You see."
It was as the Italian said.
Dr. Jorce—who was waiting for them in the Count's room—proved to be a small, dried-up atom of a man, who looked as though all the colour had been bleached out of him.
At first sight he was more like a monkey than a man, owing to his slight, queer figure and agile movements; but a closer examination revealed that he had a clever face, and a pair of most remarkable eyes. These were of a steel-grey hue, with an extraordinary intensity of gaze; and when he fixed them on Lucian at the moment of introduction the young barrister felt as though he were being mesmerised.
For the rest, Jorce was dressed sombrely in black cloth, was extremely voluble and vivacious, and impressed Lucian with the idea that he was less a fellow mortal than a changeling from fairyland.
Quite an exceptional man was Dr. Jorce, and, as the Italian said, "most strange."
"My good friend," said Ferruci, laying his stern hand on the shoulder of this oddity, "this gentleman wishes you to decide a—what do you say?—bet?"
"A bet!" cried the little doctor in a deep bass voice, but with some indignation. "Do I understand, Count, that you have brought me all the way from my place in Hampstead to decide a bet?"
"Ah, but sir, it is a bet most important," said Ferruci, with a smile. "This Mr. Denzil declares that he saw me in Pim—Pim—what?"
"In Pimlico," said Lucian, seeing that Ferruci could not pronounce the word. "I say that the Count was in Pimlico on Christmas Eve."
"You are wrong, sir," said Jorce, with a wave of his skinny hand. "My friend, Count Ferruci, was in my house at Hampstead on that evening."
"Was he?" remarked Lucian, astonished at this confident assertion. "And at what time did he leave?"
"He did not leave till next morning.
My friend the Count remained under my roof all night, and left at twelve o'clock on Christmas morning."
"So you see," said Ferruci airily to Lucian, "that I could not have done what you think, as that was done—by what you said—between eleven and twelve on that night."
"Was the Count with you at ten o'clock on that evening?" asked Denzil.
"Certainly he was; so you have lost your bet, Mr. Denzil.
Sorry to bring you such bad fortune, but truth is truth, you know."
"Would you repeat this statement, if I wished?"
"Why not?
Call on me at any time.
'The Haven, Hampstead'; that will always find me."
"Ah, but I do not think it will be necessary for Mr. Denzil to call on you, sir," interposed the Count rapidly. "You can always come to me.
Well, Mr. Denzil, are you satisfied?"
"I am," replied Lucian. "I have lost my bet, Count, and I apologise.
Good-day, Dr. Jorce, and thank you. Count Ferruci, I wish you good-bye."
"Not even au revoir?" said Ferruci mockingly.
"That depends upon the future," replied Lucian coolly, and forthwith went away in low spirits at the downfall of his hopes.
Far from revealing the mystery of Vrain's death, his late attempts to solve it had resulted in utter failure.
Lydia had cleared herself; Ferruci had proved himself innocent; and Lucian could not make up his mind what was now to be done.
In this dilemma he sought out Diana, as, knowing from experience that where a man's logic ends a woman's instinct begins, he thought she might suggest some way out of the difficulty.
On arriving at the Royal John Hotel he found that Diana was waiting for him with great impatience; and hardly giving herself time to greet him, she asked how he had fared in his interview with Count Ferruci.
"Has that man been arrested, Mr. Denzil?"
"No, Miss Vrain.
I regret to say that he has not been arrested.
To speak plainly, he has, so far as I can see, proved himself innocent."
"Innocent!
And the evidence against him?"
"Is utterly useless. I brought him face to face with the woman who sold the cloak, and she denies that Ferruci bought it."
"But she said the buyer was an Italian."
"She did, and dark, with a moustache. All the same, she did not recognise the Count.
She says the buyer was not so tall, and spoke worse English."
"Ferruci could make his English bad if he liked."
"Probably; but he could not make his stature shorter.
No, Miss Vrain, I am afraid that our Italian friend, in spite of the evidence against him, did not buy the cloak.
That he resembles the purchaser in looks and nationality is either a coincidence or——"
"Or what?" seeing that Lucian hesitated.
"Or design," finished the barrister. "And, indeed, the Count himself is of this opinion.
He believes that some one who wished to get him into trouble personated him."
"Has he any suspicions as to whom the person may be?"