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 was
due to the police, who, anxious to capture those concerned in the
conspiracy to obtain the assurance money of the Sirius Company, kept
everything they could out of the papers, lest Lydia and Wrent should be
put on their guard, and so escape.
Lucian had been forced to report the death of Ferruci to the
authorities. Now the case was out of his hands again, and in those of
Link, who blamed the young barrister severely for not having brought him
into the matter before. The detective was always more prone to blame
than to praise.
"But what could I do?" cried Lucian angrily. "You threw up the case
twice! You said the assassin of Clear--or, as you thought, Vrain--would
never be discovered!"
"I did my best, and failed," retorted Link, who did not like his
position. "You have had better luck and have succeeded."
"My luck has been sheer hard work, Link. I was not so faint-hearted as
you, to draw back at the first check."
"Well, well, the whole truth hasn't been discovered yet, Mr. Denzil. As
you 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 the
whole affair. You are a detective; let me see what you will make of a
case 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 whole
heart.
Lucian took a hansom to the Royal John Hotel in Kensington, where Diana,
in a great state of alarm, was reading the evening papers, which
contained short notices of Ferruci's death. On seeing her lover, she
hurried 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 were
neither at your lodgings nor in your office."
"I was better employed, my dear," said Lucian, with a weary sigh, for he
was quite worn out with fatigue and anxiety. "I have been with Link,
telling him about Ferruci's death, and being blamed as the cause of
it."
"You blamed! And why?" said Diana, with just indignation.
"Because I forced Ferruci to confess the truth, and when he saw that
there was every chance of his being put into jail for his villainy, he
went to his bedroom and took poison. You know, Mrs. Clear said the man
was 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 could
recover 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 of
the case will be in the papers, and that unfortunate woman will be
arrested."
"Lydia! And what will her father say? It will break his heart!"
"Perhaps; but he must take the consequences of having brought up his
daughter so badly. Still," added Lucian, reflectively, "I do not believe
that Lydia is so guilty as Wrent. That scoundrel seems to be at the
bottom of the affair. Ferruci and he contrived and carried out the whole
thing 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 scarce
out of fright. Since he left Jersey Street, after the murder, he has not
been heard of. Even Mrs. Clear does not know where he is. You know she
has put advertisements in the papers in the cypher he gave
her--according to the arrangement between them--but Wrent has not turned
up."
"And Rhoda?"
"Rhoda is still missing. The police are getting warrants out for the
servant, 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 avoid
dishonour. 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 Wrent
murdered Clear; then they will hang him. But now that Ferruci is dead, I
fancy Rhoda is the only witness who can prove Wrent's guilt. That is why
she ran away. I don't wonder she was afraid to stay. But I feel quite
worn out with all this, Diana. Please give me a biscuit and a glass of
port; I have had nothing all day."
With a sigh, Diana touched the bell, and when the waiter made his
appearance gave the order. She felt low-spirited and nervous, in spite
of the discovery that her father was alive and well; and indeed the
extraordinary events of the last few days were sufficient to upset the
strongest mind.
Lucian was leaning back in his chair with closed eyes, for his head was
aching with the excitement of the morning. Suddenly he opened them and
jumped up. At the same time Diana threw open the door with an
exclamation, and both of them heard the thin, high voice of a woman, who
apparently was coming up the stairs.
"Never mind my name," said the voice, "I'll tell it to Miss Vrain
myself. Take me to her at once."
"Lydia!" called Lucian, "and here? Great heavens! Why does she come
here?"
Diana said nothing, but compressed her lips as Lydia, followed by the
waiter with the biscuits and wine, came into the room. She was plainly
and 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 room
and closed the door. Then she threw up her veil, revealing a haggard
face and red eyes, swollen with weeping, and filled with an expression
of terror.
"Sakes alive! isn't this awful?" she wailed, making a clutch at Miss
Vrain's arm. "You've done it, this time, Diana. Ferruci's dead, and your
father alive, and I'm not a widow, and my father away I don't know
where! 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 in
gaol, 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 abominable
conspiracy 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 buried
until Ferruci told me the truth, and then I held my tongue until I could
think of what to do. After Ercole died, his servant came round and told
me 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. Clear
and 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 her
stepmother, who sipped it in a most tearful mood. Lucian looked at the
wretched 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 had
certainly benefited by them; but she was such a glib liar that he did
not know how much to believe of her story. However, she had hitherto
only given a general idea of her connection with the matter, so when she
had finished her wine, and was somewhat calmer, Lucian begged her to be
more explicit.
"Did you know--did you guess, or even suspect--that your husband was
alive?"
"Mr. Denzil," said Lydia, with unusual solemnity, "as I'm a married
woman, and not the widow I thought I was, I did not know that Mark was
alive! I'm bad, I daresay, but I am not bad enough to shut a man up in a
lunatic asylum and pretend he is dead, just to get money, much as I like
it. What I did about identifying the corpse was done in good faith."
"You really thought it was my father's body?" questioned Diana
doubtfully.
"I swear I did," responded Mrs. Vrain, emphatically. "Mark walked out of
the house because he thought I was carrying on with Ferruci, which I
wasn't. It was that Tyler cat who made the trouble between us, and Mark
was so weak and silly--half crazy, I think, with his morphia and
over-study--that he cleared right out, and I never knew where he had
gone 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 he
might be my husband. When the coffin was opened, I really believed I saw
poor Mark's dead body. The face was just like his, and scarred in the
same way."
"What about the missing finger, Mrs. Vrain? If I remember, you even gave
a cause for its loss."
"Well, it was this way," replied Lydia, somewhat discomposed. "I knew
that Mark hadn't lost a finger when he left, but Ferruci said that if I
denied it the police might refuse to believe that the body was that of
my husband. So, as I was sure it was Mark's corpse, I just said he had
lost 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. But
the face of the dead man was--as I thought--Mark's, and he called
himself Berwin, which, you know, Diana, is the name of the Manor, and
the 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 that
girl at Baxter's had said, and insisted that he should tell me the
truth. Well, he did, in order to force me to marry him, and then I told
him to go and make it right with the girl, so that when Mr. Denzil went
again she'd deny that Ercole had bought the cloak."
"She denied it, sure enough," said Lucian grimly. "Ferruci, before he
died, told me he had bribed her to speak falsely. What more did the
Count reveal to you, Mrs. Vrain?--the conspiracy?"
"Yes. He said he'd found Mark hiding at Salisbury, half mad with
morphia, and had taken him up to Mrs. Clear's, where it seems he went
mad altogether, so they locked him up as her husband in a lunatic
asylum. Ferruci also told me that he had seen Michael Clear on the
stage, and that as he was so like Mark, and was likely to die of drink
and consumption, he got him to play the part of Mark in Geneva Square,
under the name of Berwin. Mrs. Clear visited her husband there by
climbing over a back fence, and getting down a cellar, somehow."
"I know that," said Lucian. "It was Mrs. Clear's shadow I saw on the
blind. She was fighting with her husband, and when I rang the bell they
were both so alarmed that they left the house by the back way and got
into Jersey Street. Then Mrs. Clear went home, and the man himself came
round into the Square by the front way. That was how I met him. I
wondered how people were in the house during his absence. Mrs. Clear
told 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 suspicions
about that back entrance. But, Mrs. Vrain, when Ferruci confessed that
your husband was alive, why did you not tell it to the world?"
"Well, I'd got the assurance money, you see," said Lydia, with shrewd
candour, "and I thought the company would make a fuss and take it
back--as I suppose they will now. Ferruci wanted me to marry him, but I
wasn't so bad as that. I did not want to commit bigamy. But I really
held my tongue because Ferruci told me who killed Clear."
"He knew, then?" cried Lucian, "and denied it to me! Who killed the
man?"
"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 Michael
Clear!"