A STARTLING THEORY
When Diana declared that her father yet lived, Lucian drew back from her
in amazement, for of all impossible things said of this impossible case
this saying of hers was the strangest and most incredible. Hitherto, not
a suspicion had entered his mind but that the man so mysteriously slain
in Geneva Square was Mark Vrain, and, for the moment, he thought that
Diana 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 your
father well."
"As to Mrs. Vrain," said Diana contemptuously, "I quite believe she
would lie to gain her own ends. And it may be that the man who was
murdered was like my father in the face, but--"
"He had the mark on his cheek," interrupted Lucian, impatient of this
obstinate belief in the criminality of Lydia.
"I know that mark well," replied Miss Vrain. "My father received it in a
duel he fought in his youth, when he was a student in a German
university; but the missing finger." She shook her head.
"He might have lost the finger while you were in Australia," suggested
the barrister.
"He might," rejoined Diana doubtfully, "but it is unlikely. As to other
people identifying the body, they no doubt did so by looking at the face
and 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 her
husband?"
"Why? Because she wanted to get the assurance money."
"She may have been misled by the resemblance of the dead man to your
father."
"And who provided that resemblance? My dear Lucian, I would not be at
all surprised to learn that there was conspiracy as well as murder in
this matter. My father left his home, and Lydia could not find him. I
quite believe that. As she cannot prove his death, she finds it
impossible 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 the
part of the recluse in Geneva Square. She selects a man in ill health
and given to drink, that he may die the sooner; and, by being buried as
Mark Vrain, give her the money she wants. When you told me of this man
Berwin's coughing and drinking, I thought it strange, as my father had
no consumptive disease when I left him, and never, during his life, was
he given to over-indulgence in drink. Now I see the truth. This dead man
was Lydia's puppet."
"Even granting that this is so, which I doubt, Diana, why should the man
be murdered?"
"Why?" cried Diana fiercely. "Because he was not dying quickly enough
for that woman's purpose. She did not kill him herself, if her alibi is
to 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 that
Dr. 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 house
at 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 murder
was committed?"
"Can you believe that? Ferruci may have made it worth the while of this
doctor to lie. And even granting that much, the presence of Ferruci at
the Jersey Street house shows that he knew what was going to take place
on 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 to
combat this persistent belief. "All this plotting of crime is such as
is found in novels, not in real life----"
"In real life," cried Diana, taking the words out of his mouth, "more
incredible things take place than can be conceived by the most fantastic
imagination of an author. Look at this talk of ours--it began with words
of 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 marry
you, you must find out the truth of these matters. Learn if this dead
man is my father--for from what you have told me of the lost finger I do
not believe that he is. Hunt down the assassin, and discover if he is
whom I believe him to be--Ferruci himself; and learn, if you can, what
Lydia 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 know
how to set about it."
"Be guided by me," replied Diana. "Go up to London and put an
advertisement in the papers offering a reward for the discovery of my
father. He is of medium height, with grey hair, and has a clean-shaven
face, with a scar on it----"
"You describe the dead man, Diana."
"But he has not lost a finger," continued Diana, as though she had not
heard him. "If my father, for fear of Lydia, is in hiding, he will come
to you or me in answer to that advertisement."
"But he must have seen the report of his death by violence in the
papers, 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 in
the midst of such trouble. But if you put in the advertisement that
I--his daughter--am in England, he will come to me, for with me he knows
he is safe. Also call on Dr. Jorce, and find out the truth about Signor
Ferruci."
"And then?"
"Then when you have done these two things we shall see what will come of
them. Promise me to do what I ask you."
"I promise," said Lucian, taking her hand, "but you send me on a
wild-goose chase."
"That may be, Lucian, but my heart--my
presentiment--my--instinct--whatever you like to call it--tells me
otherwise. 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 this
conspiracy. When we do, Lucian, you will find that my father is not dead
but 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 arm
of her lover she walked with him up to the house. It was the strangest
of wooings.
Miss Barbar, with a true woman's interest in love affairs, was inclined
to congratulate them both when they entered, deeming--as the chance had
been so propitious--that Lucian had proposed. But Diana looked so
stern, and Lucian so gloomy, that she held her peace.
Later on, when her curiosity got the better of her desire not to offend
her 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 did
not 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 not
question me any further, Miss Barbar. Lucian and I understand one
another very well."
"She calls him by his Christian name," thought the wise old dame, "that
is well. She will not speak of her happiness, that is ill," and in
various crafty ways Miss Barbar tried to learn how matters actually
stood between the pair.
But if she was skilful in asking questions, Diana was equally skilful in
baffling them, and Miss Barbar learned nothing more than her pupil chose
to tell her, and that was little enough. To perplex her still further,
Lucian departed for London the next day, with a rather disconsolate look
on his handsome face, and gave his adviser no very satisfactory
explanation at parting.
So Miss Barbar was forced to remain in ignorance of the success or
failure of her counsel, and could by no means discover if the marriage
she was so anxious to bring about was likely to take place. And so ended
Denzil's visit to Berwin Manor.
In the meantime, Lucian went back to London with a heavy heart, for he
did not see how he was to set about the task imposed on him by Diana. At
first he thought it would be best to advertise, as she advised, but this
he considered would do no good, as if Vrain--supposing him to be alive
and in hiding--would not come out at the false report of his murder, he
certainly would not appear in answer to an advertisement that might be a
snare.
Then Lucian wondered if it would be possible to have the grave opened a
second time that Diana might truly see if the corpse was that of her
father or of another man. But this also was impossible, and--to speak
plainly--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 it
would be wisest of all to call on Dr. Jorce, and find out why he was
friendly with Ferruci, and how much he knew of the Italian's doings.
While the barrister was making up his mind to this course he was
surprised 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 ill
at ease. Lucian--so much as he had seen of him--had always liked him
better than Lydia, and was sorry to see him so downcast. Nor when he
learned the reason was he better pleased. Clyne told it to him in a
roundabout way.
"Do you know anything against Signor Ferruci?" he asked, when the first
greetings 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 you
bring 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 the
night of the crime--or rather," added Lucian, correcting himself, "at
the 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 as
much to me."
"I can't make her out, Mr. Denzil. She grew tired of him for a time, but
now she has taken up with him again, and nothing I can say or do will
stop 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 like
Ferruci. 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 to
implicate Ferruci in the crime."
"But you may," said Clyne hopefully.
Lucian shrugged his shoulders.
"If I do, you shall know at once," he said.