CHAPTER XXV
A DARK PLOT
"So Vrain is alive, after all!" was Lucian's comment on the speech ofJorce, "and he is here under your charge? Jove! it's wonderful! Dianawas right, after all!"
"Diana? Who is Diana?" queried Jorce, then held up his hand to stop hisvisitor from replying. "Wait! I know! Vrain mentioned his daughterDiana."
"Yes, she is the daughter of Vrain, and she believes her father to bealive."
"On what grounds?"
"Because the dead man, whom, until lately, she believed to be Mr. Vrain,had one of his little fingers missing. That fact came to her knowledgeonly a week ago. When it did, she declared that the deceased could notbe her father."
"H'm!" said Jorce thoughtfully, "I am quite in the dark as to why Mr.Vrain was put under my charge."
"Because Ferruci wished to marry his widow."
"I see! Ferruci substituted another man for my patient and had himkilled."
"Evidently," replied Lucian; "but I am almost as much in the dark asyou are, Dr. Jorce. Tell me how Vrain came to be placed here, and,exchanging confidence for confidence, I'll let you know all I havediscovered since the death of the man in Geneva Square who calledhimself Berwin."
"That is a fair offer," replied Jorce, clearing his throat, "and onewhich I willingly accept. I do not wish you to think that I am in leaguewith Signor Ferruci. What I did was done honestly. I am not afraid oftelling my story."
"I am sure of that," said Lucian heartily. "I guessed that Ferruci hadnot trusted you altogether, from the time he feigned that your evidencewas needed only to decide a bet."
"Trust me!" echoed Jorce, with scorn. "He never trusted me at all. He istoo cunning for that. However, you shall hear."
"I'm all attention, Doctor."
"A week before last Christmas, Signor Ferruci called to see me, andexplained that he was interested in a gentleman called Michael Clear,whom he had met some years before in Italy. Clear, he said, had beenmost intimate with him, but later on had indulged so much in the morphiahabit that their friendship had terminated with high words. Afterwards,Clear had returned to England, and Ferruci lost sight of him for somemonths. Then he visited England, and one day found Clear in the street,looking ill and wretched. The man had become a confirmed morphiamaniac,and the habit had weakened his brain. The Count pitied the poorcreature, according to his own story, and took him to his home, thewhereabouts of which Clear was happily able to remember."
"Where is the house?" asked Lucian, taking out his pocketbook.
"Number 30, St. Bertha's Road, Bayswater," replied Jorce; and when thebarrister, for his private information, had made a note of the address,he continued: "It then appeared that Clear was married. The wife toldFerruci that she was afraid of her husband, who, in his fits ofdrink--for he drank likewise--often threatened to kill her. They hadlost their money, and the poor woman was at her wit's end what to do.Ferruci explained to me that out of friendship he was most anxious tobefriend Clear, and stated that Mrs. Clear wished to get her husbandcured. He proposed, therefore, to put Clear into my asylum, and pay onbehalf of the wife."
"A very ingenious and plausible plan," said Lucian. "Well, Doctor, andwhat did you say?"
"I agreed, of course, provided the man was certified insane in the usualway. Ferruci then departed, promising to bring Mrs. Clear to see me. Hebrought her late on Christmas Eve, at ten--"
"Ah!" interrupted Lucian, "did she wear a black gauze veil with velvetspots?"
"She did, Mr. Denzil. Have you met her?"
"No, but I have heard of her. She was the woman who visited Wrent inJersey Street. No doubt Ferruci was waiting for her in the back yard."
"Who is Wrent?" asked Jorce, looking puzzled.
"Don't you know the name, Doctor?"
"No."
"Did Mrs. Clear never mention it?"
"Never."
"Nor Ferruci?"
"No. I never heard the name before," replied Jorce complacently.
"Strange!" said Denzil reflectively. "Yet Wrent seems to be at thebottom of the whole plot. Well, never mind, just now. Please continue,my dear Doctor. What did Mrs. Clear say?"
"Oh, she repeated Ferruci's story, amplified in a feminine fashion. Shewas afraid of Michael, who, when excited with morphia or drink, wouldsnatch up a knife to attempt her life. Twice she had disarmed him, andnow she was tired and frightened. She was willing for him to go into myasylum since Count Ferruci had so kindly consented to bear the expense,but she wished to give him one more chance. Then, as it was late, shestayed here all night. So did the Count, and on Christmas Day they wentaway."
"When did they come back?"
"About a fortnight later, and they brought with them the man they bothcalled Michael Clear."
"What is he like?"
"An old man with a white beard."
"Is he mad?" asked Lucian bluntly.
"He is not mad now, only weak in the head," replied Jorceprofessionally, "but he was certainly mad when he arrived. The man'sbrain is wrecked by morphia."
"Not by drink?"
"No; although it suited Mrs. Clear and Ferruci to say so. But Clear, asI may call him, was very violent, and quite justified Mrs. Clear'sdesire to sequester him. She told me that he often imagined himself tobe other people. Sometimes he would feign to be Napoleon; again thePope; so when he, a week after he was in the asylum, insisted that hewas Mark Vrain, I put it down to his delusion."
"But how could you think he had come by the name, Doctor?"
"My dear sir, at that time the papers were full of the case and itsmystery, and as we have a reading-room in this asylum, I fancied thatClear had seen the accounts, and had, as a delusion, called himselfVrain. Afterwards he fell into a kind of comatose state, and for weekssaid very little. He was most abject and frightened, and responded in atimid sort of way to the name of Clear. Naturally this confirmed me inmy belief that his calling himself Vrain was a delusion. Then he grewbetter, and one day told me that his name was Vrain. Of course, I didnot believe him. Still, he was so persistent about the matter that Ithought there might be something in it, and spoke to Ferruci."
"What did he say?"
"He denied that the man's name was anything but Clear. That the wifeand two doctors--for the poor soul had been duly certified asinsane--had put him into the asylum; and altogether persisted sostrongly in his original story that I thought it was absurd to put acrazy man's delusion against a sane man's tale. Besides, everythingregarding the certificate and sequestrating of Clear had been quitelegal. Two doctors--and very rightly, too--had certified to the insanityof the man; and his wife--as I then believed Mrs. Clear to be--hadconsented to his detention."
"What made you suspicious that there might be something wrong?" askedLucian eagerly.
"My visit to meet you, at Ferruci's request, to prove the alibi,"responded Jorce. "I thought it was strange, and afterwards, when adetective named Mr. Link, called, I thought it was stranger still."
"But you did not see Link?"
"No. I was in Italy then, but I heard of his visit. In Florence I heardfrom a most accomplished gossip the whole story of Mr. Vrain's marriageand the prior engagement of Mrs. Vrain to Ferruci. I guessed that theremight be some plot, but I could not quite understand how it was carriedout, save that Vrain--as I then began to believe Clear to be--had beenplaced in my asylum under a false name. On my return I intended to seeyou, when I was laid up in Florence with the fever. Now, however, thatwe have met, tell me so much of the story as you know. Afterwards weshall see Mr. Vrain."
Lucian was willing enough to show his confidence in Jorce, the more soas he needed his help. Forthwith he told him all he knew, from the timehe had met Michael Clear, _alias_ Mark Berwin, _alias_ Mark Vrain, inGeneva Square, down to the moment he had presented himself forinformation at the gates of "The Haven." Doctor Jorce listened with thegreatest attention, his little face puckered up into a grim smile, andshook his head when the barrister ended his recital.
"A bad world, Mr
. Denzil, a bad world!" he said, rising. "Come with me,and I'll take you to see my patient."
"But what do you think of it all?" said Denzil, eager for some comment.
"I'll tell you that," rejoined Jorce, "when you have heard the story ofMr. Vrain."
In a few minutes Lucian was led by his guide into a pleasant room, withFrench windows opening on to a wide verandah, and a sunny lawn set roundwith flowers. Books were arranged on shelves round the walls, newspapersand magazines were on the table, and near the window, in a comfortablechair, sat an old man with a volume in his hand. As Jorce entered hestood up and shuffled forward with a senile smile of delight.Evidently--and with reason, poor soul--he considered the doctor his verygood friend.
"Well, well!" said the cheery Jorce, "and how are you to-day, Mr.Vrain?"
"I feel very well," replied Vrain in a soft, weak voice. "Who is this,Doctor?"
"A young friend of mine, Mr. Vrain. He wishes to hear your story."
"Alas! alas!" sighed Vrain, his eyes filling with tears, "a sad story,sir."
The father of Diana was of middle height, with white hair, and a longwhite beard which swept his chest. On his cheek Lucian saw the cicatriceof which Diana had spoken, and mainly by which the dead man had beenfalsely identified as Vrain. He was very like Clear in figure andmanner; but, of course, the resemblance in the face was not very close,as Clear had been clean shaven, whereas the real Vrain wore a beard. Theeyes were dim and weak-looking, and altogether Lucian saw that Vrain wasnot fitted to battle with the world in any way, and quite weak enough tobecome the prey of villains, as had been his sad fate.
"My name is Mark Vrain, young sir," said he, beginning his story withoutfurther preamble. "I lived in Berwin Manor, Bath, with my wife Lydia,but she treated me badly by letting another man love her, and I lefther. Oh, yes, sir, I left her. I went away to Salisbury, and was veryhappy there with my books, but, alas! I took morph----"
"Vrain!" said Jorce, holding up his finger, "no!"
"Of course, of course," said the old man, with a watery smile, "I mean Iwas very happy there. But Signor Ferruci, a black-hearted villain"--hisface grew dark as he mentioned the name--"found me out and made me comewith him to London. He kept me there for months, and then he brought mehere."
"Kept you where, Mr. Vrain?" asked Lucian gently.
The old man looked at him with a vacant eye. "I don't know," he said ina dull voice.
"You came here from Bayswater," hinted Jorce.
"Yes, yes, Bayswater!" cried Vrain, growing excited. "I was there with awoman they called my wife. She was not my wife! My wife is fair, thiswoman was dark. Her name was Maud Clear: my wife's name is Lydia."
"Did Mrs. Clear say you were her husband, Michael?"
"Yes. She called me Michael Clear, and brought me to stay with thedoctor. But I am not Michael Clear!"