CHAPTER XXVI

THE OTHER MAN'S WIFE

As soon as Lucian arrived back in his rooms he sat down at his desk and

wrote a long letter to Diana, giving a full account of his extraordinary

discovery of her father in Jorce's asylum, and advising her to come up

at once to London.

When he posted this--which he did the same night--he sighed to think it

was not a love letter. He could have covered reams of paper with words

of passion and adoration; he could have poured out his whole soul at the

feet of his divinity, telling her of his love, his aspirations, his

hopes and fears. No doubt, from a common-sense view, the letter would

have been silly enough, but it would have relieved his mind and

completed his happiness of knowing that he loved and was beloved.

But in place of writing thus, he was compelled by his promise to Diana

to pen a description of his late discovery, and interesting as the case

was now growing, he found it irksome to detail the incident of the

afternoon. He wished to be a lover, not a detective.

So absent-minded and distraught was Lucian, that Miss Greeb, who had

long suspected something was wrong with him, spoke that very evening

about himself. She declared that Lucian was working too hard, that he

needed another rest, although he had just returned from the country, and

recommended a sleeping draught. Finally she produced a letter which had

just arrived, and as it was in a female hand, Miss Greeb watched its

effect on her admired lodger with the keen eyes of a jealous woman. When

she saw him flush and seize it eagerly, casting, meanwhile, an impatient

look on her to leave the room, she knew the truth at once, and retired

hurriedly to the kitchen, where she shed floods of tears.

"I might have guessed it," gasped Miss Greeb to a comfortable cat which

lay selfishly before the fire. "He's far too good-looking not to be

snapped up. He'll be leaving me and setting up house with that other

woman. I only hope she'll do for him as well as I have done. I wonder if

she's beautiful and rich. Oh, how dreadful it all is!" But the cat made

no comment on this tearful address--not as much as a mew. It rolled over

into a warmer place and went to sleep again. Cats are particularly

selfish animals.

Two days afterwards Miss Greeb opened the door to a tall and beautiful

lady, who asked for Mr. Denzil, and was shown into his sitting-room.

With keen instinct, Miss Greeb decided that this was the woman who had

taken possession of Lucian's heart, and being a just little creature, in

spite of her jealousy, was obliged to admit that the visitor was as

handsome as a picture. Then, seeing that there was no chance for her

beside this splendid lady, she consoled herself with a dismal little

proverb, and looked forward to the time when it would be necessary to

put a ticket in the parlour window. Meanwhile, to have some one on whose

bosom she could weep, Miss Greeb went round to see Mrs. Bensusan,

leaving Diana in possession of Lucian, and the cat sole occupant of the

kitchen.

In the drawing-room, on the front floor, Diana, with her eyes shining

like two stars, was talking to Lucian. She had come up at once on

receipt of his letter; she had been to Hampstead, she had seen her

father, and now she was telling Lucian about the visit.

"He knew me at once, poor dear," she said rapidly, "and asked me if I

had 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 quite

himself again."

"What does Jorce think?"

"He says that father can be discharged as cured, and is going to see

about it for me. Of course, he will never be quite sane, but he will

never be violent so long as morphia and drugs of that sort are kept from

him. As soon as he is discharged I shall take him back to Bath, and put

him in charge of Miss Barbar; then I shall return to town, and we must

expose the whole conspiracy!"

"Conspiracy?"

"What else do you call it, Lucian? That woman and Ferruci have planned

and carried it out between them. They put my father into the asylum, and

made another man pass as him, in order to get the assurance money. As

their tool did not die quickly enough, they killed him."

"No, Diana. Both Lydia and Ferruci have proved beyond all doubt that

they were not in Pimlico at the hour of the death. I believe they

contrived 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 will

prosecute her for fraud in obtaining it. I shall see Ferruci to-morrow

and force him to confess his putting your father in the asylum."

"No!" said Diana, shaking her head. "Don't do that until you have more

evidence against him."

"I think the evidence of Jorce is strong enough. I suppose you mean the

evidence 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 went

to St. Bertha Street, Bayswater, to see her. But I found that she had

moved, and no one knew where she was. I expect, having received her

price for the conspiracy, she has left London. However, I put an

advertisement in the papers, saying if she called on me here she would

hear of something to her advantage. It is in the papers this morning."

"I doubt if she will call," said Diana seriously. "What about the

promised revelation of Rhoda?"

"I believe that girl is deceiving me," cried Lucian angrily. "I went

round to Jersey Street, as she asked me, and only saw Mrs. Bensusan, who

said that Rhoda was out and would not be back for some time. Then I had

to wait for you here and tell you all about your father, so the thing

slipped my memory. I have not been near the place since, but I'll go

round there to-night. Whatever is Miss Greeb thinking of?" cried Lucian,

breaking off quickly. "That front door bell has been ringing for at

least five minutes!"

To Diana's amusement, Lucian went and shouted down the stairs to Miss

Greeb, 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 a

little woman in a tailor-made brown frock, a plainly trimmed brown straw

hat with a black gauze velvet-spotted veil. At once Denzil guessed who

she was.

"You are Mrs. Clear?" he said, delighted that she had replied so quickly

to his advertisement, for it had only that morning appeared in the

newspapers.

"Yes, I am," answered the woman, in a quick, sharp voice. "Are you the

L. 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 me

introduce you to Mrs. Clear."

"Mrs. Clear! Are you the wife of the man who was murdered in the house

opposite?"

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 was

nothing for it but to outface the situation. As though she found it

difficult to breathe, she threw up her veil, and Diana beheld a thin

white face with two brilliant black eyes.

"This is a trap," said Mrs. Clear, hoarsely, looking from the one to the

other. "Who are you?"

"I," said Lucian, politely, "I am the man who met your husband

before----"

"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 in

the 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 at

Diana with wide-open and terrified eyes.

"And now, Mrs. Clear, I see you realise the situation," Lucian said

coldly. "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 your

husband, Michael Clear, as him."

"I don't know anything about it."

"Come, now, you talk nonsense! If you refuse to speak I'll have you

arrested 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 and

myself--wish to know, firstly, how your husband came to be masquerading

as Mr. Vrain; secondly, where we can find the man called Wrent, who

employed your husband; and thirdly, Mrs. Clear, we wish to know, and the

law 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 the

conversation, "but you must tell us what you do know, otherwise I shall

call 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 prove

that you were in No. 13 of this Square, seeing your husband, for I found

on the fence dividing the back yard of that house from one in Jersey

Street a scrap of a veil such as you wear. Also the landlady and servant

can prove that you called on Mr. Wrent several times, and were with him

on 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. Also

the evidence of Signor Ferruci----"

"Ferruci! What has he said about me?"

Lucian saw that revenge might make the woman speak, so he lied in the

calmest manner to get at the truth. "Ferruci says that he contrived the

whole 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 need

not 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 the

money he promised."

Before Lucian and Miss Vrain could express their pleasure at Mrs. Clear

coming to this sensible conclusion, the door opened suddenly, and little

Miss Greeb, in a wonderful state of agitation, tripped in.

"Oh, Mr. Denzil! I've just been to Mrs. Bensusan's, and Rhoda's run

away!"

"Run away!"

"Yes! She hasn't been back all day, and left a note for Mrs. Bensusan

saying she was going to hide, because she was afraid."