CHAPTER XXVII A CONFESSION
Now, indeed, Lucian had his hands full.
Rhoda, the red-headed servant of Mrs. Bensusan, had run away on the plea that she was afraid of something—what she did not explain in the note she left behind her, and it was necessary that she should be discovered, and forced into confessing what she knew of the conspiracy and murder.
Mrs. Clear, not having been paid her hush money, had betrayed the confidence and misdeeds of Ferruci, thereby revealing an extent of villainy for which neither Diana nor Lucian was prepared.
Now the Count had to be seen and brought to book for his doings, Lydia informed that her husband was in the asylum, and Vrain himself had to be released in due form from his legal imprisonment.
How Lucian, even with the assistance of Diana, could deal with all these matters, he did not know.
"Why not see Mr. Link?" suggested Diana, when Mrs. Clear had departed, after making a clean breast of the nefarious transactions in which she had been involved. "He may take the case in hand again."
"No doubt," responded Denzil drily, "but I am not very keen to hand it over to him, seeing that he has abandoned it twice.
Again, if I call in the police, it is all over with Lydia and the Count. They will be arrested and punished."
"For the murder of Clear?"
"Perhaps, if it can be proved that they have anything to do with it; certainly for the conspiracy to get the assurance money by the feigned death of your father."
"Well," said Diana coldly, "and why should they not receive the reward of their deeds?"
"Quite so; but the question is, do you wish any scandal?"
Diana was silent.
She had not looked at the matter from this point of view.
It was true what Lucian said.
If the police took up the case again, Lydia and her accomplice would be arrested, and the whole sordid story of their doings would be in the papers.
Diana was a proud woman, and winced at the idea of such publicity.
It would be as well to avoid proceeding to such extremities.
If the assurance money was returned by Lydia, she would be reduced to her former estate, and by timely flight might escape the vengeance of the defrauded company.
After all, she was the wife of Vrain, and little as Diana liked her, she did not wish to see the woman who was so closely related to the wronged man put in prison; not for her own sake, but for the sake of the name she so unworthily bore.
"I leave it in your hands," said Diana to Lucian, who was watching her closely.
"Very good," replied Denzil. "Then I think it will be best for me to see Ferruci first, and hear his confession; afterwards call on Mrs. Vrain, and learn what she has to say.
Then——"
"Well," said Diana, curiously, "what then?"
"I will be guided by circumstances.
In the meantime, for the sake of your name, we had better keep the matter as quiet as possible."
"Mrs. Clear may speak out."
"Mrs. Clear won't speak," said Denzil grimly. "She will keep quiet for her own sake; and as Rhoda has left Jersey Street, there will be no danger of trouble from that quarter.
First, I'll see Lydia and the Count, to get to the bottom of this conspiracy; then I'll set the police on Rhoda's track, that she may be arrested and made to confess her knowledge of the murder."
"Do you think she knows anything?"
"I think she knows everything," replied Lucian with emphasis. "That is why she has run away.
If we capture her, and force her to speak, we may be able to arrest Wrent."
"Why Wrent?" asked Diana.
"Have you forgotten what Mrs. Clear said?
I agree with her that he is the assassin, although we can't prove it as yet."
"But who is Wrent?"
"Ah!" said Lucian, significantly, "that is just what I wish to find out."
The upshot of this interview was that early the next morning Denzil went to the chambers of Ferruci, in Marquis Street, and informed the servant that he wanted particularly to see the Count.
At first the Italian, being still in bed—for he was a late riser—did not incline to grant his visitor an interview; but on second thoughts he ordered Lucian to be shown into the sitting-room, and shortly afterwards joined him there wrapped in a dressing-gown.
He welcomed the barrister with a smiling nod, and having some instinct that Lucian came on an unpleasant errand, he did not offer him his hand.
From the first the two men were on their guard against one another.
"Good-morning, sir," said Ferruci in his best English. "May I ask why you take me from my bed so early?"
"To tell you a story."
"About my friend Dr. Jorce saying I was with him on that night?" sneered the Count.
"Partly, and partly about a lady you know."
Ferruci frowned.
"You speak of Mrs. Vrain?"
"No," replied Lucian coolly.
"I speak of Mrs. Clear."