, " rejoined the doctor, waving his hand. "Ishall explain everything to your satisfaction. Do you know why I went toItaly?"

"No; no more than I know why you went with Signor Ferruci, " repliedLucian, recalling Link's communication. 

"Ah!" said Jorce placidly, "you have been making inquiries, I see. Butyou are wrong in one particular. I did not go to Italy with Ferruci--Ileft him in Paris, and I went on myself to Florence to find out the truecharacter of the man. "

"Why did you wish to do that, doctor?"

"Because I had some business with our mutual friend, the Count, and Iwas not altogether pleased with the way in which it was conducted. Also, my last interview with you about that bet made me suspicious of the man. Over in Florence I learned sufficient about the Count to assure me thathe is a bad man, with whom it is as well to have as little to do aspossible. I intended to return at once with this information and call onyou, Mr. Denzil. Unfortunately, I fell ill of an attack of typhoid feverin Florence, and had to stay there these two months. "

"I am sorry, " said Lucian, noting that the doctor did look ill, "but whydid you not send on your information to me?"

"It was necessary to see you personally, Mr. Denzil. I arrived back afew days ago, and intended writing to you when I recovered from thefatigue of the journey. However, your arrival saves me the trouble. NowI can tell you all about Ferruci, if you like. "

"Then tell me, Doctor, if you spoke truly about that alibi?"

"Yes, I did. Count Ferruci was with me that night, and stayed here untilthe next morning. "

"What time did he arrive?"

"About ten o'clock, or, to be precise, " said Jorce, "about ten-thirty. "

"Ah!" cried Lucian exultantly, "then Ferruci must have been the man inthe back yard!"

"What do you mean by that?" asked Jorce in a puzzled tone. 

"Why, that Count Ferruci has had to do with a crime committed somemonths ago in Pimlico. A man called Mark Vrain was murdered, as you mayhave seen in the papers, Doctor, and I believe Ferruci murdered him. "

"If I remember rightly, " said Jorce with calmness, "the man in questionwas murdered shortly before midnight on Christmas Eve. If that is so, Ferruci could not have killed him, because, as I said before, he washere at half-past ten on that night. "

"I don't say he actually killed the man, " explained Lucian eagerly, "buthe certainly employed some one to strike the blow, else what was hedoing in the Jersey Street yard on that night? You can say what youlike, Dr. Jorce, but that man is guilty of Mark Vrain's death. "

"No, " replied Jorce coolly, "he's not, for the simple reason that Vrainis not dead. "

"Not dead?" repeated Lucian, recalling Diana's belief. 

"No! For the last few months Mark Vrain, under the name of MichaelClear, has been in this asylum!"

CHAPTER XXV

A DARK PLOT

"So Vrain is alive, after all!" was Lucian's comment on the speech ofJorce, "and he is here under your charge? Jove! it's wonderful! Dianawas right, after all!"

"Diana? Who is Diana?" queried Jorce, then held up his hand to stop hisvisitor from replying. "Wait! I know! Vrain mentioned his daughterDiana. "

"Yes, she is the daughter of Vrain, and she believes her father to bealive. "

"On what grounds?"

"Because the dead man, whom, until lately, she believed to be Mr. Vrain, had one of his little fingers missing. That fact came to her knowledgeonly a week ago. When it did, she declared that the deceased could notbe her father. "

"H'm!" said Jorce thoughtfully, "I am quite in the dark as to why Mr. Vrain was put under my charge. "

"Because Ferruci wished to marry his widow. "

"I see! Ferruci substituted another man for my patient and had himkilled. "

"Evidently, " replied Lucian; "but I am almost as much in the dark asyou are, Dr. Jorce. Tell me how Vrain came to be placed here, and, exchanging confidence for confidence, I'll let you know all I havediscovered since the death of the man in Geneva Square who calledhimself Berwin. "

"That is a fair offer, " replied Jorce, clearing his throat, "and onewhich I willingly accept. I do not wish you to think that I am in leaguewith Signor Ferruci. What I did was done honestly. I am not afraid oftelling my story. "

"I am sure of that, " said Lucian heartily. "I guessed that Ferruci hadnot trusted you altogether, from the time he feigned that your evidencewas needed only to decide a bet. "

"Trust me!" echoed Jorce, with scorn. "He never trusted me at all. He istoo cunning for that. However, you shall hear. "

"I'm all attention, Doctor. "

"A week before last Christmas, Signor Ferruci called to see me, andexplained that he was interested in a gentleman called Michael Clear, whom he had met some years before in Italy. Clear, he said, had beenmost intimate with him, but later on had indulged so much in the morphiahabit that their friendship had terminated with high words. Afterwards, Clear had returned to England, and Ferruci lost sight of him for somemonths. Then he visited England, and one day found Clear in the street, looking ill and wretched. The man had become a confirmed morphiamaniac, and the habit had weakened his brain. The Count pitied the poorcreature, according to his own story, and took him to his home, thewhereabouts of which Clear was happily able to remember. "

"Where is the house?" asked Lucian, taking out his pocketbook. 

"Number 30, St. Bertha's Road, Bayswater, " replied Jorce; and when thebarrister, for his private information, had made a note of the address, he continued: "It then appeared that Clear was married. The wife toldFerruci that she was afraid of her husband, who, in his fits ofdrink--for he drank likewise--often threatened to kill her. They hadlost their money, and the poor woman was at her wit's end what to do. Ferruci explained to me that out of friendship he was most anxious tobefriend Clear, and stated that Mrs. Clear wished to get her husbandcured. He proposed, therefore, to put Clear into my asylum, and pay onbehalf of the wife. "

"A very ingenious and plausible plan, " said Lucian. "Well, Doctor, andwhat did you say?"

"I agreed, of course, provided the man was certified insane in the usualway. Ferruci then departed, promising to bring Mrs. Clear to see me. Hebrought her late on Christmas Eve, at ten--"

"Ah!" interrupted Lucian, "did she wear a black gauze veil with velvetspots?"

"She did, Mr. Denzil. Have you met her?"

"No, but I have heard of her. She was the woman who visited Wrent inJersey Street. No doubt Ferruci was waiting for her in the back yard. "

"Who is Wrent?" asked Jorce, looking puzzled. 

"Don't you know the name, Doctor?"

"No. "

"Did Mrs. Clear never mention it?"

"Never. "

"Nor Ferruci?"

"No. I never heard the name before, " replied Jorce complacently. 

"Strange!" said Denzil reflectively. "Yet Wrent seems to be at thebottom of the whole plot. Well, never mind, just now. Please continue, my dear Doctor. What did Mrs. Clear say?"

"Oh, she repeated Ferruci's story, amplified in a feminine fashion. Shewas afraid of Michael, who, when excited with morphia or drink, wouldsnatch up a knife to attempt her life. Twice she had disarmed him, andnow she was tired and frightened. She was willing for him to go into myasylum since Count Ferruci had so kindly consented to bear the expense, but she wished to give him one more chance. Then, as it was late, shestayed here all night. So did the Count, and on Christmas Day they wentaway. "

"When did they come back?"

"About a fortnight later, and they brought with them the man they bothcalled Michael Clear. "

"What is he like?"

"An old man with a white beard. "

"Is he mad?" asked Lucian bluntly. 

"He is not mad now, only weak in the head, " replied Jorceprofessionally, "but he was certainly mad when he arrived. The man'sbrain is wrecked by morphia. "

"Not by drink?"

"No; although it suited Mrs. Clear and Ferruci to say so. But Clear, asI may call him, was very violent, and quite justified Mrs. Clear'sdesire to sequester him. She told me that he often imagined himself tobe other people. Sometimes he would feign to be Napoleon; again thePope; so when he, a week after he was in the asylum, insisted that hewas Mark Vrain, I put it down to his delusion. "

"But how could you think he had come by the name, Doctor?"

"My dear sir, at that time the papers were full of the case and itsmystery, and as we have a reading-room in this asylum, I fancied thatClear had seen the accounts, and had, as a delusion, called himselfVrain. Afterwards he fell into a kind of comatose state, and for weekssaid very little. He was most abject and frightened, and responded in atimid sort of way to the name of Clear. Naturally this confirmed me inmy belief that his calling himself Vrain was a delusion. Then he grewbetter, and one day told me that his name was Vrain. Of course, I didnot believe him. Still, he was so persistent about the matter that Ithought there might be something in it, and spoke to Ferruci. "

"What did he say?"

"He denied that the man's name was anything but Clear. That the wifeand two doctors--for the poor soul had been duly certified asinsane--had put him into the asylum; and altogether persisted sostrongly in his original story that I thought it was absurd to put acrazy man's delusion against a sane man's tale. Besides, everythingregarding the certificate and sequestrating of Clear had been quitelegal. Two doctors--and very rightly, too--had certified to the insanityof the man; and his wife--as I then believed Mrs. Clear to be--hadconsented to his detention. "

"What made you suspicious that there might be something wrong?" askedLucian eagerly. 

"My visit to meet you, at Ferruci's request, to prove the alibi, "responded Jorce. "I thought it was strange, and afterwards, when adetective named Mr. Link, called, I thought it was stranger still. "

"But you did not see Link?"

"No. I was in Italy then, but I heard of his visit. In Florence I heardfrom a most accomplished gossip the whole story of Mr. Vrain's marriageand the prior engagement of Mrs. Vrain to Ferruci. I guessed that theremight be some plot, but I could not quite understand how it was carriedout, save that Vrain--as I then began to believe Clear to be--had beenplaced in my asylum under a false name. On my return I intended to seeyou, when I was laid up in Florence with the fever. Now, however, thatwe have met, tell me so much of the story as you know. Afterwards weshall see Mr. Vrain. "

Lucian was willing enough to show his confidence in Jorce, the more soas he needed his help. Forthwith he told him all he knew, from the timehe had met Michael Clear, _alias_ Mark Berwin, _alias_ Mark Vrain, inGeneva Square, down to the moment he had presented himself forinformation at the gates of "The Haven. " Doctor Jorce listened with thegreatest attention, his little face puckered up into a grim smile, andshook his head when the barrister ended his recital. 

"A bad world, Mr. Denzil, a bad world!" he said, rising. "Come with me, and I'll take you to see my patient. "

"But what do you think of it all?" said Denzil, eager for some comment. 

"I'll tell you that, " rejoined Jorce, "when you have heard the story ofMr. Vrain. "

In a few minutes Lucian was led by his guide into a pleasant room, withFrench windows opening on to a wide verandah, and a sunny lawn set roundwith flowers. Books were arranged on shelves round the walls, newspapersand magazines were on the table, and near the window, in a comfortablechair, sat an old man with a volume in his hand. As Jorce entered hestood up and shuffled forward with a senile smile of delight. Evidently--and with reason, poor soul--he considered the doctor his verygood friend. 

"Well, well!" said the cheery Jorce, "and how are you to-day, Mr. Vrain?"

"I feel very well, " replied Vrain in a soft, weak voice. "Who is this, Doctor?"

"A young friend of mine, Mr. Vrain. He wishes to hear your story. "

"Alas! alas!" sighed Vrain, his eyes filling with tears, "a sad story, sir. "

The father of Diana was of middle height, with white hair, and a longwhite beard which swept his chest. On his cheek Lucian saw the cicatriceof which Diana had spoken, and mainly by which the dead man had beenfalsely identified as Vrain. He was very like Clear in figure andmanner; but, of course, the resemblance in the face was not very close, as Clear had been clean shaven, whereas the real Vrain wore a beard. Theeyes were dim and weak-looking, and altogether Lucian saw that Vrain wasnot fitted to battle with the world in any way, and quite weak enough tobecome the prey of villains, as had been his sad fate. 

"My name is Mark Vrain, young sir, " said he, beginning his story withoutfurther preamble. "I lived in Berwin Manor, Bath, with my wife Lydia, but she treated me badly by letting another man love her, and I lefther. Oh, yes, sir, I left her. I went away to Salisbury, and was veryhappy there with my books, but, alas! I took morph----"

"Vrain!" said Jorce, holding up his finger, "no!"

"Of course, of course, " said the old man, with a watery smile, "I mean Iwas very happy there. But Signor Ferruci, a black-hearted villain"--hisface grew dark as he mentioned the name--"found me out and made me comewith him to London. He kept me there for months, and then he brought mehere. "

"Kept you where, Mr. Vrain?" asked Lucian gently. 

The old man looked at him with a vacant eye. "I don't know, " he said ina dull voice. 

"You came here from Bayswater, " hinted Jorce. 

"Yes, yes, Bayswater!" cried Vrain, growing excited. "I was there with awoman they called my wife. She was not my wife! My wife is fair, thiswoman was dark. Her name was Maud Clear: my wife's name is Lydia. "

"Did Mrs. Clear say you were her husband, Michael?"

"Yes. She called me Michael Clear, and brought me to stay with thedoctor. But I am not Michael Clear!"

CHAPTER XXVI

THE OTHER MAN'S WIFE

As soon as Lucian arrived back in his rooms he sat down at his desk andwrote a long letter to Diana, giving a full account of his extraordinarydiscovery of her father in Jorce's asylum, and advising her to come upat once to London. 

When he posted this--which he did the same night--he sighed to think itwas not a love letter. He could have covered reams of paper with wordsof passion and adoration; he could have poured out his whole soul at thefeet of his divinity, telling her of his love, his aspirations, hishopes and fears. No doubt, from a common-sense view, the letter wouldhave been silly enough, but it would have relieved his mind andcompleted his happiness of knowing that he loved and was beloved. 

But in place of writing thus, he was compelled by his promise to Dianato pen a description of his late discovery, and interesting as the casewas now growing, he found it irksome to detail the incident of theafternoon. He wished to be a lover, not a detective. 

So absent-minded and distraught was Lucian, that Miss Greeb, who hadlong suspected something was wrong with him, spoke that very eveningabout himself. She declared that Lucian was working too hard, that heneeded another rest, although he had just returned from the country, andrecommended a sleeping draught. Finally she produced a letter which hadjust arrived, and as it was in a female hand, Miss Greeb watched itseffect on her admired lodger with the keen eyes of a jealous woman. Whenshe saw him flush and seize it eagerly, casting, meanwhile, an impatientlook on her to leave the room, she knew the truth at once, and retiredhurriedly to the kitchen, where she shed floods of tears. 

"I might have guessed it, " gasped Miss Greeb to a comfortable cat whichlay selfishly before the fire. "He's far too good-looking not to besnapped up. He'll be leaving me and setting up house with that otherwoman. I only hope she'll do for him as well as I have done. I wonder ifshe's beautiful and rich. Oh, how dreadful it all is!" But the cat madeno comment on this tearful address--not as much as a mew. It rolled overinto a warmer place and went to sleep again. Cats are particularlyselfish animals. 

Two days afterwards Miss Greeb opened the door to a tall and beautifullady, who asked for Mr. Denzil, and was shown into his sitting-room. With keen instinct, Miss Greeb decided that this was the woman who hadtaken possession of Lucian's heart, and being a just little creature, inspite of her jealousy, was obliged to admit that the visitor was ashandsome as a picture. Then, seeing that there was no chance for herbeside this splendid lady, she consoled herself with a dismal littleproverb, and looked forward to the time when it would be necessary toput a ticket in the parlour window. Meanwhile, to have some one on whosebosom she could weep, Miss Greeb went round to see Mrs. Bensusan, leaving Diana in possession of Lucian, and the cat sole occupant of thekitchen. 

In the drawing-room, on the front floor, Diana, with her eyes shininglike two stars, was talking to Lucian. She had come up at once onreceipt of his letter; she had been to Hampstead, she had seen herfather, and now she was telling Lucian about the visit. 

"He knew me at once, poor dear, " she said rapidly, "and asked me if Ihad been out, just as if I'd left the house for a visit and come back. Ah!"--she shook her head and sighed--"I am afraid he'll never be quitehimself again. "

"What does Jorce think?"

"He says that father can be discharged as cured, and is going to seeabout it for me. Of course, he will never be quite sane, but he willnever be violent so long as morphia and drugs of that sort are kept fromhim. As soon as he is discharged I shall take him back to Bath, and puthim in charge of Miss Barbar; then I shall return to town, and we mustexpose the whole conspiracy!"

"Conspiracy?"

"What else do you call it, Lucian? That woman and Ferruci have plannedand carried it out between them. They put my father into the asylum, andmade another man pass as him, in order to get the assurance money. Astheir tool did not die quickly enough, they killed him. "

"No, Diana. Both Lydia and Ferruci have proved beyond all doubt thatthey were not in Pimlico at the hour of the death. I believe theycontrived this conspiracy, but I don't believe they murdered Clear. "

"Well, we shall see what defence they make. But one thing is certain, Lucian--Lydia will have to disgorge the assurance money. "

"Yes, she certainly will, and I've no doubt the Assurance Company willprosecute her for fraud in obtaining it. I shall see Ferruci to-morrowand force him to confess his putting your father in the asylum. "

"No!" said Diana, shaking her head. "Don't do that until you have moreevidence against him. "

"I think the evidence of Jorce is strong enough. I suppose you mean theevidence of Mrs. Clear?"

"Yes; although for her own sake I don't suppose she will speak. "

Lucian nodded. "I thought of that also, " he said, "and yesterday I wentto St. Bertha Street, Bayswater, to see her. But I found that she hadmoved, and no one knew where she was. I expect, having received herprice for the conspiracy, she has left London. However, I put anadvertisement in the papers, saying if she called on me here she wouldhear of something to her advantage. It is in the papers this morning. "

"I doubt if she will call, " said Diana seriously. "What about thepromised revelation of Rhoda?"

"I believe that girl is deceiving me, " cried Lucian angrily. "I wentround to Jersey Street, as she asked me, and only saw Mrs. Bensusan, whosaid that Rhoda was out and would not be back for some time. Then I hadto wait for you here and tell you all about your father, so the thingslipped my memory. I have not been near the place since, but I'll goround there to-night. Whatever is Miss Greeb thinking of?" cried Lucian, breaking off quickly. "That front door bell has been ringing for atleast five minutes!"

To Diana's amusement, Lucian went and shouted down the stairs to MissGreeb, but as no reply came, and the bell was still ringing furiously, he was obliged to open the door himself. On the step there stood alittle woman in a tailor-made brown frock, a plainly trimmed brown strawhat with a black gauze velvet-spotted veil. At once Denzil guessed whoshe was. 

"You are Mrs. Clear?" he said, delighted that she had replied so quicklyto his advertisement, for it had only that morning appeared in thenewspapers. 

"Yes, I am, " answered the woman, in a quick, sharp voice. "Are you theL. D. Who advertised for me?"

"Yes. Come upstairs. I have much to say to you. "

"Diana, " said Lucian, on entering the room with his prize, "let meintroduce you to Mrs. Clear. "

"Mrs. Clear! Are you the wife of the man who was murdered in the houseopposite?"

Mrs. Clear uttered a cry of astonishment, and turned as if to retreat. But Denzil was between her and the door, so she saw that there wasnothing for it but to outface the situation. As though she found itdifficult to breathe, she threw up her veil, and Diana beheld a thinwhite face with two brilliant black eyes. 

"This is a trap, " said Mrs. Clear, hoarsely, looking from the one to theother. "Who are you?"

"I, " said Lucian, politely, "I am the man who met your husbandbefore----"

"My husband! I have my husband in an asylum. You can't have met him!"

"You are telling a falsehood, " said Diana fiercely. "The gentleman inthe asylum of Dr. Jorce is not your husband, but my father!"

"Your father? And who are you?"

"I am Diana Vrain. "

Mrs. Clear gave a screech, and dropped back on to the sofa, staring atDiana with wide-open and terrified eyes. 

"And now, Mrs. Clear, I see you realise the situation, " Lucian saidcoldly. "You must confess your share in this conspiracy. "

"What conspiracy?" she interrupted furiously. 

"The putting of Mr. Vrain into an asylum, and the passing off of yourhusband, Michael Clear, as him. "

"I don't know anything about it. "

"Come, now, you talk nonsense! If you refuse to speak I'll have youarrested at once. "

"Arrest me!" She bounded off the sofa with flashing eyes. 

"Yes, on a charge of conspiracy. It is no use your getting angry, Mrs. Clear, for it won't improve your position. We--that is, this lady andmyself--wish to know, firstly, how your husband came to be masqueradingas Mr. Vrain; secondly, where we can find the man called Wrent, whoemployed your husband; and thirdly, Mrs. Clear, we wish to know, and thelaw wishes to know, who killed your husband. "

"I don't know who killed him, " said the woman, looking rather afraid, "but I believe Wrent did. "

"Who is Wrent?"

"I don't know. "

"You don't know many things, " said Diana, taking part in theconversation, "but you must tell us what you do know, otherwise I shallcall in a policeman and have you arrested. "

"You can't prove anything against me. "

"I think I can, " said Lucian in the most cheerful manner. "I can provethat you were in No. 13 of this Square, seeing your husband, for I foundon the fence dividing the back yard of that house from one in JerseyStreet a scrap of a veil such as you wear. Also the landlady and servantcan prove that you called on Mr. Wrent several times, and were with himon the night of the murder. Then there is the evidence of your cloak, which you left behind, and which Wrent gave to the servant Rhoda. Alsothe evidence of Signor Ferruci----"

"Ferruci! What has he said about me?"

Lucian saw that revenge might make the woman speak, so he lied in thecalmest manner to get at the truth. "Ferruci says that he contrived thewhole conspiracy. "

"So he did, " said Mrs. Clear, with a nod. 

"And took you to 'The Haven, ' at Hampstead, on Christmas Eve. "

"That's true. He took me from Wrent's house in Jersey Street. You neednot go on, Mr. L. D. I admit the whole business. "

"You do?" cried Lucian and Diana together. 

"Yes, if only to spite that old villain Wrent, who has not paid me themoney he promised. "

Before Lucian and Miss Vrain could express their pleasure at Mrs. Clearcoming to this sensible conclusion, the door opened suddenly, and littleMiss Greeb, in a wonderful state of agitation, tripped in. 

"Oh, Mr. Denzil! I've just been to Mrs. Bensusan's, and Rhoda's runaway!"

"Run away!"

"Yes! She hasn't been back all day, and left a note for Mrs. Bensusansaying she was going to hide, because she was afraid. "

CHAPTER XXVII

A CONFESSION

Now, indeed, Lucian had his hands full. Rhoda, the red-headed servant ofMrs. Bensusan, had run away on the plea that she was afraid ofsomething--what she did not explain in the note she left behind her, andit was necessary that she should be discovered, and forced intoconfessing what she knew of the conspiracy and murder. Mrs. Clear, nothaving been paid her hush money, had betrayed the confidence andmisdeeds of Ferruci, thereby revealing an extent of villainy for whichneither Diana nor Lucian was prepared. Now the Count had to be seen andbrought to book for his doings, Lydia informed that her husband was inthe asylum, and Vrain himself had to be released in due form from hislegal imprisonment. How Lucian, even with the assistance of Diana, coulddeal with all these matters, he did not know. 

"Why not see Mr. Link?" suggested Diana, when Mrs. Clear had departed, after making a clean breast of the nefarious transactions in which shehad been involved. "He may take the case in hand again. "

"No doubt, " responded Denzil drily, "but I am not very keen to hand itover to him, seeing that he has abandoned it twice. Again, if I call inthe police, it is all over with Lydia and the Count. They will bearrested and punished. "

"For the murder of Clear?"

"Perhaps, if it can be proved that they have anything to do with it;certainly for the conspiracy to get the assurance money by the feigneddeath of your father. "

"Well, " said Diana coldly, "and why should they not receive the rewardof their deeds?"

"Quite so; but the question is, do you wish any scandal?"

Diana was silent. She had not looked at the matter from this point ofview. It was true what Lucian said. If the police took up the caseagain, Lydia and her accomplice would be arrested, and the whole sordidstory of their doings would be in the papers. 

Diana was a proud woman, and winced at the idea of such publicity. Itwould be as well to avoid proceeding to such extremities. If theassurance money was returned by Lydia, she would be reduced to herformer estate, and by timely flight might escape the vengeance of thedefrauded company. After all, she was the wife of Vrain, and little asDiana liked her, she did not wish to see the woman who was so closelyrelated to the wronged man put in prison; not for her own sake, but forthe sake of the name she so unworthily bore. 

"I leave it in your hands, " said Diana to Lucian, who was watching herclosely. 

"Very good, " replied Denzil. "Then I think it will be best for me to seeFerruci first, and hear his confession; afterwards call on Mrs. Vrain, and learn what she has to say. Then----"

"Well, " said Diana, curiously, "what then?"

"I will be guided by circumstances. In the meantime, for the sake ofyour name, we had better keep the matter as quiet as possible. "

"Mrs. Clear may speak out. "

"Mrs. Clear won't speak, " said Denzil grimly. "She will keep quiet forher own sake; and as Rhoda has left Jersey Street, there will be nodanger of trouble from that quarter. First, I'll see Lydia and theCount, to get to the bottom of this conspiracy; then I'll set the policeon Rhoda's track, that she may be arrested and made to confess herknowledge of the murder. "

"Do you think she knows anything?"

"I think she knows everything, " replied Lucian with emphasis. "That iswhy she has run away. If we capture her, and force her to speak, we maybe able to arrest Wrent. "

"Why Wrent?" asked Diana. 

"Have you forgotten what Mrs. Clear said? I agree with her that he isthe assassin, although we can't prove it as yet. "

"But who is Wrent?"

"Ah!" said Lucian, significantly, "that is just what I wish to findout. "

The upshot of this interview was that early the next morning Denzil wentto the chambers of Ferruci, in Marquis Street, and informed the servantthat he wanted particularly to see the Count. 

At first the Italian, being still in bed--for he was a late riser--didnot incline to grant his visitor an interview; but on second thoughts heordered Lucian to be shown into the sitting-room, and shortly afterwardsjoined him there wrapped in a dressing-gown. He welcomed the barristerwith a smiling nod, and having some instinct that Lucian came on anunpleasant errand, he did not offer him his hand. From the first the twomen were on their guard against one another. 

"Good-morning, sir, " said Ferruci in his best English. "May I ask whyyou take me from my bed so early?"

"To tell you a story. "

"About my friend Dr. Jorce saying I was with him on that night?" sneeredthe Count. 

"Partly, and partly about a lady you know. "

Ferruci frowned. "You speak of Mrs. Vrain?"

"No, " replied Lucian coolly. "I speak of Mrs. Clear. "

At the mention of this name, which was the last one he expected to hearhis visitor pronounce, the Italian, in spite of his coolness andcunning, could not forbear a start. 

"Mrs. Clear?" he repeated. "And what do you know of Mrs. Clear?"

"As much as Dr. Jorce could tell me, Count. "

Ferruci's brow cleared. "Then you know I pay for keeping her miserablehusband with my friend, " he said composedly. "It is for her sake I am sokind. "

"Rather it is for your own you are so cunning. "

"Cunning! A most strange word for my goodness, " said the Count coolly. 

"The most fit word, you mean, " replied Lucian, impatient of thisfencing. "It is no use beating about the bush, Count. I know that theman you keep in the asylum is not Clear, but Mark Vrain. "

"La! la! la! You talk great humbug. Mr. Vrain is dead and buried!"

"He is not dead, " answered Lucian resolutely, "and the man who wasburied under his name is Michael Clear, the husband of the woman whotold me all. "

Ferruci, who had been pacing impatiently up and down the room, stoppedshort, with a nervous laugh. 

"This is most amusing, " he said, with an emotion he could not concealdespite his self-control. "Mrs. Clear told you all, eh? She told youwhat, my friend?"

"That is the story I have come to tell you, " replied Lucian sharply. 

"Very good, " said Ferruci, with a shrug. "I wait to hear this prettystory, " and with a frown he threw himself into a chair near Lucian. Apparently he saw that he was found out, for it took him all his time tokeep his voice from trembling and his hands from shaking. The man wasnot a coward, but being thus brought face to face with a peril he littleexpected, it was scarcely to be wondered at that he felt shaken andnervous. Moreover, he knew little about the English law, and hardlyguessed how his misdeeds would be punished. Still, he did not surrenderon the spot, but listened quietly to Lucian's story, in the hope ofseeing some way of escape from his awkward position. 

"The other day I went to Dr. Jorce's asylum, " said Lucian slowly, "andthere I discovered--it matters not how--that your friend Clear was Mr. Vrain; also I learned that he had been placed in the asylum by you andMrs. Clear. Jorce gave me her address in Bayswater, but when I wentthere I could not find her; she had left. I then put an advertisement inall the papers, stating that if she called on me she would hear ofsomething to her advantage. Now, Count, it appears that Mrs. Clear wasin the habit of looking into the papers to see if there was any messagefrom yourself, or your friend Wrent, so she saw my advertisement atonce, and came in person to reply to it. "

"One moment, Mr. Denzil, " said Ferruci politely. "I know no one calledWrent, and he is not my friend. "

"We'll come to that hereafter, " answered Lucian, with a shrug. "In themeantime I'll proceed with my story, which I see interests you verymuch. Well, Count, it seems that Michael Clear was an actor, who bore astrong resemblance to Mr. Vrain, save that he had not a scar on hisface. Vrain, at Bath, was always clean shaven; now he wears a long whitebeard, but that is neither here nor there. Clear had a moustache, butwhen that was shaved off he looked exactly like Vrain. For purposes ofyour own, which you can easily guess, you made the acquaintance of thisman, a profligate and a drunkard, and proposed, for a certain sum ofmoney to be paid to his wife, that he, Michael Clear, should personateVrain and live in the Silent House in Geneva Square, under the name ofBerwin. You knew that Clear was slowly dying of consumption and drink, so you trusted that he would die as Vrain; that Mrs. Vrain--who Ibelieve is in the plot--would recognise the corpse by the description inthe newspapers; and that, when Clear was buried as Vrain, she would getthe assurance money and marry you. "

"That is clever, " said the Count, with a sneer. 

"But is it true?"

"You know best, " answered Lucian, coolly. "However, all turned out asyou expected, for Clear died as Vrain--or rather was murdered at yourcommand, as he did not die quickly enough--his body was recognised byMrs. Vrain, buried as her husband, and she got the assurance money. Theonly thing that remains for your conspiracy to be entirely successful isthat Mrs. Vrain should marry you; and--as I was told by Mr. Clyne--thathas pretty well been arranged. "

"Do you think, then, that Clyne would let his daughter marry a man whohas done all this?" said Ferruci, who was now very pale. 

"I don't believe Clyne knows anything about it, " replied Lucian coldly. "You and Mrs. Vrain made up this pretty plot between you. Vrain himselftold me how you decoyed him from Salisbury, and took him to Mrs. Clear's, in Bayswater, where he passed as her husband, although, as sheconfesses, she kept him as a kind of prisoner. "

"But this is wrong, " cried Ferruci, trying to laugh. "This is mostfoolish. How would a man, of his own will, pass as the husband of awoman he knew not?"

"A sane man would not; but none knew better than you, Count, that Vrainwas not sane, and that you dosed him with drugs, and let Mrs. Clear keephim locked up in her house until you put him in the asylum. Vrain was apuppet in your hands, and you locked him up in an asylum a fortnightafter the man who personated him was murdered. You intended to marryMrs. Vrain and keep her wretched husband in that asylum all his life. "

"The best place for a lunatic, " said Ferruci. 

"Ah!" cried Lucian. "Then you admit that that Vrain was mad?"

"I admit nothing, not even that he is alive. If what you say is true, "said the Italian, cunningly, "how came it that the murdered man had thescar on his cheek? He might have been like Vrain, eh, but not so much. "

"Mrs. Clear explained that, " replied Lucian quickly. "You made thatscar, Count, with vitriol, or some such stuff. You don't know chemistryfor nothing, I see. "

"I am quite ignorant of chemistry, " said Ferruci sullenly. 

"Jorce heard a different story in Florence. "

"In Florence! Did Jorce ask about me there?" said the Count in alarm. 

"He did, and heard some strange tales, Count. Come, now, it is no useyour trying to evade this matter further. Jorce can prove that you putVrain into his asylum under the name of Clear. Miss Vrain can prove thatthe so-called Clear is her father, and Mrs. Clear--who has turnedQueen's evidence--has exposed the whole of your conspiracy. The game'sup, Count. "

Ferruci sprang from his seat and began to walk hastily up and down theroom. He looked haggard and pale, and years older, as he recognised hisposition, for he saw very plainly that he was trapped, and that nothingremained to him but flight. But how to fly? He stopped opposite toLucian. 

"What do you intend to do?" he demanded in a hoarse voice. 

"Have you arrested, along with Mrs. Vrain, " replied Lucian, making thisthreat to force Ferruci into defending himself or confessing. 

"Mrs. Vrain is innocent--she knows nothing about this conspiracy, as youcall it. I planned the whole thing myself. "

"You admit, then, that the so-called Vrain was really Michael Clear?"

"Yes. I got him to personate the man Vrain, so that I could get theassurance money when I married Lydia. I chose Clear because he was likeVrain. I made the scar on the cheek, and I thought he would die soon, being consumptive. "

"And you killed him?"

"No! No! I swear I did not kill him!"

"Did you not take that stiletto from Berwin Manor?"

"No! I never did! I am telling the truth! I do not know who killedClear. "

"Did you not visit Wrent in Jersey Street?"

"Yes. I was the man Rhoda saw in the back yard. I was waiting for Mrs. Clear, to take her to Hampstead; and in the meantime I thought I wouldclimb over the fence and see Clear. But the girl saw me, so I ran away, and joined Mrs. Clear up the road. I was not aware at the time that thewoman who saw me was Rhoda. Afterwards I went to Hampstead with Mrs. Clear, to see Jorce. "

"Did you buy the cloak?"

"I did. That girl in Baxter & Co. 's told a lie for me. I was warned byMrs. Vrain that you had made questions about the cloak, so I went to thegirl and told her you were a jealous husband, and paid her to say it wasnot I who bought the cloak. She did so, quite ignorant of the realreason I wished her to deny knowing me. "

"Why did you buy the cloak?" asked Lucian, satisfied with thisexplanation. 

"I bought it for Wrent. He asked me to buy it, but what he wanted it forI do not know. He had it some days before Christmas, and, I believe, gave it to Mrs. Clear, and afterwards to the girl Rhoda. But of this Iam not sure. "

"Who is Wrent?" asked Denzil, reserving the most important question forthe last. 

"Wrent?" said Ferruci, smiling in a sneering way. "Ah! you wish to knowwho Wrent is? Well, excuse me for a few minutes, and I'll bring yousomething to show who he is. "

With a nod to Lucian he passed into his bedroom, leaving the barristermuch astonished. He thought that Ferruci was Wrent himself, and had goneaway to resume the disguise of wig and beard. While he pondered thus theCount reappeared, carrying a small bottle in his hand. 

"Mr. Denzil, " said he, with a ghastly smile, "I have played a bold game, and, thanks to a woman's treachery, I have lost. I hoped to get twentythousand pounds and a charming wife; but I have gained nothing butpoverty and a chance of imprisonment; but I am of noble birth, and Iwill not survive my dishonour. You wish to know who Wrent is--you shallnever know. "

He raised the bottle to his lips before Lucian, motionless with horror, could rush forward, and the next moment Count Ercole Ferruci was lyingdead on the floor. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE NAME OF THE ASSASSIN

That afternoon London was ringing with the news of Ferruci's suicide;but no paper could give any reason for the rash act. This inability wasdue to the police, who, anxious to capture those concerned in theconspiracy to obtain the assurance money of the Sirius Company, kepteverything they could out of the papers, lest Lydia and Wrent should beput on their guard, and so escape. 

Lucian had been forced to report the death of Ferruci to theauthorities. Now the case was out of his hands again, and in those ofLink, who blamed the young barrister severely for not having brought himinto the matter before. The detective was always more prone to blamethan to praise. 

"But what could I do?" cried Lucian angrily. "You threw up the casetwice! You said the assassin of Clear--or, as you thought, Vrain--wouldnever be discovered!"

"I did my best, and failed, " retorted Link, who did not like hisposition. "You have had better luck and have succeeded. "

"My luck has been sheer hard work, Link. I was not so faint-hearted asyou, to draw back at the first check. "

"Well, well, the whole truth hasn't been discovered yet, Mr. Denzil. Asyou have found out this conspiracy, I may learn who the assassin is. "

"We know that already. The assassin is Wrent. "

"You have yet to prove that. "

"I?" said Lucian, with disdain. "I prove nothing. I wash my hands of thewhole affair. You are a detective; let me see what you will make of acase which has baffled you twice!" and Denzil, with rage in his heart, went off, laughing at the discomfiture of Link. 

At that moment the detective hated his successful rival with his wholeheart. 

Lucian took a hansom to the Royal John Hotel in Kensington, where Diana, in a great state of alarm, was reading the evening papers, whichcontained short notices of Ferruci's death. On seeing her lover, shehurried forward anxiously and caught him by the hand. 

"Lucian, I am so glad you have come!" she cried, leading him to a chair. "I sent messages both to Geneva Square and Sergeant's Inn, but you wereneither at your lodgings nor in your office. "

"I was better employed, my dear, " said Lucian, with a weary sigh, for hewas quite worn out with fatigue and anxiety. "I have been with Link, telling him about Ferruci's death, and being blamed as the cause ofit. "

"You blamed! And why?" said Diana, with just indignation. 

"Because I forced Ferruci to confess the truth, and when he saw thatthere was every chance of his being put into jail for his villainy, hewent to his bedroom and took poison. You know, Mrs. Clear said the manwas something of a chemist, so I suppose he prepared the poison himself. It was very swift in its action, for he dropped dead before I couldrecover my presence of mind. "

"Lucian! this is terrible!" cried Diana, wringing her hands. 

"You may well say that, " he replied gloomily. "Now the whole details ofthe case will be in the papers, and that unfortunate woman will bearrested. "

"Lydia! And what will her father say? It will break his heart!"

"Perhaps; but he must take the consequences of having brought up hisdaughter so badly. Still, " added Lucian, reflectively, "I do not believethat Lydia is so guilty as Wrent. That scoundrel seems to be at thebottom of the affair. Ferruci and he contrived and carried out the wholething between them, and a precious pair of villains they are. "

"Will Wrent be arrested?"

"If he can be found; but I fancy the scoundrel has made himself scarceout of fright. Since he left Jersey Street, after the murder, he has notbeen heard of. Even Mrs. Clear does not know where he is. You know shehas put advertisements in the papers in the cypher he gaveher--according to the arrangement between them--but Wrent has not turnedup. "

"And Rhoda?"

"Rhoda is still missing. The police are getting warrants out for theservant, for Wrent, for Mrs. Clear, and for Lydia Vrain. Ferruci, luckily for himself and his family, has escaped the law by his own act. It was the wisest thing the scoundrel could do to kill himself and avoiddishonour. I must admit the man had pluck. "

"It is terrible! terrible! What will be the end of it?"

"Imprisonment for the lot, I expect, unless they can prove that Wrentmurdered Clear; then they will hang him. But now that Ferruci is dead, Ifancy Rhoda is the only witness who can prove Wrent's guilt. That is whyshe ran away. I don't wonder she was afraid to stay. But I feel quiteworn out with all this, Diana. Please give me a biscuit and a glass ofport; I have had nothing all day. "

With a sigh, Diana touched the bell, and when the waiter made hisappearance gave the order. She felt low-spirited and nervous, in spiteof the discovery that her father was alive and well; and indeed theextraordinary events of the last few days were sufficient to upset thestrongest mind. 

Lucian was leaning back in his chair with closed eyes, for his head wasaching with the excitement of the morning. Suddenly he opened them andjumped up. At the same time Diana threw open the door with anexclamation, and both of them heard the thin, high voice of a woman, whoapparently was coming up the stairs. 

"Never mind my name, " said the voice, "I'll tell it to Miss Vrainmyself. Take me to her at once. "

"Lydia!" called Lucian, "and here? Great heavens! Why does she comehere?"

Diana said nothing, but compressed her lips as Lydia, followed by thewaiter with the biscuits and wine, came into the room. She was plainlyand neatly dressed, and wore a heavy veil, but seemed greatly excited. She did not say a word, nor did Diana, until the waiter left the roomand closed the door. Then she threw up her veil, revealing a haggardface and red eyes, swollen with weeping, and filled with an expressionof terror. 

"Sakes alive! isn't this awful?" she wailed, making a clutch at MissVrain's arm. "You've done it, this time, Diana. Ferruci's dead, and yourfather alive, and I'm not a widow, and my father away I don't knowwhere! I was told that the police were after me, so I'm clearing out. "

"Clearing out, Mrs. Vrain?" repeated Diana, stiffly. 

"I should think so!" sobbed Lydia. "I don't want to stay and be put ingaol, though what I've done to be put in gaol for, I don't know. "

"What?" cried Lucian indignantly. "You don't know--when this abominableconspiracy is----"

"I know nothing of the conspiracy, " interrupted Lydia. 

"Did you not get Ferruci to put your husband into an asylum?"

"I? I did nothing of the sort. I thought my husband was dead and burieduntil Ferruci told me the truth, and then I held my tongue until I couldthink of what to do. After Ercole died, his servant came round and toldme all--he overheard the conversation you had with the Count, Mr. Denzil. I was never so astonished in my life as to hear about Mrs. Clearand her husband--and Mark alive--and--and--oh, Lord! isn't it dreadful?Give me a glass of wine, Diana, or I'll go right off in a dead faint!"

In silence Miss Vrain poured out a glass of port and handed it to herstepmother, who sipped it in a most tearful mood. Lucian looked at thewretched little woman without saying a word, and wondered if, indeed, she was as innocent as she made herself out to be. He thought that, after all, she might be ignorant of Ferruci's plots, although she hadcertainly benefited by them; but she was such a glib liar that he didnot know how much to believe of her story. However, she had hithertoonly given a general idea of her connection with the matter, so when shehad finished her wine, and was somewhat calmer, Lucian begged her to bemore explicit. 

"Did you know--did you guess, or even suspect--that your husband wasalive?"

"Mr. Denzil, " said Lydia, with unusual solemnity, "as I'm a marriedwoman, and not the widow I thought I was, I did not know that Mark wasalive! I'm bad, I daresay, but I am not bad enough to shut a man up in alunatic asylum and pretend he is dead, just to get money, much as I likeit. What I did about identifying the corpse was done in good faith. "

"You really thought it was my father's body?" questioned Dianadoubtfully. 

"I swear I did, " responded Mrs. Vrain, emphatically. "Mark walked out ofthe house because he thought I was carrying on with Ferruci, which Iwasn't. It was that Tyler cat who made the trouble between us, and Markwas so weak and silly--half crazy, I think, with his morphia andover-study--that he cleared right out, and I never knew where he hadgone to. When I saw that notice about the murdered man in Geneva Square, who called himself Berwin, and was marked on the cheek, I thought hemight be my husband. When the coffin was opened, I really believed I sawpoor Mark's dead body. The face was just like his, and scarred in thesame way. "

"What about the missing finger, Mrs. Vrain? If I remember, you even gavea cause for its loss. "

"Well, it was this way, " replied Lydia, somewhat discomposed. "I knewthat Mark hadn't lost a finger when he left, but Ferruci said that if Idenied it the police might refuse to believe that the body was that ofmy husband. So, as I was sure it was Mark's corpse, I just said he hadlost a finger out West. I didn't think there was any harm in saying so, as for all I knew he might have got it chopped off after leaving me. Butthe face of the dead man was--as I thought--Mark's, and he calledhimself Berwin, which, you know, Diana, is the name of the Manor, andthe scar was on the cheek. I know now it was all contrived by Ercole;but then I was quite ignorant. "

"When did you find out the truth?"

"After that cloak business. Ferruci came to me, and I told him what thatgirl at Baxter's had said, and insisted that he should tell me thetruth. Well, he did, in order to force me to marry him, and then I toldhim to go and make it right with the girl, so that when Mr. Denzil wentagain she'd deny that Ercole had bought the cloak. "

"She denied it, sure enough, " said Lucian grimly. "Ferruci, before hedied, told me he had bribed her to speak falsely. What more did theCount reveal to you, Mrs. Vrain?--the conspiracy?"

"Yes. He said he'd found Mark hiding at Salisbury, half mad withmorphia, and had taken him up to Mrs. Clear's, where it seems he wentmad altogether, so they locked him up as her husband in a lunaticasylum. Ferruci also told me that he had seen Michael Clear on thestage, and that as he was so like Mark, and was likely to die of drinkand consumption, he got him to play the part of Mark in Geneva Square, under the name of Berwin. Mrs. Clear visited her husband there byclimbing over a back fence, and getting down a cellar, somehow. "

"I know that, " said Lucian. "It was Mrs. Clear's shadow I saw on theblind. She was fighting with her husband, and when I rang the bell theywere both so alarmed that they left the house by the back way and gotinto Jersey Street. Then Mrs. Clear went home, and the man himself cameround into the Square by the front way. That was how I met him. Iwondered how people were in the house during his absence. Mrs. Cleartold me all. "

"Did she say why her husband made you examine the house?" asked Diana. 

"No. But I expect he made me do so that I should not have my suspicionsabout that back entrance. But, Mrs. Vrain, when Ferruci confessed thatyour husband was alive, why did you not tell it to the world?"

"Well, I'd got the assurance money, you see, " said Lydia, with shrewdcandour, "and I thought the company would make a fuss and take itback--as I suppose they will now. Ferruci wanted me to marry him, but Iwasn't so bad as that. I did not want to commit bigamy. But I reallyheld my tongue because Ferruci told me who killed Clear. "

"He knew, then?" cried Lucian, "and denied it to me! Who killed theman?"

"Wrent did--the man who lived in Jersey Street. "

"And who is at the bottom of the whole plot!" said Lucian furiously. "Do you know where he is to be found?"

"Yes, " said Lydia boldly, "I do; but I'm not going to tell where he is!"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want him punished. "

"But I do, " said Diana angrily. "He is a wretch who ought to suffer!"

"Very well, " said Lydia, loudly and spitefully, "then make him suffer, for this Wrent is your own father! It was Mark who killed MichaelClear!"

CHAPTER XXIX

LINK SETS A TRAP

In the course of their acquaintance, Diana had put up with a great dealfrom the little American adventuress, owing to her position ofstepmother, but when she heard her accusing the man she had ruined ofmurder, the patience of Miss Vrain gave way. She rose quickly, andwalking over to where Lydia was shrinking in her chair, towered inrighteous indignation above the shameless little woman. 

"You lie, Mrs. Vrain!" she said in a low, distinct voice, with a flushedface and indignation in her eyes. "You know you lie!"

"I--I only repeat what Ferruci told me, " whimpered Lydia, rather alarmedby the attitude of her stepdaughter. "I'm sure I hope Mark didn't killthe man, but Ercole said that he was in Jersey Street for that purpose. "

"It is not true! My father was in the asylum at Hampstead!"

"Indeed he wasn't--not at the time Clear was killed!" protested Lydia. "He was not put into the asylum until at least two weeks afterChristmas. Is that not so, Mr. Denzil?"

"It is so, " assented Lucian gravely, "but even admitting so much, it isimpossible to believe that Mr. Vrain was in Jersey Street. For manymonths before Christmas he was in charge of Mrs. Clear, at Bayswater. "

"So Ercole said, " replied Lydia, "but he used to get away from Mrs. Clear at times, and had to be brought back. "

"He wandered when he got the chance, " said Lucian, with hesitation. "Iadmit as much. "

"Well, then, when he was not at Bayswater he used to live in JerseyStreet as Wrent. Ferruci found him out there, and tried to get him to goback, and he took Mrs. Clear several times to the same place in order topersuade him to return to Bayswater. That was why Mrs. Clear visitedJersey Street. Oh, Mark played his part there as Mr. Wrent, I guess;there ain't no two questions about that, " finished Lydia triumphantly. "He is the assassin, you bet!"

"I don't believe it!" cried Diana furiously. "Why, my father is too weakin the head to have the will, let alone the courage, to masquerade likethat. He is like a child in leading-strings. "

"That's his cunning, Diana. He's 'cute enough to pretend madness, sothat he won't be hanged!"

"It is impossible that Vrain can be Wrent, " said Lucian decidedly. "Iagree with Miss Vrain; he is too weak and irresponsible to carry outsuch a deed. Besides, I don't see how you prove him guilty of themurder; you do not even know that he could enter the Silent House by thesecret way. "

"I don't know anything about it, except what Count Ferruci told me, "said Lydia obstinately. "And he said that Vrain, as Wrent, killed Clear. But you can easily prove if it's true or not. "

"How can we prove it?" asked Diana coldly. 

"By laying a trap for Mark. You know--at least Ercole told me, and Isuppose Mrs. Clear told you--that she corresponded with Mark--Wrent, Imean--in the agony column of the _Daily Telegraph_. 

"By means of a cypher? Yes, I know that, but she hasn't received anyanswer yet. "

"Of course not, " replied Lydia, with triumph, "because Wrent--that'sMark, you know--is in the asylum, and can't answer her. "

"This is all nonsense!" broke in Lucian, impatient of this cobwebspinning. "I don't believe a word of Ferruci's story. If Vrain lived inJersey Street as Wrent, why should Mrs. Clear visit him?"

"To get him back to Bayswater. "

"Nonsense! nonsense! And even admitting as much, why should Mrs. Clear, in the newspapers, correspond in cypher with a man whom she not onlyknows is in an asylum as her husband, but who can be seen by her at anytime?"

"I quite agree with you, Lucian, " cried Diana emphatically. "CountFerruci told a pack of falsehoods to Mrs. Vrain! The thing is utterlyabsurd!"

"Oh, I guess I'm not so easily made a fool of as all that!" cried Lydia, firing up. "If you don't believe me, lay the trap I told you of. LetMark go free out of the asylum; get Mrs. Clear, with her cypher andnewspapers, to ask him to meet her in the house where Clear wasmurdered, and then you'll see if Mark won't turn up in his character ofWrent. "

"He will not!" cried Diana vehemently. "He will not!"

"Mark, when he left me, " went on the angry Lydia, "had plenty of hair, and was clean shaven. Now--as Ferruci told me, for I haven't seenhim--he is bald, and wears a skull-cap of black velvet, and a whitebeard. After Ercole told me about Jersey Street I went there to ask thatfat woman about Mark; she said he had gone away two days afterChristmas, and described him as an old man with a skull-cap and a whitebeard. "

"Oh!" cried Lucian, for he recollected that Rhoda gave the samedescription. 

"Ah! you know I speak the truth!" said Lydia, rising, "but I've hadenough of all this. I've lost my money, and I don't suppose I'll go backto Mark. I've been treated badly all round, and I don't know what poppawill say. But I'm going out of London to meet him. "

"You said you did not know where your father was!" cried Dianascornfully. 

"I don't tell you everything, Diana, " retorted Lydia, looking verywicked, "but, if you must know, poppa went over to Paris last week, andI'm going over there to meet him. He'll raise Cain for the way I've beentreated. "

"Well, " said Lucian, as she prepared to take her leave, "I hope you'llget away. "

"Do you intend to stop me, Mr. Denzil?" flashed out Mrs. Vrain, furiously. 

"Not I; but I'll give you a hint--the railway stations will be watchedby the police. "

"For me?" said Lydia, with a scared expression. "Oh, sakes! it's awful!and I've done nothing. It's not my fault if I got the assurance money. Ireally thought that Mark was dead. But I'll try and get away to poppa;he'll put things right. Good-bye, Mr. Denzil, and Diana; you've done mea heap of harm, but I don't bear malice, " and Mrs. Vrain rushed out ofthe room in a great hurry to escape the chance of arrest hinted at byLucian. She had a sharp eye to her own safety. 

Diana waited until the cab which Lydia had kept waiting was drivingaway, and then turned with an anxious expression on her face to look atLucian. "My dear, " she said, taking his arm, "what do you think ofLydia's accusation?"

"Against your father?" said Lucian. "Why, I don't believe it!"

"Nor do I; but it will be as well to set the trap she suggests; for ifmy father does not fall into it--and as he is not Wrent, I don't believehe will--the real man may keep the appointment with Mrs. Clear. "

"Whosoever Wrent is, I don't think he'll come again to the SilentHouse, " replied the barrister, shaking his head. "It would be thrustinghis head into the lion's jaws. If he is in London he'll see the deathof Ferruci described in the papers, and no doubt will guess that thegame is up; so he'll keep away. "

"Nevertheless, we'll do as Lydia suggests, " said Diana obstinately. "Yousee Mr. Link and Mrs. Clear, and arrange about the cypher. Then myfather is to be discharged as cured to-morrow, and I'll let him go outif he pleases. Of course, I'll follow him; then I'll be able to see ifhe goes to Pimlico. "

"But, Diana, suppose he does go to the Silent House, and proves to beWrent?"

"He won't do that, my dear. My father is no more Wrent than you are. Ibelieve Lydia speaks in the full belief that he is; but Ferruci, for hisown ends, lied to her. However, to trap the real man, let us do as Lydiasuggests. The idea is a good one. "

"Well, we'll try, " said Lucian, with a sigh. "But I do hope, Diana, thatthis case will end soon. Every week there is some fresh development in anew direction, and I am getting quite bewildered over it. "

"It will end with the capture of Wrent, the assassin. "

"I hope so; and God grant Wrent does not prove to be your father!"

"There is no fear of that, " said Diana gravely. "My father is insanemore or less, but he is not a murderer. I am quite content to risk thetrap suggested by that woman. "

Lucian did not at once adopt the plan to net Wrent--whosoever he mightbe--invented by Lydia, and approved of by Diana. On the whole, he couldnot bring himself to believe that a weak-headed, foolish old creaturelike Vrain had masqueraded in Jersey Street as Wrent. Still there werecertain suspicious incidents which fitted in very neatly with Ferruci'sstory. Mrs. Clear had stated that Vrain, when under her charge, escapedseveral times, and had remained away for several days, until broughtback again by the Count. Again, the appearance of Wrent, as described byRhoda, was precisely the same as the looks of Vrain when Lucian saw himin the Hampstead asylum; so it seemed that there might be some truth inthe story. 

"But it's impossible!" said Lucian to himself. "Vrain is half mad andincapable of conducting his own life, or arranging so cleverly to commita crime. Also he had no money, and, had he lived in Jersey Street, wouldnot have been able to pay Mrs. Bensusan. There is something more in thecoincidence of this similarity of looks than meets the eye. I'll seeLink and hear what he has to say on the subject. It's time he found outsomething. "

The next day Lucian paid a visit to Link, but was not received veryamiably by that gentleman, who proved to be in a somewhat bad temper. Hewas not altogether pleased with Lucian finding out more about the casethan he had discovered himself, and also--to further ruffle histemper--the clever Lydia had given him the slip. He had called at herMayfair house with a warrant for her arrest, only to find outthat--having received timely warning from Ferruci's servant--she hadfled. In vain the railway stations had been watched. Lydia, taking thehint given to her by Lucian, had baffled that peril by taking the Dovertrain at a station outside London. 

Lucian heard what Link had to say on the subject, but did not reveal thefact that Lydia had paid a visit to Diana, or had gone to meet herfather at Dover. He did not want to give the little woman up to justice, as he was beginning to believe her innocent; and that, in all truth, shehad known nothing of the Ferruci-Wrent conspiracy. 

Therefore, giving no information to Link as to the little woman'swhereabouts, Denzil told--as coming from himself--his idea that Wrentmight fall into a trap set for him in the Pimlico House by means of Mrs. Clear's cypher. Link listened to the tale attentively, and decided toadopt the idea. 

"It is a good one, " he admitted generously, "and I'm not jealous enoughto cut off my nose to spite my face. You have had the better of me allthrough this case, Mr. Denzil, and we have had words over it; but I'llshow you that I can appreciate your cleverness by adopting your plan. "

"I am greatly obliged to you for your good opinion, " said Lucian drily, for he saw with some humour that Link was only too anxious to benefit bythe very cleverness of which he pretended to be so jealous. "And youwill see Mrs. Clear?"

"Yes; I'll see her at once, and get her to invite Wrent to Pimlico bythat cypher, with a threat that she will betray the whole plot if hedoes not come. "

"I daresay he knows already that Mrs. Clear is a traitress?"

"Impossible!" replied Link quickly. "I have kept Mrs. Clear's name outof the papers. It is known that Ferruci is dead, and that Mrs. Vrain islikely to be arrested in connection with her supposed husband's murder. But the fact of Mrs. Clear putting the real Vrain into the asylum is notknown, nor, indeed, anything about the woman. If Wrent thinks she'lltell tales, he'll meet her in their own hunting grounds in GenevaSquare, to make his terms. Hitherto he has not replied to her requestsfor money, but now he'll think she is driven into a corner, and will fixher up once and for all. "

"Do you think that Wrent is Vrain?"

"Good Lord! no!" replied Link, staring. "What put that into your head?"

Lucian immediately told about the supposed connection between Vrain andWrent, but, suppressing that it was Lydia's or Ferruci's idea, based hissupposition on the fact of the resemblance between the two men. Linkheard the theory with scorn, and scouted the idea that the two men couldbe one and the same. 

"I've seen Vrain, " said he. "The old man is as mad as a March hare andas silly as a child. He's in his dotage, and could not possibly carryout such a plan. But we can easily learn the truth. "

"From whom?" asked Lucian. 

"Ah, Mr. Denzil, you are not so clever as you think yourself, " scoffedLink. "Why, from Mrs. Clear, to be sure. She visited at Jersey Street, and saw Wrent, and as Vrain was then with her in the character of herhusband, she'll be able to tell us if they are two men or one person. "

"You are right, Link. I never thought of that. "

"He! he! Then I can still teach you something, " replied Link, in highgood humour at having for once scored off the too clever barrister, andforthwith went off to see Mrs. Clear. 

How this interview with that lady sped, or what she told him, he refusedto reveal to Lucian; but its result was that a cypher appeared in theagony column of the _Daily Telegraph_, calling upon Wrent to meet her inthe Silent House in Pimlico, under the penalty of her telling the policeall she knew if he did not come. In the same issue of the paper in whichthis message appeared there was a paragraph stating that Mrs. Vrain hadbeen arrested at Dover. 

CHAPTER XXX

WHO FELL INTO THE TRAP?

However closely one may study the fair sex, there is no understandingthem in the least. No one can say how a woman will act in a givensituation; for feminine actions are based less on logical foundationsthan on the emotion of the moment. 

Diana had never liked Lydia; when the American girl became herstepmother she hated her, and not only said as much but showed in herevery action that she believed what she said. She declared that shewould be glad to see Lydia deprived of her money and put into jail! Thepunishment would be no more than she deserved. 

Yet when these things came to pass; when, by the discovery that Vrainyet lived, Lydia lost her liberty; and when, as connected with theconspiracy, she was arrested on a criminal warrant and put into prison, Diana was the only friend she had. Miss Vrain declared that herstepmother was innocent, visited her in prison, and engaged a lawyer todefend her. Lucian could not forbear pointing out the discrepancybetween Diana's past sentiments and her present actions; but Miss Vrainwas quite ready with an excuse. 

"I am only doing my duty, " she said. "In herself I like Lydia as littleas ever I did, but I think we have suspected her wrongly in beingconnected with this conspiracy, so I wish to help her if possible. Andafter all, " added Diana, "she is my father's wife, " as if that factextenuated all. 

"He has reason to know it, " replied Lucian bitterly. "If it had not beenfor Lydia, your father would not have left his home for a lunaticasylum, nor would Clear have been murdered. "

"I quite agree with you, Lucian; but some good has come out of thisevil, for if things had not been as they are, you and I would never havemet. "

"Egad! that is true!" said Lucian, kissing her. "It's an ill wind thatblows nobody any good. "

So Diana played the part of a Good Samaritan towards her stepmother, andhelped her to bear the evil of being thrust into prison. Lydia wrote toher father in Paris, but received no reply, and therefore was without afriend in the world save Diana. Later on she was admitted to bail, andDiana took her to the hotel in Kensington, there to wait for the arrivalof Mr. Clyne. His absence and silence were both unaccountable. 

"I hope nothing is wrong with poppa, " wept Lydia. "As a rule, he isalways smart in replying, and if he has seen about Ercole's death and myimprisonment in the papers, I'm sure he will be over soon. "

While she was thus waiting for her father, and Link in every way wasseeking evidence against her, Mrs. Clear received an answer to hermessage. In the same column of the _Daily Telegraph_, and in the samecypher, there appeared a message from Wrent that he would meet Mrs. Clear at No. 13 Geneva Square. 

Link was delighted when Mrs. Clear showed him this, and rubbed his handswith much pleasure. Affairs were about to be brought to a crisis, and asLink was the moving spirit in the matter, his vanity was sufficientlygratified as to make him quite amiable. 

"We've got him this time, Mr. Denzil, " he said, with enthusiasm. "Youand I and a couple of policemen will go down to that house in GenevaSquare--by the front, sir, by the front. "

"Mrs. Clear, also?" questioned Lucian, wishing to be enlightened on allpoints. 

"No. She'll come in by the back, down the cellarway, as Wrent expectsher to come. Then he'll follow in the same path and walk right into thetrap. "

"But won't the two be seen climbing over that fence in the daytime?"asked the barrister doubtfully. 

"Who said anything about the daytime, Mr. Denzil? I did not, and Wrentknows too much to risk himself at a time that he can be seen from thewindows of the adjacent houses. No! no! The meeting with Mrs. Clear isto take place in the front room at ten o'clock, when it will be quitedark. You, I, and the policemen will hide in what was the bedroom, andlisten to what Wrent has to say to Mrs. Clear. We'll give him ropeenough to hang himself, sir, and then pounce out and nab him. "

"Well, he won't show much fight if he is Mr. Vrain. "

"I don't believe he is Mr. Vrain, " retorted the detective bluntly. 

"I am doubtful of that, also, " admitted Lucian, "but you know Vrain isnow out of the asylum, and, for the time being, has been left to his owndevices. The reply to the cypher did not appear until he was in thatposition. Supposing, after all, this mysterious Wrent proves to be thisunhappy man?"

"In that case, he'll have to pay for his whistle, sir. "

"You mean in connection with the conspiracy?"

"Yes, and perhaps with the murder of Clear; but we don't know if theso-called Wrent committed the crime. For such reason, Mr. Denzil, I wishto overhear what he says to Mrs. Clear. It is as well to give him enoughrope to hang himself with. "

"Can you trust Mrs. Clear?"

"Absolutely. She knows on which side her bread is buttered. Her onlychance of getting free from her share of the matter is to turn Queen'sevidence, and she intends to do so. "

"What did she say about Vrain being Wrent?"

"Well, sir, " said Link, putting his head on one side, and looking atLucian with an odd expression, "you had better wait till the man'scaught before I answer that question. Then, maybe, you won't require ananswer. "

"It is very probable I won't, " replied Lucian drily. "What time am I tosee you to-night?"

"I'll call for you at nine o'clock sharp, and we'll go across to thehouse at once. I have the key in my pocket now. Peacock gave it to methis morning. The scene will be quite dramatic. "

"I hope it won't prove to be Vrain, " said Lucian restlessly, for hethought how grieved Diana would be. 

"I hope not, " answered Link curtly, "but there's no knowing. However, ifthe old man does get into trouble he can plead insanity. His having beenin the asylum of Jorce is a strong card for him to play. Good-day, Mr. Denzil. I'll see you to-night at nine o'clock sharp. "

"Good-day, " replied Lucian, and the pair parted for the time being. 

Lucian did not go near Diana that day. In the first place, he did notwish to see Lydia, for whom he had no great love; and in the second, hewas afraid to speak to Diana as to the possibility of her father beingWrent. 

Diana, as a good daughter should, held firmly to the idea that herfather could not behave in such a way; and as a sensible woman, she didnot think that a man with so few of his senses about him could haveacted the dual part with which he was credited without, in some measure, betraying himself. 

Lucian was somewhat of this opinion himself, yet he had an uneasyfeeling that Vrain might prove to be the culprit. The fact of Vrain'sbeing often away from Mrs. Clear's house in Bayswater, and Wrent absentin the same way from Mrs. Bensusan's house in Jersey Street, appearedstrange, and argued a connection between the two. Again, the resemblancebetween them was most extraordinary and unaccountable. 

On the whole, Lucian was not satisfied in his mind as to what would bethe end of the matter, and had he known Mrs. Clear's address he wouldhave gone to question her about it. But only Link knew where the womanwas to be found, and kept that information to himself--especially fromDenzil. Now that he had the reins once more in his hands, he did notintend that the barrister should take them again. 

Punctual to the minute, Link, in a state of subdued excitement, came toLucian's rooms. Already he had sent his two policemen over to the house, into which he had instructed them to enter in the quietest and mostunostentatious manner, and now came to escort the barrister across. 

Lucian put on his hat at once, and the two walked out into the darknight, for dark it was, with no moon, few stars, and a great manyclouds. A most satisfactory night for their purpose. 

"All the better, " said Link, casting a look round the deserted square;"all the better for our little game. I wish to secure this fellow asquietly as possible. Here's the door open--in with you, Mr. Denzil!"

According to instructions, a policeman had waited behind the closeddoor, and at the one sharp knock of his superior opened it at once sothat the two slipped in as speedily as possible. Link had adark-lantern, which he used carefully, so that no light could be seenfrom the window looking on to the square; and with his three companionshe went into the back room which had formerly been used by Clear as asleeping apartment. Here the two policemen stationed themselves in onecorner; and Link, with Lucian, waited near the door leading into thesitting-room, so as to be ready for Mrs. Clear. 

All was so dark and lonely and silent that Lucian's nerves becameover-strained, and it was as much as he could do to prevent himself fromtrembling violently. In a whisper he conversed with Link. 

"Have you heard anything of that girl Rhoda?" he asked. 

"We have traced her to Berkshire, " whispered Link. "She went back to hergypsy kinsfolk, you know. I dare say we'll manage to lay hands on hersooner or later. "

"She is an accomplice of Wrent's, I believe. "

"So do I, and I hope to make him confess as much to-night. Hush!"

Suddenly Link had laid his clasp on Lucian's wrist to command silence, and the next moment they heard the swish-swish of a woman's dresscoming along the passage. She entered the sitting-room cautiously, moving slowly in the darkness, and stole up to the door behind whichLucian and the detective were hiding. The position of this she knewwell, because it was opposite the window. 

"Are you there?" whispered Mrs. Clear nervously. 

"Yes, " replied Link in the same tone. "Myself, Mr. Denzil, and twopolicemen. Keep the man in talk, and find out, if possible, if hecommitted the murder. "

"I hope he won't kill me, " muttered Mrs. Clear. "He will, if he knowsI've betrayed him. "

"That will be all right, " said Link in a low, impatient voice. "We willrush out should he prove dangerous. Get over by the window, so that wecan see a little of you and Wrent when you talk. "

"No! no! Don't leave the door open! He'll see you!"

"He won't, Mrs. Clear. We'll keep back in the darkness. If he shows alight, we'll rush him before he can use a weapon or clear out. Get backto the window!"

"I hope I'll get through with this all right, " said Mrs. Clearnervously. "It's an awful situation, " and she moved stealthily acrossthe floor to the window. 

There was a faint gaslight outside, and the watchers could see herfigure and profile black against the slight illumination. All was stilland silent as the grave when they began their dreary watch. 

The minutes passed slowly in the darkness, and there was an unbrokensilence save for the breathing of the watchers and the restlessmovements of Mrs. Clear near the window. They saw her pass and repassthe square of glass, when, unexpectedly, she paused, rigid and silent. 

A stealthy step was ascending the distant stair, and pacing cat-likealong the passage. 

Lucian felt a tremor pass through his body as the steps of the murderersounded nearer and clearer. They paused at the door, and then movedtowards the window where Mrs. Clear was standing. 

"Is that you?" said a low voice, which came weirdly out of the darkness. 

"Yes. I have been waiting for the last half hour, Mr. Wrent, " repliedthe woman in nervous tones. "I am glad you have come. "

"I am glad, also, " said the voice harshly, "as I wish to know why youpropose to betray me. "

"Because you won't pay me the money, " said Mrs. Clear boldly. "And ifyou don't give it to me this very night I'll go straight and tell thepolice all about my husband. "

"I'll kill you first!" cried the man with a snarl, and made a dash atthe woman. With a cry for help she eluded him and sprang towards thebedroom door for protection. The next moment the four watchers were inthe room wrestling with Wrent. When he felt the grip of their hands, andknew that he was betrayed, he cried out savagely, and fought with thestrength of two men. However, he could do little against his fouradversaries, and, worn out with the struggle, collapsed suddenly on tothe dusty floor with a motion of despair. 

"Lost! lost!" he muttered. "All lost!"

Breathing hard, Link slipped back the cover of the dark lantern andturned the light on to the face of the prisoner. Out of the darknessstarted a pale face with white hair and long white beard. Lucian uttereda cry. 

"Mr. Vrain!" he said, shrinking back, "Mr. Vrain!"

"Look again, " said Link, passing his hand rapidly over the face and headof the prostrate man. Denzil did look, and uttered a second cry morestartling than the first. Wig and beard and venerable looks were allgone, and he recognised at once who Wrent was. 

"Jabez Clyne!--Jabez Clyne!" he exclaimed in astonishment. 

"Yes!" cried Link triumphantly, "Jabez Clyne, conspirator and assassin!"

CHAPTER XXXI

A STRANGE CONFESSION

"I, Jabez Clyne, write this confession in my prison cell, of my own freewill, and without coercion from any one; partly because I know that theevidence concerning my share in the Vrain conspiracy is strong againstme, and partly because I wish to exonerate my daughter Lydia. 

"She is absolutely innocent of all knowledge concerning the feigneddeath of her husband and his actual existence in a private lunaticasylum; and on the strength of this confession of mine--which will fixthe guilt of the matter on the right persons--I demand that she shall beset free. It is not fair that she should suffer, for I and Ferruciplanned and carried out the whole conspiracy. Well, Ferruci has punishedhimself, and soon the law will punish me, so it is only justice thatLydia should be discharged from all blame. On this understanding I setout the whole story of the affair--how it was thought of, how it wascontrived, and how it was carried out. Now that Count Ferruci is dead, this confession can harm no one but myself, and may be the means ofsetting Lydia free. So here I begin my recital. 

"I was always an unlucky man, and the end of my life proves to be asunfortunate as the beginning. I was born in London some fifty and moreyears ago, in a Whitechapel slum, of drunken and profligate parents, soit is little to be wondered at that my career has been anything butvirtuous or respectable. In my early childhood--if it may be calledso--I was beaten and starved, set to beg, forced to thieve, and neverhad a kind word said to me or a kind deed done to me. No wonder I grewup a callous, hardened ruffian. As the twig is bent, so will the treegrow. 

"Out of this depth of degradation I was rescued by a philanthropist, whohad me fed and clothed and educated. I had at his hands every chance ofleading a respectable life, but I did not want to become smug andhonest. My early training was too strong for that, so after a year ortwo of enforced goodness I ran away to sea. The vessel I embarked on asa stowaway was bound for America. When I was discovered hiding among thecargo we were in mid-ocean, and there was nothing for it but to carry meto the States. Still, to earn my passage, I was made cabin-boy to aruffianly captain, and once more tasted the early delights of childhood, viz. , kicks, curses, and starvation. When the ship arrived in New York Iwas turned adrift in the city without a penny or a friend. 

"It is not my purpose to describe my sufferings, as such descriptionwill do no good and interest nobody; particularly as the purpose of thisconfession is to declare the Vrain conspiracy and its failure; so Iwill pass over my early years as speedily as possible. To be brief: Ibecame a newsboy, then a reporter; afterwards I went West and tried myluck in San Francisco, later on in Texas; but in every case I failed, and became poorer and more desperate than ever. In New Orleans I set upa newspaper and had a brief time of prosperity, when I married thedaughter of a hotelkeeper, and for the time was happy. 

"Then the Civil War broke out, and I was ruined. My wife died, leavingme with one child, whom I called Lydia, after her, but that child diedalso, and I was left alone. After the war I prospered again for a time, and married a woman with money. She also died, and left a daughter, andthis child I again called Lydia, in memory of my first wife, who was theonly woman I ever truly loved. I placed little Lydia in a convent foreducation, and devoted my second wife's money to that purpose; then Istarted out for the fifth or sixth time to make my fortune. Needless tosay, I did not make it. 

"I pass over a long period of distress and prosperity, hopes and fears. One day I was rich, the next poor; and Fate--or whatever malignant deitylooked after my poor affairs--knocked me about most cruelly, tossed meup, threw me down, and at the end of a score of years left mecomparatively prosperous, with an income, in English money, of £500 ayear. With this I returned to Washington to seek Lydia, and found hergrown up into a beautiful and clever girl. Her beauty gave me the ideathat I might marry her well in Europe as an American heiress. So forEurope we started, and after many years of travel about the Continent wesettled down in the Pension Donizetti in Florence. There Lydia wasadmired for her beauty and wit, and courted for her money! But save formy ten pounds a week, which we eked out in the most frugal manner, wehad not a penny between us. 

"It was in Florence that we met with Vrain and his daughter, who came tostay at the Pension. He was a quiet, harmless old gentleman, a trifleweak in the head, which his daughter said came from over-study, butwhich I discovered afterwards was due to habitual indulgence in morphiaand other drugs. His daughter watched him closely, and--not having awill of his own by reason of his weak brain--he submitted passively toher guidance. I heard by a side wind that Vrain was rich, and had asplendid mansion in the country; so I hinted to Lydia that as it seemeddifficult to get her a young husband, it would be better for her tomarry a rich old one. At that time Lydia was in love with, and almostengaged to, Count Ercole Ferruci, a penniless Italian nobleman, whocourted my pretty girl less for her beauty than for her supposed wealth. When I suggested that Lydia should marry Vrain, she refused at first toentertain the idea; but afterwards, seeing that the man was old andweak, she thought it would be a good thing as his wife to inherit hismoney, and then, as his widow, to marry Ferruci. I think, also, that thepointed dislike which Diana Vrain manifested for us both--although I ambound to say she hated Lydia more than she did me--had a great deal todo with my daughter marrying Vrain. However, the end of it was thatLydia broke off her engagement with Ferruci--and very mad he was atlosing her--and married Mark Vrain in Florence. 

"After the marriage the old man, who at that time was quite infatuatedwith Lydia, made a will leaving her his assurance money of £20, 000, butthe house near Bath, and the land, he left to Diana. I am bound to saythat Lydia behaved very well in this matter, as she could have had allthe money and land, but she was content with the assurance money, anddid not rob Diana Vrain of her birthright. Yet Diana hated her, andstill hates her; but I ask any one who reads this confession if my dearLyddy is not the better woman of the two? Who dares to say that such asweet girl is guilty of the crimes she is charged with?

"Well, the marriage took place, and we all journeyed home to BerwinManor; but here things went from bad to worse. Old Vrain took again tohis morphia, and nothing would restrain him; then Lydia and Diana foughtconstantly, and each wished the other out of the house. I tried to keepthe peace, and blamed Lyddy--who is no saint, I admit--for the way inwhich she was treating Diana. With Miss Vrain I got on very well, andtried to make things easy for her; but in the end the ill-will betweenher and my Lydia became so strong that Diana left the house, and wentout to Australia to live with some relatives. 

"So Lydia and I and old Vrain were left alone, and I thought thateverything would be right. So it would have been if Lydia had not putmatters wrong again by inviting Ferruci over to stay. But she wouldinsist upon doing so, and although I begged and prayed and commanded hernot to have so dangerous a man in the house, she held her own; and inthe face of my remonstrances, and those of her husband, Count Ferrucicame to stay with us. 

"From the moment he entered the house there was nothing but trouble. Vrain became jealous, and, mad with drugs he took, often treated Lydiawith cruelty and violence, and she came to me for protection. I spoke toVrain, and he insulted me, wishing to turn me out of the house; but forLydia's sake I remained. Then a Miss Tyler came to stay, and falling inlove with Count Ferruci, grew jealous of Lydia, and made trouble withVrain. The end of it was that after a succession of scenes, in which theold man behaved like the lunatic he was, he left the house, and not oneof us knew where he went to. That was the last Lydia saw of her husband. 

"After that trouble I insisted that Count Ferruci should leave thehouse; also Miss Tyler. They both did, but came back at times to payLydia a visit. We tried to find Vrain, but could not, as he hadvanished altogether. Ferruci, I saw, was in love with Lydia, and shewith him, but neither the one nor the other hinted at a future marriageshould Vrain die. I do not say that Lydia was a fond wife to Vrain, buthe treated her so badly that he could not expect her to be; and I daresay I am the one to blame all through, as I made Lydia marry Vrain whenshe loved Ferruci. But I did it all for the best, so as to get money formy dear girl; and if it has turned out for the worst, my inordinateaffection for my child is to blame. All I have done has been for Lydia'ssake; all Ferruci did was for Lydia's sake, as he truly loved her; but Iswear by all that I hold most holy that Lydia knew not how either of uswas working to secure her happiness. Well, Ferruci is dead, and I am injail, so we have paid in full for our wickedness. 

"I had no idea of getting rid of Vrain until one day Ferruci took measide and told me that he had found Vrain at Salisbury. He stated thatthe man was still taking morphia, but in spite of his excesses had sostrong a constitution that it appeared he would live for many years. TheCount then said that he loved Lydia dearer than life, and wished tomarry her if Vrain could be got out of the way. I cried out againstmurder being done, as I never entertained such an idea for a moment; butFerruci denied that he wished to harm the man. He wanted him put away ina lunatic asylum, and when I asked him how even then he could marryLydia, he suggested his scheme of substituting a sickly and dying manfor Vrain. The scheme--which was entirely invented by the Count--was asfollows:

"Ferruci said that in a minor London theatre he had seen an actor calledClear, who was wonderfully like Vrain, save that he had no scar on thecheek, and had a moustache, whereas Vrain was always clean-shaved. Hehad made the acquaintance of the actor--Michael Clear was his fullname--and of his wife. They proved to be hard up and mercenary, soFerruci had no difficulty in gaining over both for his purpose. For acertain sum of money (which was to be paid to Mrs. Clear when herhusband was dead and the Count, married to Lydia, was possessed of theassurance money) Clear agreed to shave off his moustache and personateVrain. Ferruci, who was something of a chemist, created by means of someacid a scar on Clear's cheek like that on Vrain's, so that he resembledmy son-in-law in every way save that he had lost one little finger. 

"Ferruci wanted me to join him in the conspiracy so that I could watchClear impersonating Vrain, while he himself kept his eye on the realVrain, who was to be received into Mrs. Clear's house at Bayswater andpassed off as her husband. All Mrs. Clear wanted was the money, as--longsince wearied of her drunken husband--she did not care if he lived ordied. Clear, on his part, knowing that he could not live long, was quitewilling to play the part of Vrain on condition that he had plenty to eatand drink, and could live in idleness and luxury. His wishes in thisdirection cost us a pretty penny, as he bought everything of the best. 

"To this plot I refused consent until I saw how Vrain was: so whenFerruci brought him from Salisbury--where he was hiding--to London, Ihad an interview with him. He proved to be so stupefied with drugs thathe hardly knew me, so, seeing that my Lydia would get no good out of herlife by being tied to such a husband, I determined that I would assistFerruci, on the understanding, of course, that Vrain was to be welllooked after in every way. We agreed that when Clear died, and his bodywas identified as Vrain's, that the real man should be put in an asylum, which was--and I am sure every one will agree with me--the best placefor him. 

"All this being arranged, I went out to look for a house in a secludedpart of the town, in which Clear--under the name of Berwin--should liveuntil he died as Vrain. I did not wish to see about the house in my newcharacter, lest I should be recognised, if there was any trouble overthe assurance money; to complicate matters, I determined to disguisemyself as the real Vrain. Of course, Clear personated Vrain as Lydia hadlast seen him, that is, clean-shaven, and neat in his dress. But thereal Vrain, neglecting his personal appearance, had cultivated a long, white beard, and wore a black velvet skull-cap to conceal a baldnesswhich had come upon him. I disguised myself in this fashion, therefore, and went to Pimlico under the name of Wrent. "

CHAPTER XXXII

THE CONFESSION (_Continued_)

"In Geneva Square, Pimlico, I found the house I wanted. It was No. 13, and was said to be haunted, as cries had been heard in it at night, andlights had been seen flitting from window to window when no one was inthe house. I looked at it without entering, or calling on the landlord, and then I went into Jersey Street to see the back. The house in thesame section with it was kept by a Mrs. Bensusan, who took in lodgers. Her rooms were vacant, and as it suited me very well that I should be aneighbour to Clear, I took the rooms. They proved--as I shallexplain--better for our purpose than I was aware of. 

"When I told Ferruci of my discovery, he gave Clear money and made himhire the house and furnish two rooms for himself. I supplied the money. In this way Clear, calling himself Berwin, which was the name of Vrain'shouse in the country, came to live in Pimlico. We also removed the realVrain to Mrs. Clear's at Bayswater, and he passed as her husband. Soweak were his brains, and so cowed was his spirit, that there was nodifficulty in keeping him in the house, and the neighbours were toldmerely that Clear was ill. 

"For my part, I took up my abode in Jersey Street under the name ofWrent, and met Clear outside on occasions when it was necessary for meto see him; but I never entered the house--for obvious reasons. 

"I was constantly afraid lest Clear, in his drunken fits--for he wasalways more or less drunk--should reveal our secret, and I took as mybedroom an apartment in Mrs. Bensusan's out of the window of which Icould overlook the back of No. 13. One night, when I was watching, I sawa dark figure glide into Mrs. Bensusan's yard and climb over the fence, only to disappear. I was terribly alarmed, and wondering what was wrong, I put on my clothes and hurried downstairs into the yard. Also I climbedover the fence into the yard of No. 13. Here I could not see where thefigure had disappeared to, as the doors and windows at the back of thehouse were all locked. I could not conjecture who the woman was--for itwas a woman I saw--who had entered, or why she had done so, or in whatway she had gained admission. 

"While I was thus thinking I saw the woman again. She apparently roseout of the earth, and after closing what appeared to be a trap-door, shemade for the fence. I stopped her before she got there, and found to mysurprise that she was a red-headed servant of Mrs. Bensusan's--a kind ofgypsy, very clever, and--I think--with much evil in her. She wasalarmed at being discovered, and begged me not to tell on her. For myown sake, I promised not to do so, but made her explain how she got intothe house, and why she entered it. Then she told me an extraordinarytale. 

"For some years, she said, she had been with Mrs. Bensusan, who hadtaken her from the gypsies to civilise her, and hating the restraint ofcivilised life, she had been in the habit of roaming about at night. Knowing that the house at the back was unoccupied, this Rhoda--for thatis her name--climbed over the fence and tried to get into it, but foundthe doors and windows bolted and barred. 

"Then one night she saw a kind of grated window amid the grass, and asthis proved not to be bolted, she pulled it open. Taking a candle withher, she went on a voyage of discovery, and dropped through this holesome distance into a disused cellar. Only a cat could have got insafely, for the height was considerable; and, indeed, Rhoda did not riskthat mode of entrance again, for, finding a ladder in the cellar, which, I presume, had been used to get at the higher bins of wine, she placedthis against the aperture, and thus was enabled to ascend and descendwithout difficulty. Frequently by this means she entered the emptyhouse, and went from room to room with her candle, singing gypsy songsas she wandered. So here I had found the ghost of No. 13, although Idon't suppose this impish gypsy girl knew as much. She haunted thehouse just to amuse herself, when fat Mrs. Bensusan thought she wassafe in bed. 

"I asked Rhoda why she had entered the house on that particular nightwhen I had caught her. She confessed that she had seen some articles ofsilver in Clear's rooms which she wished to steal; but on this occasionhe had locked the door--a thing which he did not always do in hisdrunken humours--and so Rhoda was returning disappointed. After thisconfession I made her go back to her own house and promised to keep hersecret. I also told her that if she held her tongue I would give her apresent. For this purpose I made Ferruci buy me a cloak lined withrabbit skins, as Rhoda on her night excursions wanted something to keepher warm. When Ferruci gave it to me, and it was lying in my room, Mrs. Clear came one night to see me, and finding it cold, she borrowed thecloak to wrap round her. She kept it for some time, and brought it backon Christmas Eve, when I gave it next day to Rhoda. It was Ferruci whobought the cloak, not I; and it was purchased for Rhoda, not for Mrs. Clear. 

"The next night I entered No. 13 by the cellarway, and found it of greatadvantage, as I could visit Clear without exciting suspicion, and sokeep an eye on him. At first he was alarmed by my unexpected appearance, but when I showed him the secret way, he made use of it also. We used itonly on dark nights, and it was for this reason that we were not noticedby the neighbours. It would never have done for any one of us to beseen climbing over the fence. Mrs. Clear once visited her husband, andhad a quarrel with him about his drinking. It was her shadow and Clear'swhich Denzil saw on the blind. As soon as they heard his ring they bothwent out the back way, and in climbing hurriedly over the fence Mrs. Clear tore her veil. It was a portion of this which Denzil found. 

"On that night, Clear, after leaving his wife, entered the square by thefront, and so met with Denzil, much to the latter's surprise. I was veryangry when Clear showed Denzil over the house; but he said that theyoung man was very suspicious, and he only showed him the house to provethat there was no one in it, and that he must have been mistaken aboutthe shadows on the blind. Notwithstanding this explanation, I did notapprove of Clear's act, nor, indeed, of his acquaintance with Denzil. 

"For some months matters went on in this way. Clear remained in theSilent House, drinking himself to death; Mrs. Clear looked after Vrainin her Bayswater house; and I, in my old-man disguise, remained inJersey Street, although at times I left there and went to see mydaughter. All this time Lydia had no idea of what we were preparing. Then I began to grow wearied of the position, for Clear proved tougherthan we anticipated, and showed no signs of dying. In despair, I thoughtI would give him the means to kill himself. 

"Mind, I did not wish to murder him myself; but the man, when in hisdrinking fits, thought he was attacked by enemies, and when in amelancholic frame of mind, on recovery, would frequently hint atsuicide. I therefore thought that if a weapon were left within his reachhe might kill himself. I don't defend my conduct in this case, butsurely this drunken scoundrel was better dead than alive. In choosing aweapon, I wished to select one that would implicate Ferruci rather thanmyself, in case there was any trouble over the matter; so I chose for mypurpose a stiletto which hung by a parti-coloured ribbon on the walls ofthe library at Berwin Manor. I fancied that the stiletto, having beenbought in Florence, and Ferruci coming from Florence, he, ifanyone--should any of these facts come to light--would be credited withgiving it to Clear. 

"I took this stiletto from Berwin Manor some time before Christmas, and, bringing it up to town, I left it, on the day before Christmas, on thetable in Clear's sitting-room. That was at nine o'clock in the night, and that was when I last saw him alive. Who killed him I know no morethan any one else. 

"On Christmas Eve I was ill, and wrote to Lydia to come up. She met meat the Pegalls', but as I felt ill, I left there at six o'clock, andLydia stayed with the family all night. At seven o'clock Mrs. Clear cameto me with Ferruci, and brought back the cloak which I gave afterwardsto Rhoda. She wanted to see her husband again, but I refused to let herrisk the visit. Ferruci came to tell me that he was arranging to placeVrain--who was becoming too violent to be restrained--in the privateasylum of Dr. Jorce, at Hampstead. Mrs. Clear was to go with him, and weconversed about the matter. 

"Ferruci went away first, as he desired to see Clear, and for thatpurpose waited about until it was darker, and went into the back yardshortly after eight o'clock. There he was seen by Rhoda as he was aboutto climb the fence, and, not knowing it was the girl, he took fright andran out of the yard into Jersey Street. Here he found Mrs. Clear, whohad left me and was waiting for him, and the pair went off to see Dr. Jorce at Hampstead. I believe they remained there all night. 

"Left alone, I climbed over the fence about nine o'clock, and saw Clear. He was celebrating Christmas Eve by drinking heavily, and I was unableto bring him to reason. I therefore left the stiletto which I hadbrought with me on the table, and returned to my house in Jersey Street. I never saw him alive again. I went to bed and slept all night, so I wasaware of nothing in connection with the death until late on ChristmasDay. Then Mrs. Bensusan was told by Miss Greeb, the landlady of Denzil, that the tenant of No. 13 had been murdered. I fancied that he hadkilled himself in a fit of melancholia, with the stiletto I had left onhis table; but I did not dare to go near the house to find this out. 

"Afterwards I learned that the doctor who examined the body was of theopinion that Clear had been murdered; and, being afraid about the policetaking up the case, I paid Mrs. Bensusan a week's rent and left herhouse two days after Christmas. I returned to Berwin Manor, and shortlyafterwards Ferruci joined me there, as he had successfully incarceratedVrain in the asylum under the name of Michael Clear. 

"When the advertisement came out, it was I who hinted to Lydia that thedead man--seeing that he was called Berwin--might be her husband. Wewent up to town: Lydia identified the body of Clear as her husband inall innocence--for after death the man looked more like Vrain than ever;and in due time the assurance money was obtained. 

"I do not think there is anything more to tell, save that I did not knowthat Mrs. Clear had betrayed me. I could not pay her the money, as Icould not get it from Lydia. I told Lydia I was going to Paris, but inreality I was hunting for Rhoda, who had run away from Jersey Street. Ifancied she might betray us, and wished to make things safe with her. Before I found her, however, I saw in the papers that Ferruci hadcommitted suicide; also that Lydia--who had gone to Dover to meet me, thinking I was returning from Paris--had been arrested. Then I saw Mrs. Clear's advertisement saying she would betray me if I did not pay themoney. I consented to meet her in order to implore her silence, and sofell into the clutches of the law. 

"I may state that I did not kill Clear, as I never saw him after nineo'clock, and then he was alive. In spite of what the doctor said, I amstill inclined to think he killed himself. Now I have made a cleanbreast of it--I am willing to be punished; but I hope Lydia will be setfree, for whosoever is guilty, she is innocent. I have been an unluckyman, and I remain one at this moment when I sign myself for the lasttime, JABEZ CLYNE. "

 * * * * *

Needless to say, both Link and Denzil were greatly surprised at thisconfession, which revealed all things save the one they wished to know. 

"What do you think of this idea of suicide?" asked Lucian. 

"It is quite out of the question, " replied the detective decidedly. "Thedoctor who examined the body said that it was impossible the man couldhave committed suicide. The position of the wound shows that; also thepower of the stroke. No man could drive a stiletto so dexterously andstrongly into the heart. Also the room was in confusion, which points toa struggle, and the stiletto is missing. It was not suicide, but murder, and I believe either Clyne or Ferruci killed the man. "

"But Ferruci was not----"

"He was not there after ten, " interrupted Link, "but he was there abouteight. I dare say when Rhoda saw him he was coming back after havingcommitted the deed, and Clyne says the stiletto was not there at thetime just to screen him. "

"It is of little use to screen the dead, " said Lucian. "I think only oneperson can tell the truth about this murder, and that is Rhoda. "

"I'm looking for her, Mr. Denzil. "

This was easy saying, but harder doing, for weeks passed away, and inspite of all the efforts of the police Rhoda could not be found. Thenone morning the detective, much excited, burst into Lucian's roomswaving a paper over his head. 

"A confession!" he cried. "Another confession!"

"Of whom?" asked Lucian, surprised. 

"Of Rhoda!" replied Link excitedly. "She has confessed! It was Rhoda whokilled Michael Clear!"

CHAPTER XXXIII

WHAT RHODA HAD TO SAY

Of all the news concerning the truth of Clear's death, this was the lastwhich Lucian expected to hear. He stood staring at the excited face ofthe detective in wide-eyed surprise, and for the moment could not findhis voice. 

"It is true, I tell you!" cried Link, sitting down and smoothing out thepaper which he carried. "Rhoda, and none other, killed the man!"

"Are you sure, Link?"

"Of course I am. This, " flourishing the paper, "is her dyingconfession. "

"Her dying confession?" repeated the barrister blankly. "Is she dead, also?"

"Yes. It is a long story, Mr. Denzil. Sit down, and I'll tell it to you. As you have had so much to do with the beginning of the case, it is onlyfair that you should know the end, and a strange end it is. "

Without a word Lucian sat down, feeling quite confused, for in no waycould he guess how Clear had come by his death at the hands of Rhoda. Hehad suspected Lydia as guilty of the crime; he had credited Ferruciwith its commission, and he had been certain of the guilt of Clyne, _alias_ Wrent; but to discover that the red-headed servant was theculprit entirely bewildered him. She had no motive to kill the man; shehad given evidence freely in the matter, and in all respects had actedas an innocent person. So this was why she had left Jersey Street? Itwas a fear of being arrested for the crime which had driven her into thewilds. But, as Lucian privately thought, she need not have fled, for--sofar as he could see--beyond the startling announcement of Link, therewas no evidence to connect her with the matter. It was mostextraordinary. 

"I see you are astonished, " said Link, with a nod; "so was I. Of allfolk, I least suspected that imp of a girl. The truth would never havebeen known, had she not confessed at the last moment; for even now Icannot see, on the face of it, any evidence--save her own confession--toinculpate her in the matter. So you see, Mr. Denzil, the mystery of thisman's death, which we have been so anxious to solve, has not beenexplained by you, or discovered by me, but has been brought to light bychance, which, after all, is the great detective. You may well lookastonished, " repeated the man slowly; "I am--immensely. "

"Let me hear the confession, Link!"

"Wait one moment. I'll tell you how it came to be made, and then I'llrelate the story in my own fashion, as the way in which the confessionis written is too muddled for you to understand clearly. Still, itshows plainly enough that Clyne, for all our suspicions, is innocent. "

"And Rhoda, the sharp servant girl, guilty, " said Lucian, reflectively. "I never should have thought that she was involved in the matter. Howthe deuce did she come to confess?"

"Well, " said Link, clearing his throat as a preliminary to hisnarrative, "it seems that Mr. Bensusan, in a fit of philanthropy, pickedup this wretched girl in the country. She belonged to some gypsies, butas her parents were dead, and the child a burden, the tribe were glad toget rid of her. Rhoda Stanley--that is her full name--was taken toLondon by Mrs. Bensusan, who tried to civilise her. "

"I don't think she succeeded very well, Link. Rhoda, with her cunningways and roaming about at night, was always a savage at heart. In spiteof what Clyne says in his confession, I believe she took a delight inturning No. 13 into a haunted house with her shrieking and her flittingcandles. How she must have enjoyed herself when she heard the talk aboutthe ghost!"

"I have no doubt she did, Mr. Denzil, but even those delights weariedher, and she longed to get back to the free gypsy life. When shefound--through you, sir--that the police wanted to know too much aboutClear's death, she left Mrs. Bensusan in the lurch, and tramped off downto the New Forest, where she picked up again with her tribe. "

"How did her mistress take her desertion?"

"Very much to heart, as she had treated the young savage very kindly, and ought to have received more gratitude. Perhaps when she hears howher adopted child wandered about at night, and ended by killing Clear, she will be glad she is dead and buried. Yet, I don't know. Women arewonderfully soft-hearted, and certainly Rhoda is thought no end of bythat fat woman. "

"Well! well!" said Lucian, impatient of this digression. "So Rhoda wentback to her tribe?"

"Yes, sir; and as she was sharp, clever, and, moreover, came with somemoney which she had stolen from Mrs. Bensusan--for she added theft toingratitude--she was received with open arms. With her gypsy cousins shewent about in the true gypsy style, but, not being hardened to theoutdoor life in wet weather, she fell ill. "

"Civilisation made her delicate, I suppose, " said Denzil grimly. 

"Exactly; she was not fit for the tent life after having lived for solong under a comfortable roof. She fell ill with inflammation of thelungs, and in a wonderfully short space of time she died. "

"When did she confess her crime?"

"I'm coming to that, sir. When she was dying she sent two gypsies to thenearest magistrate--who happened to be the vicar of the parish in whichthe tribe were then encamped--and asked him to see her on a matter oflife and death. The vicar came at once, and when he became aware thatRhoda was the girl wanted in the Vrain case--for he had read all abouther in the papers--he became very interested. He took down theconfession of the wretched girl, had it signed by two witnesses andRhoda herself, and sent it up to Scotland Yard. "

"And this confession----"

"Here it is, " said Link, pointing to the manuscript on the table; "butit is too long to read, so I shall just tell you briefly what Rhodaconfessed, and how she committed the crime. "

"Go on! I am most anxious to hear, Link!"

"Well, Mr. Denzil, you know that Rhoda was in the habit of visiting No. 13 by night and amusing herself by wandering about the empty rooms, although I don't know what pleasure she found in doing so. It seems thatwhen Clear became the tenant of the house, Rhoda was very angry, as hispresence interfered with her midnight capers. However, on seeing hisrooms--for Clear found her one night, and took her in to show them toher--she was filled with admiration, and with true gypsy instinct wantedto steal some of the ornaments. She tried to pocket a silver paper-knifeon that very night Clear was so hospitable to her, but she was not sharpenough, and the man saw the theft. In a rage at her dishonesty he turnedher out of the room, and swore that he would thrash her if she came intohis presence again. "

"Did the threat keep Rhoda away?"

"Not it. I am sure you saw enough of that wildcat to know nothing wouldfrighten her. She certainly did not thrust herself personally on Clear, but whenever his back was turned she took to stealing things out of hisroom, when he was foolish enough to leave the door open. Clear was muchenraged, and complained to Clyne--known to Rhoda as Wrent--who in histurn read the girl a sharp lecture. 

"But having shown Clyne the cellarway into the house, Miss Rhoda knewtoo much, and laughed in Clyne's face. He did not dare to make herthefts public, or complain to Mrs. Bensusan, lest Rhoda should tell ofthe connection between him and the tenant of the Silent House, whopassed under the name of Berwin. Therefore, he told Clear to keep hissitting-room door locked. "

"A wise precaution, with that imp about, " said Lucian. "I hope Clear wassensible enough to adopt it. "

"Yes, and no. When he was sober he locked the door, and when drunk heleft it open, and Rhoda looted at will. And now comes the more importantpart of the confession. You remember that Clyne left the stiletto fromBerwin Manor on Clear's table?"

"Yes, with the amiable intention that the poor devil should killhimself. He left it on Christmas Eve, too--a pleasant time for a man tocommit suicide!"

"Of course, the intention was horrible!" said Mr. Link, gravely. "Somepeople might think such an act incredible; but I have seen so much ofthe worst side of human nature that I am not surprised. Clyne was toocowardly to kill the man himself, so he thought to make Clear his ownexecutioner by leaving the stiletto in his way. Well, sir, the weaponproved to be useful in the way it was intended by Clyne, for Clear waskilled with that very weapon. "

"And by Rhoda!" said Lucian, nodding. "I see! How did she get hold ofit?"

"By accident. When Wrent--I mean Clyne--and Mrs. Bensusan went to bed onChristmas Eve, Rhoda thought she would have some of her devil dances inthe haunted house; so she slipped out of bed and into the yard, anddropped down into the cellar, whence she went up to Clear's rooms. "

"Was Clear in bed?"

"No; but he was in his bedroom, and, according to Rhoda, furiouslydrunk. You know that Clyne said the man had been drinking all day. Onthis night he had left his sitting-room door open, and the lamp burning. On the table was the silver-handled stiletto, with the ribbon; and whenRhoda peered into the room to see what she could pick up, she thoughtshe would like this pretty toy. She stole forward softly and took thestiletto, but before she could get back to the door, Clear, who had beenwatching her, reeled out and rushed at her. "

"Did she run away?"

"She couldn't. Clear was between her and the door. She ran round theroom, upsetting everything, for she thought he would kill her in hisdrunken rage. Don't you remember, Mr. Denzil, how disorderly the roomwas? Well, Clear got Rhoda into a corner, and was going to strike her;she had the stiletto still in her hand, and held it point outward tosave herself from the blow. She thought when he saw the weapon he wouldnot dare to come nearer. However, either he did not see the stiletto, orwas too drunk to feel fear, for he stumbled and fell forward, so thatthe dagger ran right into his heart. In a moment he fell dead, before hehad time, as Rhoda says, to even utter a cry. "

"So it was an accident, after all?" said Lucian. 

"Oh, yes, quite an accident, " replied Link, "and I can see very plainlyhow it took place. Of course, Rhoda was terrified at what she haddone--although she really was not to blame--and leaving the dead man, ran away with the stiletto. She dropped the ribbon off it near thecellar door as she was running away, and there Mrs. Kebby found it. "

"What did she do with the stiletto?"

"She had it in her room, and when she left Mrs. Bensusan she carried itwith her down the country. In proof of the truth, she gave it to thevicar who wrote down her confession, and he sent it up with the papersto Scotland Yard. Queer case, isn't it?"

"Very queer, Link. I thought everybody was guilty but Rhoda. "

"Ah!" said the detective, significantly, "it is always the leastsuspected person who is guilty. I could have sworn that Clyne was theman. Now it seems that he is innocent, so instead of hanging he willonly be imprisoned for his share in the conspiracy. "

"He may escape that way, " said Lucian drily, "but, morally speaking, Iregard him as more guilty than Rhoda. "

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE END OF IT ALL

Two years after the discovery of Rhoda's guilt, Mr. And Mrs. Denzil wereseated in the garden of Berwin Manor. It was a perfect summer evening, at the sunset hour, something like that evening when, in the samegarden, almost at the same time, Lucian had asked Diana to be his wife. But between then and now twenty-four months had elapsed, and many thingshad taken place of more or less importance to the young couple. 

The mystery of Clear's death had been solved; Lydia had been set free asinnocent of crime; her father, found guilty of conspiracy to obtain theassurance money, had been condemned to a long term of imprisonment, and, what most concerned Lucian and Diana, Mark Vrain had really and trulygone the way of all flesh. 

After the conclusion of the Vrain case Lucian had become formallyengaged to Diana, but it was agreed between them that the marriageshould not take place for some time on account of her father's health. After his discharge as cured from the asylum of Dr. Jorce, Miss Vrainhad taken her father down to his own place in the country, and theretended him with the most affectionate solicitude, in the hope that hewould recover his health. But the hope was vain, for by hisover-indulgence in morphia, his worrying and wandering, and irregularmode of life, Vrain had completely shattered his health. He lapsed intoa state of second childhood, and, being deprived of the drugs whichformerly had excited him to a state of frenzy, sank into a pitiablecondition. For days he would remain without speaking to any one, andeven ceased to take a pleasure in his books. Finally his limbs becameparalysed, and so he spent the last few months of his wretched life in abath-chair, being wheeled round the garden. 

Still, his constitution was so strong that he lived for quite twelvemonths after his return to his home, and died unexpectedly in his sleep. Diana was not sorry when he passed so easily away, for death was amerciful release of his tortured soul from his worn-out body. So MarkVrain died, and was buried, and after the funeral Diana went abroad, with Miss Priscilla Barbar for a companion. 

In the meantime, Lucian stayed in grimy, smoky London, and worked hardat his profession. He was beginning to be known, and in time actuallyreceived a brief or two, with which he did his best in court. Still, hewas far from being the successful pleader he hoped to be, for law, ofall professions, is one which demands time and industry for theattainment of any degree of excellence. It is rarely that a younglawyer can go to sleep and wake to find himself famous; he must crawlrather than run. With diligence and punctuality, and observance of everychance, in time the wished-for goal is reached, although that goal, innine cases out of ten, is a very moderate distance off. Lucian did notsigh for a judgeship, or for a seat on the Woolsack; he was content tobe a barrister with a good practice, and perhaps a Q. C. -ship inprospect. However, during the year of Diana's mourning he did so wellthat he felt justified in asking her to marry him when she returned. Diana, on her side, saw no obstacle to this course, so she consented. 

"If you are not rich, my dear, I am, " she said, when Lucian alleged hispoverty as the only bar to their union, "and as money gives me nopleasure without you, I do not care to stay in Berwin Manor in lonelyspinsterhood. I shall marry you whenever you choose. "

And Lucian, taking advantage of this gracious permission, did choose tobe married, and that speedily; so within two years after the finalclosing of the Vrain case they became man and wife. At the time theywere seated in the garden, at the hour of sunset, they had only latelyreturned from their honeymoon, and were now talking over pastexperiences. Miss Priscilla, who had been left in charge of the Manorduring their absence, had welcomed them back with much joy, as shelooked upon the match as one of her own making. Now she had gone inside, on the understanding that two are company and three are none, and theyoung couple were left alone. Hand in hand, after the foolish fashion oflovers, they sat under a leafy oak tree, and the sunlight glowed redlyon their happy faces. After a short silence Lucian looked at the face ofhis wife and laughed. 

"What is amusing you, dear?" said Mrs. Denzil, with a sympathetic smile. 

"My thoughts were rather pleasant than amusing, " replied Lucian, givingthe hand that lay in his a squeeze, "but I was thinking of HansAndersen's tale of the Elder Mother Tree, and of the old couple who satenjoying their golden wedding under the linden, with the red sunlightshining on their silver crowns. "

"We are under an oak and wear no crowns, " replied Diana in her turn, "but we are quite as happy, I think, although it is not our goldenwedding. "

"Perhaps that will come some day, Diana. "

"Fifty years, my dear; it's a long way off yet, " said Mrs. Denzildubiously. 

"I am glad it is, for I shall have (D. V. , ) fifty years of happiness withyou to look forward to. Upon my word, Diana, I think you deservehappiness, after all the trouble you have had. "

"With you I am sure to be happy, Lucian, but other people, poor souls, are not so well off. "

"What other people?"

"Jabez Clyne, for one. "

"My dear, " said Lucian, seriously, "I hope I am not a hard man, but Ireally cannot find it in my heart to pity Clyne. He was--and I dare sayis--a scoundrel!"

"I don't deny that he acted badly, " sighed Diana, "but it was for hisdaughter's sake, you know. "

"There is a limit even to paternal affection, Diana. And putting asidethe wickedness of the whole conspiracy, I cannot pardon a man whodeliberately put a weapon in the way of a man almost insane with drink, in order that he might kill himself. The idea was diabolically wicked, my dear, and I think that Jabez Clyne, _alias_ Wrent, quite deserves thelong imprisonment he received. "

"At all events, the Sirius Company got back their money, Lucian. "

"So much as Lydia had not spent they got back, Diana; but when yourfather actually died they had to part with it very soon again, and someof it has gone into Lydia's pocket after all. "

Diana blushed. "It was only right, dear, " she said, apologetically. "When my father made his new will, leaving it all to me, I did not thinkthat Lydia, however badly she treated him, should be left absolutelypenniless. And you know, Lucian, you agreed that I should share theassurance money with her. "

"I did, " replied Denzil. "Of two evils I chose the least, for if Lydiahad not got a portion of the money she would have been quite capable oftrying to upset the second will on the ground that Mr. Vrain wasinsane. "

"Papa was not insane, " reproved Diana. "He was weak, I admit, but atthe time he made that will he had all his senses. Besides, after all thescandal of the case, I don't think Lydia would have dared to go to lawabout it. Still, it was best to give her the money, and I hear from MissPriscilla that Lydia is now in Italy, and proposes to marry an Italianprince. "

"She has flown higher than a count, then. Poor Ferruci killed himselffor her sake. "

"For his own, rather, " exclaimed Mrs. Denzil energetically. "He knewthat if he lived he would be punished by imprisonment, so chose to killhimself rather than suffer such dishonour. I believe he truly lovedLydia, certainly, but as he wanted the assurance money, I fancy hesinned quite as much for his own sake as for Lydia's. "

"No doubt; and I dare say Lydia loved him, after her own fashion; yetshe seems to have forgotten him pretty soon, and--as you say--intends tomarry a prince. I don't envy his highness. "

"She has no heart, so I dare say she will be happy as such women everare, " said Diana contemptuously, "yet her happiness comes out of muchevil. If she had not married my father, her own would not now be inprison, nor would Count Ferruci and Rhoda be dead. "

"Ferruci, perhaps, might still be alive, and her husband, " assentedLucian, "but I have my doubts about Rhoda. She was a wicked, precociouslittle imp, that girl, and sooner or later would have come to a bad end. The death of Clear was due to an accident, I admit; but Rhoda has stillone person who laments over her, for, although Mrs. Bensusan knows thetruth, she always thinks of that red-haired minx as a kind of martyr, who was led into wicked ways by Clyne, _alias_ Wrent. "

"I am sure Mrs. Clear doesn't think so. "

"Mrs. Clear has got quite enough to think about in remembering hownarrowly she escaped imprisonment for her share in that shamefulconspiracy. If she had not turned Queen's evidence, she would have beenpunished as Clyne was; as it is, she just escaped by an accident. Still, if it had not been for her, we should never have discovered the truth. Iwould never have suspected Clyne, who was always so meek and mild. Eventhat visit he paid to me to lament over his daughter's probable marriageto Ferruci was a trick to find out how much I knew. "

"Don't you think he hated Ferruci?"

"No; I am sure he did not. He acted a part to find out what I was doing. If Mrs. Clear had not betrayed him we should never have discovered theconspiracy. "

"And if Rhoda had not spoken, the mystery of Clear's death would neverhave been solved, " said Diana, "although she only confessed at theeleventh hour, and when she was dying. "

"I think Link was pleased that the mystery was solved in so unexpected away, " said Lucian, laughing. "He never forgave my finding out so muchwithout his aid. He ascribes the ending of the whole matter to chance, and I dare say he is right. "

"H'm!" said Mrs. Denzil, who had no great love for the detective. "Hecertainly left everything to chance. Twice he gave up the case. ". 

"And twice I gave it up, " said Denzil. "If it had not been for you, dear, I should never have gone on with what seemed to be a hopelesstask. But when I first met you you induced me to continue the search forthe culprit, and again when, by the evidence of the missing finger, youdid not believe your father was dead. "

"Well, you worked; I worked; Link worked, " said Diana, philosophically, "and we all three did our best to discover the truth. "

"Only to let chance discover it in the long run. "

Diana laughed and nodded, but did not contradict her husband. "Well, mydear, " she said, "I think we have discussed the subject pretty freely, but there is one thing I should like to know. What about the SilentHouse in Pimlico?"

"Oh, Miss Greeb told me the other day that Peacock is going to pull itdown. You know, just before we were married I took leave of Miss Greeb, with whom I lodged for a long time. Well, she gave me a piece of news. She is going to be married, also, and to whom, do you think?"

"I don't know, " said Diana, looking interested, as women always do inmarriage news. 

"To Peacock, who owns nearly all the property in and about GenevaSquare. It will be a splendid match for her, and Mrs. Peacock, will bemuch richer than you or I, Diana. "

"But not happier, my dear. I am glad she is to be married, as she seemeda nice woman, and made you very comfortable. But why is the Silent Houseto be pulled down?"

"Because no one will live in it. "

"But it is not haunted now. You know it was discovered that Rhoda wasthe ghost, and the ghost, as Miss Greeb suggested, killed Clear. "

"It is haunted now by the ghost of Clear, " said Lucian gravely. "At allevents, he was murdered there, and no one cares to live in the house. Iconfess I shouldn't care to live in it myself. So, Peacock, finding thehouse unprofitable, has determined to pull it down. "

"So there is an end to the Silent House of Pimlico, " said Diana, risingand taking her husband's arm. "Come inside, Lucian. It grows chilly. "

 "'Tho' winds be cold and nights be drear, Yet love makes warm our hearts, my dear, '"

quoted Lucian, as they went up to the house. "That is not very goodpoetry, but it is a beautiful truth, my love. "

Diana laughed, and looked up proudly into the bright face of herhusband. 

So they went inside, and found that Miss Priscilla had made the tea, andall were very happy, and very thankful for their happiness. In thiscondition, which is sufficiently pleasant, I think we may leave them. 

THE END