CHAPTER XIX

THE DEFENCE OF COUNT FERRUCI

"It is quite impossible!" cried Mrs. Vrain distractedly. "I can't

believe it nohow!"

The little woman was back again in her own drawing-room, talking to

Lucian about the discovery which had lately been made regarding

Ferruci's purchase of the cloak. Mrs. Vrain having proved her own

innocence by the evidence of the Pegall family, was now trying to

persuade both herself and Denzil that the Count could not be possibly

implicated in the matter. He had no motive to kill Vrain, she said, a

statement with which Lucian at once disagreed.

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Vrain, he had two motives," said the barrister

quickly. "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 your

husband he hoped to gain both."

"He has gained neither, as yet," replied Lydia sharply. "I like Ercole

well enough, and at one time I was almost engaged to him. But he has a

nasty temper of his own, Mr. Denzil, so I shunted him pretty smart to

marry Mark Vrain. I wouldn't marry him now if he dumped down a million

dollars at my feet to-morrow. Besides, poppa don't like him at all. I've

got my money, and I've got my freedom, and I don't fool away either the

one 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 after

Mark's death, and I just up and told him pretty plain how the cat

jumped."

"In plain English, you refused him?"

"You bet I did!" cried Lydia vigorously. "So you see, Mr. Denzil, he

could not have killed Mark."

"Why not? He did not know your true mind until two months after the

murder."

"That's a fact, anyhow," commented Mrs. Vrain. "But what the mischief

made 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 Jersey

Street so often wore this cloak; therefore, she must have obtained it

from the Count. I'll make him tell me who she is, and what she has to do

with this crime."

"Do you think she has anything to do with it?" said Mrs. Vrain

doubtfully.

"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 at

Jersey Street, and was seen by the servant in the back yard. He did not

act 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 save

that 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 black

velvet."

"Ugh!" said Mrs. Vrain, with a shiver. "Mark used to wear a black

skull-cap, and the thought of it makes me freeze up. Sounds like a judge

of your courts ordering a man to be lynched. Well, Mr. Denzil, it seems

to me as you'd best hustle Ercole. If he knows who the woman is--and he

wouldn'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 I

tell poppa what a mean white he is. I guess poppa won't let him come

near 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 without

hesitation. "I draw the line at murder--some!"

The barrister was somewhat disgusted to hear Mrs. Vrain so coolly devote

her whilom admirer to a shameful death. However, he knew that her heart

was hard and her nature selfish; so there was little use in showing any

outward displeasure at her want of charity. She had cleared herself from

suspicion, and evidently cared not who suffered, so long as she was safe

and well spoken of. Moreover, Lucian had learned all he wished about her

movements on the night of the crime, and taking a hasty leave, he went

off to Marquis Street for the purpose of bringing Ferruci to book for

his share in the terrible business. However, the Count proved to be from

home, 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. Here

he detailed what he had learned and done from the time he had visited

Mrs. Bensusan up to the interview with Lydia. Also he displayed the

cloak, and narrated how Mrs. Vrain had cleared herself of its purchase.

To all this Diana listened with the greatest interest, and when Lucian

ended 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 the

present position of affairs.

"Well, Miss Vrain," said Lucian, seeing that she did not speak, "what

do 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 all

innocence--proves that she could not have been in Geneva Square or in

Jersey Street on Christmas Eve."

"Then we come back to my original belief, Mr. Denzil. Lydia did not

commit 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 guilt

she would not have risked going with me to Baxter & Co., and letting me

discover that Ferruci had bought the cloak. Nor would she so lightly

surrender a possible accomplice as she has done Ferruci. Whatever can be

said of Mrs. Vrain's conduct--and I admit that it is far from

perfect--yet I must say that she appears, by the strongest evidence, to

be totally innocent and ignorant. She knows no more about the matter

than 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 clear

himself he will have to give the same proof as Mrs. Vrain. Firstly, he

will 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 in

the 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 may

do so."

"It seems to me, Mr. Denzil, that your only chance of getting at the

truth 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 well

proceed in the matter until his professional services are required to

arrest Count Ferruci. By the way, I have never seen that gentleman. Can

you 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 olive

complexioned. He speaks English very well, indeed, and appears to be

possessed of considerable education. Certainly, to look at him, and to

speak with him, you would not think he was a villain likely to murder a

defenceless old man. But if he did not kill my poor father, I know not

who did."

"I'll call on him to-morrow at noon," said Lucian, "and later on I shall

come here to tell you what has passed between us."

This remark brought the business between them to a close, but Lucian

would fain have lingered to engage Diana in lighter conversation. Miss

Vrain, however, was too much disturbed by the news he had brought her

to indulge in frivolous talk. Her mind, busied with recollections of her

deceased father, and anxiously seeking some means whereby to avenge his

death, was ill attuned to encourage at the moment the aspirations which

she knew Lucian entertained.

The barrister, therefore, sighed and hinted in vain. His Dulcinea would

have none of him or his courting, and he was compelled to retire, as

disconsolate a lover as could be seen. To slightly alter the saying of

Shakespeare, "the course of true love never does run smooth," but there

were surely an unusual number of obstacles in the current of Denzil's

desires. But as he consoled himself with reflecting that the greater the

prize the harder it is to win, so it behooved him to do his devoir like

a true knight.

The next day, at noon, Lucian, armed for the encounter with the evidence

of Rhoda and of the cloak, presented himself at the rooms which Count

Ferruci temporarily inhabited in Marquis Street. He not only found the

Italian ready to receive him, but in full possession of the adventure of

the cloak, which, as he admitted, he had learned from Lydia the previous

evening. Also, Count Ferruci was extremely indignant, and informed

Lucian that he was easily able to clear himself of the suspicion. While

he raged on in his fiery Italian way, Denzil, who saw no chance of

staying the torrent of words, examined him at his leisure.

Ercole Ferruci was, as Diana had said, a singularly handsome man of

thirty-five. He was dark, slender, and tall, with dark, flashing eyes, a

heavy black moustache, and an alert military look about him which showed

that he had served in the army. The above description savours a trifle

of the impossible hero of a young lady's dream; and, as a matter of

fact, Ferruci was not unlike that ideal personage. He had all the looks

and graces which women admire, and seemed honest and fiery enough in a

manly way--the last person, as Lucian thought, to gain his aims by

underhand ways, or to kill a helpless old man. But Lucian, legally

experienced in human frailty, was not to be put off with voluble

conversation and outward graces. He wished for proofs of innocence, and

these he tried to obtain as soon as Ferruci drew breath in his fiery

harangue.

"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 say

you 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 more

phlegmatic 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 who

sold it says."

"I will come at once!" cried Ferruci hastily, catching up his cane and

hat. "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 can

say? Why, all we Italians are supposed to be tall and dark, and wear

moustaches. Your common people in England never fancy one of us can be

fair."

"You are not fair," replied Lucian drily, "and your looks correspond to

the description."

"True! Oh, yes, sir! But that description might describe a dozen of my

countrymen. And, Mr. Denzil," added the Count, laughing, "I do not go

round about saying to common people that I am an Italian. It is not my

custom to explain."

Lucian shrugged his shoulders, and said no more until they entered the

shop in Bayswater. As he knew from the previous visit where the

saleswoman was located, he led the Count rapidly to the place. The girl

was there, as brisk and businesslike as ever. She looked up as they

approached, and came forward to serve them, with a swift glance at both.

"I am sorry to trouble you again," said Lucian ceremoniously, "but you

told 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 the

gentleman who bought the cloak."