"It is so," assented Lucian gravely, "but even admitting so much, it is impossible to believe that Mr. Vrain was in Jersey Street.
For many months before Christmas he was in charge of Mrs. Clear, at Bayswater."
"So Ercole said," replied Lydia, "but he used to get away from Mrs. Clear at times, and had to be brought back."
"He wandered when he got the chance," said Lucian, with hesitation. "I admit as much."
"Well, then, when he was not at Bayswater he used to live in Jersey Street as Wrent.
Ferruci found him out there, and tried to get him to go back, and he took Mrs. Clear several times to the same place in order to persuade him to return to Bayswater.
That was why Mrs. Clear visited Jersey Street.
Oh, Mark played his part there as Mr. Wrent, I guess; there ain't no two questions about that," finished Lydia triumphantly.
"He is the assassin, you bet!"
"I don't believe it!" cried Diana furiously. "Why, my father is too weak in the head to have the will, let alone the courage, to masquerade like that.
He is like a child in leading-strings."
"That's his cunning, Diana.
He's 'cute enough to pretend madness, so that he won't be hanged!"
"It is impossible that Vrain can be Wrent," said Lucian decidedly. "I agree with Miss Vrain; he is too weak and irresponsible to carry out such a deed.
Besides, I don't see how you prove him guilty of the murder; you do not even know that he could enter the Silent House by the secret way."
"I don't know anything about it, except what Count Ferruci told me," said Lydia obstinately. "And he said that Vrain, as Wrent, killed Clear.
But you can easily prove if it's true or not."
"How can we prove it?" asked Diana coldly.
"By laying a trap for Mark.
You know—at least Ercole told me, and I suppose Mrs. Clear told you—that she corresponded with Mark—Wrent, I mean—in the agony column of the Daily Telegraph.
"By means of a cypher?
Yes, I know that, but she hasn't received any answer yet."
"Of course not," replied Lydia, with triumph, "because Wrent—that's Mark, you know—is in the asylum, and can't answer her."
"This is all nonsense!" broke in Lucian, impatient of this cobweb spinning. "I don't believe a word of Ferruci's story.
If Vrain lived in Jersey Street as Wrent, why should Mrs. Clear visit him?"
"To get him back to Bayswater."
"Nonsense! nonsense!
And even admitting as much, why should Mrs. Clear, in the newspapers, correspond in cypher with a man whom she not only knows is in an asylum as her husband, but who can be seen by her at any time?"
"I quite agree with you, Lucian," cried Diana emphatically. "Count Ferruci told a pack of falsehoods to Mrs. Vrain!
The thing is utterly absurd!"
"Oh, I guess I'm not so easily made a fool of as all that!" cried Lydia, firing up. "If you don't believe me, lay the trap I told you of.
Let Mark go free out of the asylum; get Mrs. Clear, with her cypher and newspapers, to ask him to meet her in the house where Clear was murdered, and then you'll see if Mark won't turn up in his character of Wrent."
"He will not!" cried Diana vehemently. "He will not!"
"Mark, when he left me," went on the angry Lydia, "had plenty of hair, and was clean shaven. Now—as Ferruci told me, for I haven't seen him—he is bald, and wears a skull-cap of black velvet, and a white beard.
After Ercole told me about Jersey Street I went there to ask that fat woman about Mark; she said he had gone away two days after Christmas, and described him as an old man with a skull-cap and a white beard."
"Oh!" cried Lucian, for he recollected that Rhoda gave the same description.
"Ah! you know I speak the truth!" said Lydia, rising, "but I've had enough of all this. I've lost my money, and I don't suppose I'll go back to Mark. I've been treated badly all round, and I don't know what poppa will say.
But I'm going out of London to meet him."
"You said you did not know where your father was!" cried Diana scornfully.
"I don't tell you everything, Diana," retorted Lydia, looking very wicked, "but, if you must know, poppa went over to Paris last week, and I'm going over there to meet him. He'll raise Cain for the way I've been treated."
"Well," said Lucian, as she prepared to take her leave, "I hope you'll get away."
"Do you intend to stop me, Mr. Denzil?" flashed out Mrs. Vrain, furiously.
"Not I; but I'll give you a hint—the railway stations will be watched by the police."
"For me?" said Lydia, with a scared expression. "Oh, sakes! it's awful! and I've done nothing.
It's not my fault if I got the assurance money.
I really thought that Mark was dead.
But I'll try and get away to poppa; he'll put things right.
Good-bye, Mr. Denzil, and Diana; you've done me a heap of harm, but I don't bear malice," and Mrs. Vrain rushed out of the room in a great hurry to escape the chance of arrest hinted at by Lucian.
She had a sharp eye to her own safety.
Diana waited until the cab which Lydia had kept waiting was driving away, and then turned with an anxious expression on her face to look at Lucian.