"Upon my word, I am inclined to agree with you," said Denzil, and barrister and detective departed, each convinced that the Vrain case was ended, and that in the face of the insuperable obstacles presented by it there was not the slightest chance of avenging the murder of the unfortunate man.
The reading of the mystery was beyond mortal powers to accomplish.
About the middle of April, nearly four months after the tragedy, Lucian received a letter containing an invitation which caused him no little astonishment.
The note was signed Diana Vrain, and, having intimated that the writer had returned only that week from Australia, requested that Mr. Denzil would be kind enough to call the next day at the Royal John Hotel in Kensington.
Miss Vrain ended by stating that she had a particular desire to converse with Mr. Denzil, and hoped that he would not fail to keep the appointment.
Wondering greatly how the lady—who was no doubt the stepdaughter referred to by Mrs. Vrain—had obtained his address, and why she desired to see him so particularly, Lucian, out of sheer curiosity, obeyed the summons.
Next day, at four o'clock—the appointed hour—he presented himself as requested, and, on giving his name, was shown immediately into the presence of his correspondent, who occupied a small private sitting-room.
When Miss Vrain rose to greet him, Lucian was amazed to see how beautiful and stately she was.
With dark hair and eyes, oval face, and firm mouth, majestic figure and imperial gait, she moved towards him an apparent queen.
A greater contrast to Mrs. Vrain than her stepdaughter can scarcely be imagined: the one was a frivolous, volatile fairy, the other a dignified and reserved woman.
She also was arrayed in black garments, but these were made in the plainest manner, and showed none of the coquetry of woe such as had characterised Mrs. Vrain's elaborate costume.
The look of sorrow on the face of Diana was in keeping with her mourning apparel, and she welcomed Lucian with a subdued courtesy which prepossessed him greatly in her favour.
Quick in his likes and dislikes, the young man was as drawn towards this beautiful, sad woman as formerly he had been repulsed by the feigned grief and ensnaring glances of silly Mrs. Vrain.
"I am much obliged to you for calling, Mr. Denzil," said Miss Vrain in a deep voice, rather melancholy in its tone. "No doubt you wondered how I obtained your address."
"It did strike me as peculiar, I confess," said Lucian, taking a chair to which she pointed, "but on considering the matter I fancied that Mrs. Vrain had——"
"Mrs. Vrain!" echoed Diana in a tone of contempt. "No!
I have not seen Mrs. Vrain since I returned, a week ago, to London.
I got your address from the detective who examined into the death of my most unhappy father."
"You have seen Link?"
"Yes, and I know all that Link could tell me.
He mentioned your name frequently in his narrative, and gave me to understand that on two occasions you had spoken with my father; therefore, I asked him to give me your address, so that I might speak with you personally on the matter."
"I am quite at your service, Miss Vrain.
I suppose you wish to learn all that I know of the tragedy?"
"I wish for more than that, Mr. Denzil," said Diana quietly. "I wish you to help me in hunting down the assassin of my father."
"What!
Do you intend to reopen the case?"
"Certainly; but I did not know that the case—as you call it—had been closed.
I have come home from Australia especially to devote myself to this matter.
I should have been in London long ago, but that out in Australia I was with some friends in a part of the country where it is difficult to get letters.
As soon as Mrs. Vrain's letter about the terrible end of my father came to hand I arranged my affairs and left at once for England.
Since my arrival I have seen Mr. Saker, our family lawyer, and Mr. Link, the detective.
They have told me all they know, and now I wish to hear what you have to say."
"I am afraid I cannot help you, Miss Vrain," said Lucian dubiously.
"Ah!
You refuse to help me?"
"Oh, no! no!
I shall only be too glad to do what I can," protested Lucian, shocked that she should think him so hard-hearted, "but I know of nothing likely to solve the mystery.
Both myself and Link have done our best to discover the truth, but without success."
"Well, Mr. Denzil," said Diana, after a pause, "they often say that a woman's wit can do more than a man's logic, so you and I must put our heads together and discover the guilty person.
Have you no suspicion?"
"No. I have no suspicion," replied Lucian frankly. "Have you?"
"I have.
I suspect—a lady."
"Mrs. Vrain?"
"Yes.
How do you know I meant her?"
"Because at one time I suspected her myself."
"You suspected rightly," replied Diana. "I believe that Mrs. Vrain killed her husband."
CHAPTER IX A MARRIAGE THAT WAS A FAILURE
Denzil did not reply at once to the accusation levelled by Diana at Mrs. Vrain, as he was too astonished at her vehemence to find his voice readily.