"She is guilty enough for me, Mr. Denzil; but like all men, I suppose you take her side, because she is supposed to be pretty.
Pretty!" reflected Bella scornfully, "I never could see it myself; a painted up minx, dragged up from the gutter.
I wonder at your taste, Mr. Denzil, indeed I do.
Pretty, the idea!
What fools men are!
I'm glad I never married one!
Indeed no! He! he!"
And with a shrill laugh to point this sour-grape sentiment, and mark her disdain for Lucian, the fair Bella took herself and her lean form out of the room.
Diana and the barrister were too deeply interested in their business to take much notice of Bella's hysterical outburst, but looked at one another gravely as she departed.
"Well, Mr. Denzil," said the former, repeating her earlier question, "what is to be done now? Shall we see Mrs. Vrain?"
"Not yet," replied Lucian quickly. "We must secure proofs of Mrs. Vrain's being in that yard before we can get any confession out of her.
If you will leave it in my hands, Miss Vrain, I shall call on Mrs. Bensusan."
"Who is Mrs. Bensusan?"
"She is the tenant of the house in Jersey Street.
It is possible that she or her servant may know something about the illegal use made of the right of way."
"Yes, I think that is the next step to take.
But what am I to do in the meantime?"
"Nothing.
If I were you I would not even see Mrs. Vrain."
"I will not seek her voluntarily," replied Diana, "but as I have been to Berwin Manor she is certain to hear that I am in England, and may perhaps find out my address, and call.
But if she does, you may be sure that I will be most judicious in my remarks."
"I leave all that to your discretion," said Denzil, rising. "Good-bye, Miss Vrain.
As soon as I am in possession of any new evidence I shall call again."
"Good-bye, Mr. Denzil, and thank you for all your kindness."
Diana made this remark with so kindly a look, so becoming a blush, and so warm a pressure of the hand, that Lucian felt quite overcome, and not trusting himself to speak, walked swiftly out of the room.
In spite of the gravity of the task in which he was concerned, at that moment he thought more of Diana's looks and speech than of the detective business which he had taken up for love's sake.
But on reaching his rooms in Geneva Square he made a mighty effort to waken from these day dreams, and with a stern determination addressed himself resolutely to the work in hand.
In this case the bitter came before the sweet.
But by accomplishing the desire of Diana, and solving the mystery of her father's death, Lucian hoped to win not only her smiles but the more substantial reward of her heart and hand.
Before calling on Mrs. Bensusan the barrister debated within himself as to whether it would not be judicious to call in again the assistance of Link, and by telling him of the new evidence which had been found place him thereby in possession of new material to prosecute the case.
But Link lately had taken so pessimistic a view of the matter that Lucian fancied he would scoff at his late discoveries, and discourage him in prosecuting what seemed to be a fruitless quest.
Denzil was anxious, as Diana's knight, to do as much of the work as possible in order to gain the reward of her smiles.
It is true that he had no legal authority to make these inquiries, and it was possible that Mrs. Bensusan might refuse to answer questions concerning her own business, unsanctioned by law; but on recalling the description of Miss Greeb, Lucian fancied that Mrs. Bensusan, as a fat woman, might only be good-natured and timid.
He therefore dismissed all ideas of asking Link to intervene, and resolved to risk a personal interview with the tenant of the Jersey Street house.
It would be time enough to invite Link's assistance, he thought, when Mrs. Bensusan—as yet an unknown quantity in the case—proved obstinate in replying to his questions.
Mrs. Bensusan proved to be quite as stout as Miss Greeb had reported. A gigantically fat woman, she made up in breadth what she lacked in length.
Yet she seemed to have some activity about her, too, for she opened the door personally to Lucian, who was quite amazed when he beheld her monstrous bulk blocking up the doorway.
Her face was white and round like a pale moon; she had staring eyes of a china blue, resembling the vacant optics of a wax doll; and, on the whole, appeared to be a timid, lymphatic woman, likely to answer any questions put to her in a sufficiently peremptory tone.
Lucian foresaw that he was not likely to have much trouble with this mountain of flesh.
"What might you be pleased to want, sir?" she asked Lucian, in the meekest of voices. "Is it about the lodgings?"
"Yes," answered the barrister boldly, for he guessed that Mrs. Bensusan would scuttle back into the house like a rabbit to its burrow, did he speak too plainly at the outset, "that is—I wish to inquire about a friend of mine."
"Did he lodge here, sir?"
"Yes.
A Mr. Wrent."
"Deary me!" said the fat woman, with mild surprise. "Mr. Wrent left me shortly after Christmas.
A kind gentleman, but timid; he——"
"Excuse me," interrupted Lucian, who wanted to get into the house, "but don't you think you could tell me about my friend in a more convenient situation?"
"Oh, yes, sir—certainly, sir," wheezed Mrs. Bensusan, rolling back up the narrow passage. "I beg your pardon, sir, for my forgetfulness, but my head ain't what it ought to be.
I'm a lone widow, sir, and not over strong."
Denzil could have laughed at this description, as the lady's bulk gave the lie to her assertion.