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 off

again in full cry with a budget of ancient gossip drawn from a very

retentive 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 by

her 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 Lydia

in your interest, dear, and our housemaid heard from your housemaid the

most dreadful things. Why, Mr. Vrain remonstrated with Lydia, and

ordered 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 with

her 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 answer

this question, but tossed her head and bit her lip, with a fine colour.

All her accusations of Mrs. Vrain had been made generally, and, as

Lucian noted, were unsupported by fact. From a legal point of view this

spiteful gossip of a jealous woman was worth nothing, but in a broad

sense it was certainly useful in showing the discord which had existed

between Vrain and his wife. Lucian saw that little good was to be gained

from this prejudiced witness, so thanking Miss Tyler courteously for her

information, he arose to go.

"Wait for a moment, Mr. Denzil," said Diana hurriedly. "I want to ask

you something. Bella, would you mind----"

"Leaving the room? Oh, dear, no!" burst out Miss Tyler, annoyed at being

excluded. "I've said all I have to say, and anything I can do, dearest

Di, to assist you and Mr. Denzil in hanging that woman, I----"

"Miss Tyler," interrupted Lucian sternly, "you must not speak so

wildly, 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 suppose

you take her side, because she is supposed to be pretty. Pretty!"

reflected Bella scornfully, "I never could see it myself; a painted up

minx, 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 never

married one! Indeed no! He! he!"

And with a shrill laugh to point this sour-grape sentiment, and mark her

disdain for Lucian, the fair Bella took herself and her lean form out of

the room.

Diana and the barrister were too deeply interested in their business to

take much notice of Bella's hysterical outburst, but looked at one

another 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 that

she or her servant may know something about the illegal use made of the

right of way."

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

meantime?"

"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 to

Berwin Manor she is certain to hear that I am in England, and may

perhaps find out my address, and call. But if she does, you may be sure

that 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 shall

call 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, and

so warm a pressure of the hand, that Lucian felt quite overcome, and not

trusting himself to speak, walked swiftly out of the room.

In spite of the gravity of the task in which he was concerned, at that

moment he thought more of Diana's looks and speech than of the detective

business which he had taken up for love's sake. But on reaching his

rooms in Geneva Square he made a mighty effort to waken from these day

dreams, and with a stern determination addressed himself resolutely to

the work in hand.

In this case the bitter came before the sweet. But by accomplishing the

desire of Diana, and solving the mystery of her father's death, Lucian

hoped to win not only her smiles but the more substantial reward of her

heart and hand.

Before calling on Mrs. Bensusan the barrister debated within himself as

to whether it would not be judicious to call in again the assistance of

Link, and by telling him of the new evidence which had been found place

him thereby in possession of new material to prosecute the case. But

Link lately had taken so pessimistic a view of the matter that Lucian

fancied he would scoff at his late discoveries, and discourage him in

prosecuting what seemed to be a fruitless quest.

Denzil was anxious, as Diana's knight, to do as much of the work as

possible in order to gain the reward of her smiles. It is true that he

had no legal authority to make these inquiries, and it was possible that

Mrs. Bensusan might refuse to answer questions concerning her own

business, unsanctioned by law; but on recalling the description of Miss

Greeb, Lucian fancied that Mrs. Bensusan, as a fat woman, might only be

good-natured and timid.

He therefore dismissed all ideas of asking Link to intervene, and

resolved to risk a personal interview with the tenant of the Jersey

Street house. It would be time enough to invite Link's assistance, he

thought, when Mrs. Bensusan--as yet an unknown quantity in the

case--proved obstinate in replying to his questions.

Mrs. Bensusan proved to be quite as stout as Miss Greeb had reported. A

gigantically fat woman, she made up in breadth what she lacked in

length. Yet she seemed to have some activity about her, too, for she

opened the door personally to Lucian, who was quite amazed when he

beheld her monstrous bulk blocking up the doorway. Her face was white

and 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, appeared

to be a timid, lymphatic woman, likely to answer any questions put to

her in a sufficiently peremptory tone. Lucian foresaw that he was not

likely to have much trouble with this mountain of flesh.

"What might you be pleased to want, sir?" she asked Lucian, in the

meekest of voices. "Is it about the lodgings?"

"Yes," answered the barrister boldly, for he guessed that Mrs. Bensusan

would scuttle back into the house like a rabbit to its burrow, did he

speak too plainly at the outset, "that is--I wish to inquire about a

friend of mine."

"Did he lodge here, sir?"

"Yes. A Mr. Wrent."

"Deary me!" said the fat woman, with mild surprise. "Mr. Wrent left me

shortly after Christmas. A kind gentleman, but timid; he----"

"Excuse me," interrupted Lucian, who wanted to get into the house, "but

don't you think you could tell me about my friend in a more convenient

situation?"

"Oh, yes, sir--certainly, sir," wheezed Mrs. Bensusan, rolling back up

the narrow passage. "I beg your pardon, sir, for my forgetfulness, but

my head ain't what it ought to be. I'm a lone widow, sir, and not over

strong."

Denzil could have laughed at this description, as the lady's bulk gave

the lie to her assertion. However, on diplomatic grounds he suppressed

his mirth, and followed his ponderous guide into a sitting-room so small

that she almost filled it herself.

As he left the passage he saw a brilliant red head pop down the

staircase leading to the basement; but whether it was that of a man or a

woman he could not say. Still, on recalling Miss Greeb's description of

the Bensusan household, he concluded that the red head was the property

of Rhoda, the sharp servant, and argued from her appearance in the

background, and rapid disappearance, that she was in the habit of

listening to conversations she was not meant to hear.

Mrs. Bensusan sat down on the sofa, as being most accommodating to her

bulk, and cast a watery look around the small apartment, which was

furnished in that extraordinary fashion which seems to be the peculiar

characteristic of boarding houses. The walls and carpet were patterned

with glowing bunches of red roses; the furniture was covered with

stamped red velvet; the ornaments consisted of shells, wax fruit under

glass shades, mats of Berlin wool, vases with dangling pendants of

glass, and such like elegant survivals of the early Victorian epoch.

Hideous as the apartment was, it seemed to afford Mrs. Bensusan--also a

survival--great pleasure; and she cast a complacent look around as

Lucian seated himself on an uncomfortable chair covered with an

antimacassar 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 must

be on account of that horrible murder."

"The murder of Vrain in No. 13?"

"Ah!" groaned the fat woman, looking tearfully over her double chin, "I

see you have heard of it."

"Everybody has heard of it," replied Lucian, "and I was one of the first

to hear, since I live in Miss Greeb's house, opposite No. 13."

"Indeed, sir!" grunted Mrs. Bensusan, stiffening a little at the sound

of a rival lodging-house keeper's name. "Then you are Mr. Denzil, the

gentleman 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 on

the gentleman in my life."

Mrs. Bensusan gasped like a fish out of water, and patted her fat

breast with her fat hand, as though to give herself courage. "It is not

like a gentleman to say that another gentleman's his friend when he

ain't," she said, with an attempt at dignity.

"Very true," answered Lucian, with great composure, "but you know the

saying, '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 connection

with the murder of Mr. Vrain, in No. 13, on Christmas Eve."

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

horrified 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 her

eyes to the ceiling.

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

unborn!"

"Of what?" asked Lucian sharply.

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

said----"

"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 back

of 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 through

that 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!"