CHAPTER VIII
DIANA VRAIN
Although over three months had elapsed since the murder of Mark Vrain,and the crime had been relegated to oblivion both by press and people,curiosity concerning it was still active in Geneva Square. The gossipsin that talkative quarter had exhausted their tongues and imaginationsin surmising who had committed the deed, and how it had beenaccomplished.
It was now known that the deceased had been of a good county family, whohad left his pretty young wife in a fit of groundless suspicion; that hehad no enemies; and had withdrawn to the Silent House to save himselffrom the machinations of purely imaginary beings. The general opinionwas that Vrain had been insane; but even this did not explain the reasonof his tragic and unforeseen death.
Since the murder the Silent House had acquired a tenfold interest in theeyes of all. The crime, added to its reputation for being haunted,invested it with horror; and its commonplace looks assumed to fancifulonlookers a grim and menacing aspect, in keeping with its blood-stainedfloor and ghostly rooms.
Disheartened by the late catastrophe, which had so greatly enhanced thealready evil reputation of the house, the landlord did not attempt torelet it, as he knew very well that no tenant would be bold enough totake it, even at a nominal rent. Mrs. Vrain had sold off the furnitureof the two apartments which her unfortunate husband had inhabited, andnow these were as bare and lonely as the rest of the rooms.
The landlord made no effort to furbish up or renovate the mansion,deeming that such expense would be useless; so No. 13, deserted by man,and cursed by God, remained vacant and avoided. People came from far andnear to look at it, but no one entered its doors lest some evil fateshould befall them. Yet, in strange contradiction to the horror itcreated in every breast, the houses on either side continued to beoccupied.
Miss Greeb frequently took a peep across the way at the empty house,with its curtainless, dusty windows and smokeless chimneys. She hadtheorised often on the murder of Vrain, and being unable to come to anyreasonable conclusion, finally decided that a ghost--the ghost whichhaunted the mansion--had committed the crime. In support of thisfantastic opinion she related to Lucian at least a score of stories inwhich people foolishly sleeping in haunted rooms had been found dead inthe morning.
"With black finger-marks on their throats," said Miss Greebdramatically, "and looks of horror in their eyes, and everything lockedup, just like it was in No. 13, to show that nothing but a ghost couldhave killed them."
"You forget, Miss Greeb," said Lucian flippantly, "poor Vrain wasstabbed with a stiletto. Ghosts don't use material weapons."
"How do you know the dagger was a real one?" replied Miss Greeb, sinkingher voice to a horrified whisper. "Was it ever seen? No! Was it everfound? No! The ghost took it away. Depend upon it, Mr. Denzil, it wasn'tflesh and blood as made a spirit of that crazy Berwin."
"In that case, the ghostly criminal can't be hanged," said Denzil, witha laugh. "But it's all nonsense, Miss Greeb. I am astonished that awoman of your sense should believe in such rubbish."
"Wiser people than I have faith in ghosts," retorted the landladyobstinately. "Haven't you heard of the haunted house in a West Endsquare, where a man and a dog were found dead in the morning, with avalet as gibbered awful ever afterwards?"
"Pooh! Pooh! That's a story of Bulwer Lytton's."
"It is not, Mr. Denzil--it's a fact. You can see the very house in thesquare for yourself, and No. 13 is just such another."
"Nonsense! Why, I'd sleep in No. 13 to-morrow night, just to prove thatyour ghostly fears are all moonshine."
Miss Greeb uttered a screech of alarm. "Mr. Denzil!" she cried, withgreat energy, "sooner than you should do that, I'd--I'd--well, I don'tknow what I'd do!"
"Accuse me of stealing your silver spoons and have me locked up," saidLucian, laughing. "Make yourself easy, Miss Greeb. I have no intentionof tempting Providence. All the same, I don't believe for one minutethat No. 13 is haunted."
"Lights were seen flitting from room to room."
"No doubt. Poor Vrain showed me over the house before he died. Hiscandle explains the lights."
"They have been seen since his death," said Miss Greeb solemnly.
"Then, as a ghost, Vrain must be walking about with the old womanphantom who wears brocade and high-heeled shoes."
Miss Greeb, seeing that she had a sceptic to deal with, retreated withgreat dignity from the argument, but nevertheless to other peoplemaintained her opinion, with many facts drawn from her imagination andfrom books on the supernatural compiled from the imagination--or, as thevarious writers called it--the experience of others. Some agreed withher, others laughed at her; but one and all acknowledged that, howeverit came about, whether by ghostly or mortal means, the murder of Vrainwas a riddle never likely to be solved; and, with other events of alike nature and mystery, it was relegated to the list of undiscoveredcrimes.
After several interviews with Link, the barrister was also inclined totake this view of the matter. He found the detective quite discouragedin his efforts to find the assassin.
"I have been to Bath," said Link dismally. "I have examined, so far as Iwas able, into the past life of Vrain, but I can find nothing likely tothrow light on the subject. He did not get on well with his wife, andleft Bath ten months before the murder. I tried to trace where he wentto, but could not. He vanished from Bath quite unexpectedly, and fourmonths later turned up in Geneva Square, as we know, but who killed him,or why he was killed, I can't say. I'm afraid I'll have to give it up asa bad job, Mr. Denzil."
"What! and lose a reward of five hundred pounds!" said Lucian.
"If it was five thousand, I must lose it," returned the dejected Link."This case beats me. I don't believe the murderer will ever be rundown."
"Upon my word, I am inclined to agree with you," said Denzil, andbarrister and detective departed, each convinced that the Vrain case wasended, and that in the face of the insuperable obstacles presented by itthere was not the slightest chance of avenging the murder of theunfortunate man. The reading of the mystery was beyond mortal powers toaccomplish.
* * * * *
About the middle of April, nearly four months after the tragedy, Lucianreceived a letter containing an invitation which caused him no littleastonishment. The note was signed Diana Vrain, and, having intimatedthat the writer had returned only that week from Australia, requestedthat Mr. Denzil would be kind enough to call the next day at the RoyalJohn Hotel in Kensington. Miss Vrain ended by stating that she had aparticular desire to converse with Mr. Denzil, and hoped that he wouldnot fail to keep the appointment.
Wondering greatly how the lady--who was no doubt the stepdaughterreferred to by Mrs. Vrain--had obtained his address, and why she desiredto see him so particularly, Lucian, out of sheer curiosity, obeyed thesummons. Next day, at four o'clock--the appointed hour--he presentedhimself as requested, and, on giving his name, was shown immediatelyinto the presence of his correspondent, who occupied a small privatesitting-room.
When Miss Vrain rose to greet him, Lucian was amazed to see howbeautiful and stately she was. With dark hair and eyes, oval face, andfirm mouth, majestic figure and imperial gait, she moved towards him anapparent queen. A greater contrast to Mrs. Vrain than her stepdaughtercan scarcely be imagined: the one was a frivolous, volatile fairy, theother a dignified and reserved woman. She also was arrayed in blackgarments, but these were made in the plainest manner, and showed none ofthe coquetry of woe such as had characterised Mrs. Vrain's elaboratecostume. The look of sorrow on the face of Diana was in keeping with hermourning apparel, and she welcomed Lucian with a subdued courtesy whichprepossessed him greatly in her favour.
Quick in his likes and dislikes, the young man was as drawn towards thisbeautiful, sad woman as formerly he had been repulsed by the feignedgrief and ensnaring glances of silly Mrs. Vrain.
"I am much obliged to you for calling, Mr. Denzil," said Miss Vrain in adeep voice, rather melancholy in its tone. "No doub
t you wondered how Iobtained your address."
"It did strike me as peculiar, I confess," said Lucian, taking a chairto which she pointed, "but on considering the matter I fancied that Mrs.Vrain had----"
"Mrs. Vrain!" echoed Diana in a tone of contempt. "No! I have not seenMrs. Vrain since I returned, a week ago, to London. I got your addressfrom the detective who examined into the death of my most unhappyfather."
"You have seen Link?"
"Yes, and I know all that Link could tell me. He mentioned your namefrequently in his narrative, and gave me to understand that on twooccasions you had spoken with my father; therefore, I asked him to giveme your address, so that I might speak with you personally on thematter."
"I am quite at your service, Miss Vrain. I suppose you wish to learnall that I know of the tragedy?"
"I wish for more than that, Mr. Denzil," said Diana quietly. "I wish youto help me in hunting down the assassin of my father."
"What! Do you intend to reopen the case?"
"Certainly; but I did not know that the case--as you call it--had beenclosed. I have come home from Australia especially to devote myself tothis matter. I should have been in London long ago, but that out inAustralia I was with some friends in a part of the country where it isdifficult to get letters. As soon as Mrs. Vrain's letter about theterrible end of my father came to hand I arranged my affairs and left atonce for England. Since my arrival I have seen Mr. Saker, our familylawyer, and Mr. Link, the detective. They have told me all they know,and now I wish to hear what you have to say."
"I am afraid I cannot help you, Miss Vrain," said Lucian dubiously.
"Ah! You refuse to help me?"
"Oh, no! no! I shall only be too glad to do what I can," protestedLucian, shocked that she should think him so hard-hearted, "but I knowof nothing likely to solve the mystery. Both myself and Link have doneour best to discover the truth, but without success."
"Well, Mr. Denzil," said Diana, after a pause, "they often say that awoman's wit can do more than a man's logic, so you and I must put ourheads together and discover the guilty person. Have you no suspicion?"
"No. I have no suspicion," replied Lucian frankly. "Have you?"
"I have. I suspect--a lady."
"Mrs. Vrain?"
"Yes. How do you know I meant her?"
"Because at one time I suspected her myself."
"You suspected rightly," replied Diana. "I believe that Mrs. Vrainkilled her husband."