The grounds were large, and well laid out in flower gardens and orchards; and as it was Dr. Jorce's system to allow his least crazy patients as much liberty as possible, they roamed at will round the grounds, giving the place a cheerful and populated look.
The more violent inmates were, of course, secluded; but these were well and kindly treated by the doctor.
Indeed, Jorce was a very humane man, and had a theory that more cures of the unhappy beings under his charge could be effected by kindness than by severity.
His asylum was more like a private hotel with paying guests than an establishment for the retention of the insane, and even to an outside observer the eccentricities of the doctor's family—as he loved to call them—were not more marked than many of the oddities possessed by people at large.
Indeed, Jorce was in the habit of saying that
"There were more mad people in the world than were kept under lock and key," and in this he was doubtless right. However, the kindly and judicious little man was like a father to those under his charge, and very popular with them all. Anything more unlike the popular conception of an asylum than the establishment at Hampstead can scarcely be imagined.
When Lucian arrived at
"The Haven," he found that Jorce had long since returned from his holiday, and was that day at home; so on sending in his card he was at once admitted into the presence of the local potentate.
Jorce, looking smaller and more like a fairy changeling than ever, was evidently pleased to see Lucian, but a look on his dry, yellow face indicated that he was somewhat puzzled to account for the visit.
However, preliminary greetings having passed, Lucian did not leave him long in doubt.
"Dr. Jorce," he said boldly, and without preamble, "I have called to see you about that alibi of Signor Ferruci's."
"Alibi is a nasty word, Mr. Denzil," said Jorce, looking sharply at his visitor.
"Perhaps, but it is the only word that can be used with propriety."
"But I thought that I was called on to decide a bet."
"Oh, that was Count Ferruci's clever way of putting it," responded Lucian, with a sneer. "He did not wish you to know too much about his business."
"H'm! Perhaps I know more than you think, Mr. Denzil."
"What do you mean, sir?" cried Lucian sharply.
"Softly, Mr. Denzil, softly," rejoined the doctor, waving his hand. "I shall explain everything to your satisfaction.
Do you know why I went to Italy?"
"No; no more than I know why you went with Signor Ferruci," replied Lucian, recalling Link's communication.
"Ah!" said Jorce placidly, "you have been making inquiries, I see.
But you are wrong in one particular.
I did not go to Italy with Ferruci—I left him in Paris, and I went on myself to Florence to find out the true character of the man."
"Why did you wish to do that, doctor?"
"Because I had some business with our mutual friend, the Count, and I was not altogether pleased with the way in which it was conducted.
Also, my last interview with you about that bet made me suspicious of the man.
Over in Florence I learned sufficient about the Count to assure me that he is a bad man, with whom it is as well to have as little to do as possible.
I intended to return at once with this information and call on you, Mr. Denzil.
Unfortunately, I fell ill of an attack of typhoid fever in Florence, and had to stay there these two months."
"I am sorry," said Lucian, noting that the doctor did look ill, "but why did you not send on your information to me?"
"It was necessary to see you personally, Mr. Denzil.
I arrived back a few days ago, and intended writing to you when I recovered from the fatigue of the journey.
However, your arrival saves me the trouble.
Now I can tell you all about Ferruci, if you like."
"Then tell me, Doctor, if you spoke truly about that alibi?"
"Yes, I did.
Count Ferruci was with me that night, and stayed here until the next morning."
"What time did he arrive?"
"About ten o'clock, or, to be precise," said Jorce, "about ten-thirty."
"Ah!" cried Lucian exultantly, "then Ferruci must have been the man in the back yard!"
"What do you mean by that?" asked Jorce in a puzzled tone.
"Why, that Count Ferruci has had to do with a crime committed some months ago in Pimlico.
A man called Mark Vrain was murdered, as you may have seen in the papers, Doctor, and I believe Ferruci murdered him."
"If I remember rightly," said Jorce with calmness, "the man in question was murdered shortly before midnight on Christmas Eve. If that is so, Ferruci could not have killed him, because, as I said before, he was here at half-past ten on that night."
"I don't say he actually killed the man," explained Lucian eagerly, "but he certainly employed some one to strike the blow, else what was he doing in the Jersey Street yard on that night?
You can say what you like, Dr. Jorce, but that man is guilty of Mark Vrain's death."
"No," replied Jorce coolly, "he's not, for the simple reason that Vrain is not dead."
"Not dead?" repeated Lucian, recalling Diana's belief.
"No! For the last few months Mark Vrain, under the name of Michael Clear, has been in this asylum!"
CHAPTER XXV A DARK PLOT