"Ye want to know who the lady is?" said Rhoda sharply.
"Yes, I do.
Can you tell me?"
"No; but you'll find out from that cloak.
I guess why you're taking it."
"You are very sharp, Rhoda," said Lucian, rising, with a good-humoured smile, "and well deserve your local reputation.
If I find Mr. Wrent, I may require you to identify him; and Mrs. Bensusan also."
"I'll be able to do that, but missus hasn't her eyes much."
"Hasn't her eyes?" repeated Denzil, with a glance at Mrs. Bensusan's staring orbs.
"Lawks, sir, I'm shortsighted, though I never lets on. Rhoda, 'ow can you 'ave let on to the gentleman as I'm deficient?
As to knowing Mr. Wrent, I'd do so well enough," said Mrs. Bensusan, tossing her head, "with his long white beard and white 'ead, let alone his black velvet skull-cap."
"Oh, he wore a skull-cap?"
"Only indoors," said Rhoda sharply, "but here I'm 'olding the door wide, sir, so if you've done, we're done."
"I'm done, as you call it, for the present," replied Denzil, putting on his hat, "but I may come again.
In the meantime, hold your tongues.
Silence on this occasion will be gold; speech won't even be silver."
Mrs. Bensusan laughed at this speech in a fat and comfortable sort of way, while Rhoda grinned, and escorted Lucian to the front door.
She looked so uncanny, with her red hair and black eyes, that the barrister could not forbear a question.
"Are you English, my girl?"
"No, I ain't!" retorted Rhoda emphatically. "I'm of the gentle Romany."
"A gipsy!"
"So you Gorgios call us!" replied the girl, and shut the door with what seemed to be unnecessary violence.
Lucian went off with the cloak over his arm, somewhat discomposed by this last piece of information.
"A gipsy!" he repeated. "Humph! Can good come out of Nazareth?
I don't trust that girl much.
If I knew why she hates Wrent, I'd be much more satisfied with her information.
And who the deuce is Wrent?"
Lucian had occasion to ask himself this question many times before he found its answer, and that was not until afterwards.
At the present moment he dismissed it from his mind as unprofitable.
He was too busy reflecting on the evidence obtained in Jersey Street to waste time in conjecturing further events.
On returning to his lodgings he sat down to consider what was best to be done.
After much reflection and internal argument, he decided to call upon Mrs. Vrain, and by producing the cloak, force her into confessing her share of the crime.
Whether she had been the principal in the deed, or an accessory before the fact, Lucian could not determine; but he was confident that in one way or another she was cognizant of the truth; although this she would probably conceal, as its revelation would likely be detrimental to her own safety.
At first Denzil intended to see Diana before visiting Mrs. Vrain, in order to relate all he had learned, and find out from her if the cloak really belonged to the widow.
But on second thoughts he decided not to do so.
"I can tell her nothing absolutely certain about the matter," he said to himself, "as I cannot be sure of anything until I force Mrs. Vrain to confess.
Diana," so he called her in his discourse to himself, "Diana will probably know nothing about the ownership of the cloak, as it seems new, and was probably purchased by Lydia during the absence of Diana in Australia.
No, I have the address of Mrs. Vrain, which Diana gave me.
It will be best to call on her, and by displaying the cloak make her acknowledge her guilt.
"With such evidence she cannot deny that she visited Wrent; and was in the vicinity of the house wherein her husband was murdered on the very night the crime was committed.
Also she must state Ferruci's reason for hiding in the back yard, and tell me plainly who Wrent is, and why he helped the pair of them in their devilish plans.
I am doubtful if she will speak; but altogether the evidence I have collected inculpates her so strongly that it will be quite sufficient grounds upon which to obtain a warrant for her arrest.
And sooner than risk that, I expect she will tell as much as she can to exculpate herself—that is, if she is really innocent. If she is guilty," Lucian shrugged his shoulders, "then I cannot guess what course she will take."
Mrs. Vrain, with her father to protect her, had established herself in a small but luxurious house in Mayfair, and was preparing to enjoy herself during the coming season.
Although her husband had met with a terrible death scarcely six months before, she had already cast off her heavy mourning, and wore only such millinery indications of sorrow as suited with her widowed existence.
Ferruci was a constant visitor at the house; but although Lydia was now free, and wealthy, she by no means seemed ready to marry the Italian.
Perhaps she thought, with her looks and riches, she might gain an English title, as more valuable than a Continental one; and in this view she was supported by her father.
Clyne had no other desire than to see his beloved Lydia happy, and would willingly have sacrificed everything in his power to gain such an end; but as he did not like Ferruci himself, and saw that Lydia's affections towards him had cooled greatly, he did not encourage the idea of a match between them.
However, these matters were yet in abeyance, as Lydia was too diplomatic to break off with so subtle a man as the Count, who might prove a dangerous enemy were his love turned to hate, and Mr. Clyne was quite willing to remain on friendly terms with the man so long as Lydia chose that such friendship should exist.
In short, Lydia ruled her simple father with a rod of iron, and coaxed Ferruci—a more difficult man to deal with—into good humour; so she managed both of them skilfully in every way, and contrived to keep things smooth, pending her plunge into London society.