CHAPTER XVII
A DENIAL
"What do you know of the stiletto?" repeated Mrs. Vrain anxiously.
She had risen to her feet, and, with an effort to be calm, was holdingon to the near chair. Her bright colour had faded to a dull white hue,and her eyes had a look of horror in their depths which transformed herfrom her childish beauty into a much older and more haggard woman thanshe really was. It seemed as though Lucian, by some necromantic spell,had robbed her of youth, vitality, and careless happiness. To him thisextraordinary agitation was a proof of her guilt; and hardening hisheart so as not to spare her one iota of her penalty--a mercy she didnot deserve--he addressed her sternly:
"I know that a stiletto purchased in Florence by your late husband hungon the library wall of Berwin Manor. I know that it is gone!"
"Yes! yes!" said Lydia, moistening her white, dry lips, "it is gone; butI do not know who took it."
"The person who killed your husband."
"I feared as much," she muttered, sitting down again. "Do you know thename of the person?"
"As well as you do yourself. The name is Lydia Vrain!"
"I!" She threw herself back on the chair with a look of profoundastonishment on her colourless face. "Mr. Denzil," she stammered,"is--is this--is this a jest?"
"You will not find it so, Mrs. Vrain."
The little woman clutched the arms of her chair and leaned forward withher face no longer pale, but red with rage and indignation. "If you area gentleman, Mr. Denzil, I guess you won't keep me hanging on like this.Let us get level. Do you say I killed Mark?"
"Yes, I do!" said Lucian defiantly. "I am sure of it."
"On what grounds?" asked Mrs. Vrain, holding her temper back with avisible effort, that made her eyes glitter and her breath short.
"On the grounds that he was killed with that stiletto and----"
"Go slow! How do you know he was killed with that stiletto?"
"Because the ribbon which attached it to the wall was found in theGeneva Square house, where your husband was killed. Miss Vrainrecognised it."
"Miss Vrain--Diana! Is she in England?"
"Not only in England, but in London."
"Then why hasn't she been to see me?"
Denzil did not like to answer this question, the more so as Lydia'ssudden divergence from the point of discourse rather disconcerted him.It is impossible to maintain dignity in making a serious accusation whenthe person against whom it is made thinks so little of it as to turnaside to discuss a point of etiquette in connection with another woman.
Seeing that her accuser was silent and confused, Lydia recovered hertongue and colour, and the equability of her temper. It was, therefore,with some raillery that she continued her speech:
"I see how it is," she said contemptuously, "Diana has called you intoher councils in order to fix this absurd charge on to me. Afraid to comeherself, she sends you as the braver person of the partnership. Icongratulate you on your errand, Mr. Denzil."
"You can laugh as much as you like, Mrs. Vrain, but the matter is moreserious than you suppose."
"Oh, I am sure that my loving stepdaughter will make it as serious aspossible. She always hated me."
"Pardon me, Mrs. Vrain," said Lucian, colouring with annoyance, "but Idid not come here to hear you speak ill of Miss Vrain."
"I know that! She sent you here to speak ill _of_ me and do ill _to_ me.Well, so you and she accuse me of killing Mark? I shall be glad to hearthe evidence you can bring forward. If you can make your charge good Ishould smile. Oh, I guess so!"
Denzil noticed that when Mrs. Vrain became excited she usually spokeplain English, without the U. S. A. accent, but on growing calmer, and, asit were, recollecting herself, she adopted the Yankee twang and theircurious style of expression and ejaculation. This led him to suspectthat the fair Lydia was not a born daughter of the Great Republic,perhaps not even a naturalised citizeness, but had assumed suchnationality as one attractive to society in Europe and Great Britain.
He wondered what her past really was, and if she and her father were thedoubtful adventurers Diana believed them to be. If so, it might happenthat Lydia would extricate herself out of her present unpleasantposition by the use of past experience. To give her no chance of suchdodging, Lucian rapidly detailed the evidence against her so that shewould be hard put to baffle it. But in this estimate he quite underratedLydia's nerve and capability of fence, let alone the dexterity withwhich she produced a satisfactory reply to each of his questions.
"We will begin at the beginning, Mrs. Vrain," he said soberly, "say fromthe time you drove your unfortunate husband out of his own house."
"Now, I guess that wasn't my fault," explained Lydia. "I wasn't in lovewith old man Mark, but I liked him well enough, for he was a realgentleman; and when that make-mischief Diana, who cocked her nose at me,set out for Australia, we got on surprisingly well. Count Ferruci cameover to stay, as much at Mark's invitation as mine, and I didn't paytoo much attention to him anyhow."
"Miss Tyler says you did!"
"Sakes!" cried Mrs. Vrain, raising her eyebrows, "have you been talkingto that old stump? Well, just you look here, Mr. Denzil! It was BellaTyler who made all the mischief. She thought Ercole was sweet on her,and when she found out he wasn't, she got real mad, and went to tellMark that I was making things hum the wrong way with the Count. Ofcourse Mark had a row with him, and, of course, I got riz--not havingdone anything to lie low for. We had a row royal, I guess, and the endof it was that Mark cleared out. I thought he would turn up again, orapply for a divorce, though he hadn't any reason to. But he did neither,and remained away for a whole year. While he was away I got quit ofErcole pretty smart, I can tell you, as I wanted to shut up that oldmaid's mouth. I never knew where Mark was, or guessed what became ofhim, until I saw that advertisement, and putting two and two together tomake four, I called to see Mr. Link, where I found you running thecircus."
"Why did you faint on the mention of the stiletto?"
"I told you the reason, and Link also."
"Yes, but your reason was too weak to----"
"Oh, well, you're right enough there," interrupted Lydia, smiling. "Allthat talk of nerves and grief wasn't true. I didn't give my real reason,but I will now. When I heard that the old man had been stabbed by astiletto I remembered that the one on the library wall had vanished sometime before the Christmas Eve on which Mark was killed. So you may guessI was afraid."
"For yourself?"
"I guess not; it wasn't any of my funeral. I didn't take the stiletto,nor did I know who had; but I was afraid you might think Ferruci tookit. The stiletto was Italian, and the Count is Italian, so it struck meyou might put two and two together and suspect Ercole. I never thoughtyou'd fix on me," concluded Lydia, with a scornful toss of her head.
"As a matter of fact, I fixed on you both," said Lucian composedly.
"And for what reason? Why should I and the Count murder poor Mark, ifyou please? He was a fool and a bore, but I wished him no harm. I wassorry as any one when I heard of his death, and I offered a good rewardfor the catching of the mean skunk that killed him. If I had done somyself I wouldn't have been such a fool as to sharpen the scent of thehounds on my own trail."
"You were in town on Christmas Eve?" said Denzil, not choosing toexplain the motives he believed the pair had for committing the crime.
"I was. What of that?"
"You were in Jersey Street, Pimlico, on that night."
"I was never in Pimlico in my life!" declared Lydia wrathfully, "and,as I said before, I don't know where Jersey Street is."
"Do you know a man called Wrent?"
"I never heard of him!"
"Yet you visited him in Jersey Street on Christmas Eve, between sevenand eight o'clock."
"Did I, really?" cried Mrs. Vrain, ironically, "and how can you prove Idid?"
"By that cloak," said Lucian, pointing to where it lay on a chair. "Youwore that cloak and a velvet-spotted veil."
"I haven
't worn a veil of that kind for over a year," said Lydiadecisively, "though I admit I used to wear veils of that sort. You canask my maid if I have any velvet-spotted veils in my wardrobe just now.As to the cloak--I never wear rabbit skins."
"You might as a disguise."
"Sakes alive, man, what should I want with a disguise? I tell you thecloak isn't mine. You can soon prove that. Find out who made it, and goand ask in the shop if I bought it."
"How can I find out who made it?" asked Denzil, who was beginning tofeel that Lydia was one too many for him.
"Here! I'll show you!" said Lydia, and picking up the cloak she turnedover the tab at the neck, by which it was hung up. At the back of thisthere was a small piece of tape with printed black letters. "Baxter &Co., General Drapers, Bayswater," she read out, throwing down the cloakcontemptuously. "I don't go to a London suburb for my frocks; I getthem in Paris."
"Then you are sure this cloak isn't yours?" asked Lucian, muchperplexed.
"No! I tell you it isn't! Go and ask Baxter & Co. if I bought it. I'llgo with you, if you like; or better still," cried Mrs. Vrain, jumping upbriskly, "I can take you to see some friends with whom I stayed onChristmas Eve. The whole lot will tell you that I was with them atCamden Hill all the night."
"What! Can you prove an alibi?"
"I don't know what you call it," retorted Lydia coolly, "but I can provepretty slick that I wasn't in Pimlico."
"But--Mrs. Vrain--your friend--Ferruci was there!"
"Was he? Well, I don't know. I never saw him that time he was in town.But if you think he killed Mark you are wrong. I do not believe Ercolewould kill a fly, for all he's an Italian."
"Do you think he took that stiletto?"
"No, I don't!"
"Then who did?"
"I don't know. I don't even know when it was taken. I missed it afterChristmas, because that old schoolma'am told me it was gone."
"Old schoolma'am!"
"Well, Bella Tyler, if you like that better," retorted Mrs. Vrain."Come, now, Mr. Denzil, I'm not going to let you go away without provingmy--what do you call it?--alibi. Come with me right along to CamdenHill."
"I'll come just to satisfy myself," said Lucian, picking up the cloak,"but I am beginning to feel that it is unnecessary."
"You think I am innocent? Well," drawled Lydia, as Lucian nodded, "Ithink that's real sweet of you. I mayn't be a saint, but I'm not quitethe sinner that Diana of yours makes me out."
"Diana of mine, Mrs. Vrain?" said Lucian, colouring.
The little woman laughed at his blush.
"Oh, I'm not a fool, young man. I see how the wind blows!" And with anod she vanished.