"You are not fair," replied Lucian drily, "and your looks correspond to the description."
"True! Oh, yes, sir! But that description might describe a dozen of my countrymen. And, Mr. Denzil," added the Count, laughing, "I do not go round about saying to common people that I am an Italian. It is not my custom to explain."
Lucian shrugged his shoulders, and said no more until they entered the shop in Bayswater. As he knew from the previous visit where the saleswoman was located, he led the Count rapidly to the place. The girl was there, as brisk and businesslike as ever. She looked up as they approached, and came forward to serve them, with a swift glance at both.
"I am sorry to trouble you again," said Lucian ceremoniously, "but you told me yesterday that you sold a blue cloak, lined with rabbit skin, to an Italian gentleman, and--"
"And am I the gentleman?" interrupted Ferruci. "Did I buy a cloak?"
"No," replied the shopwoman, after a sharp glance. "This is not the gentleman who bought the cloak."
CHAPTER XX
A NEW DEVELOPMENT
"You see, Mr. Denzil," said Ferruci, turning triumphantly to Lucian, "I did not buy this cloak; I am not the Italian this lady speaks of."
Lucian was extremely astonished at this unexpected testimony in favour of the Count, and questioned the shopwoman sharply. "Are you certain of what you say?" he asked, looking at her intently.
"Yes, I am, sir," replied the girl stiffly, as though she did not like her word doubted. "The gentleman who bought the cloak was not so tall as this one, nor did he speak English well. I had great difficulty in learning what he wanted."
"But you said that he was dark, with a moustache--and--"
"I said all that, sir; but this is not the gentleman."
"Could you swear to it?" said Lucian, more chagrined than he liked to show to the victorious Ferruci.
"If it is necessary, I could, sir," said the shopwoman, with the greatest confidence. And after so direct a reply, and such certain evidence, Denzil had nothing to do but retire from an awkward position as gracefully as he could.
"And now, sir," said Ferruci, who had followed him out of the shop, "you come with me, please."
"Where to?" asked Lucian gloomily.
"To my friend--to my rooms. I have shown I did not buy the cloak you speak of. Now we must find my friend, Dr. Jorce, to tell you I was not at Jersey Street when you say."
"Is Dr. Jorce at your rooms?"
"I asked him to call about this time," said Ferruci, glancing at his watch. "When Mrs. Vrain speak to me of what you say I wish to defend myself, so I write last night to my friend to talk with you this day. I get his telegram saying he would come at two hours."
Lucian glanced in his turn at his watch. "Half-past one," he said, beckoning to a cab. "Very good, Count, we will just have time to get back to your place."
"And what you think now?" said Ferruci, with a malicious twinkle in his eyes.
"I do not know what to think," replied Lucian dismally, "save that it is a strange coincidence that _another_ Italian should have bought the cloak."
The Count shrugged his shoulders as they got into the hansom, but he did not speak until they were well on their way back to Marquis Street. He then looked thoughtfully at his companion. "I do not believe coincidence," he said abruptly, "but in design."
"What do you mean, Count? I do not quite follow you."
"Some one who knows I love Mrs. Vrain wish to injure me," said the Italian rapidly, "and so make theirself like me to buy that cloak. Ah!
you see? But he could not make himself as tall as me. Oh, yes, sir, I am sure it is so."
"Do you know any one who would disguise himself so as to implicate you in the murder?"
"No." Ferruci shook his head. "I cannot think of one man--not one."
"Do you know a man called Wrent?" asked Lucian abruptly.
"I do not, Mr. Denzil," said Ferruci at once. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, I thought he might be the man to disguise himself. But no," added Lucian, remembering Rhoda"s account of Wrent"s white hair and beard, "it cannot be him. He would not sacrifice his beard to carry out the plan; in fact he could not without attracting Rhoda"s attention."
"Rhoda! Wrent! What strange names you talk of!" cried Ferruci vivaciously.
"No stranger than that of your friend Jorce."
Ferruci laughed. "Oh, he is altogether most strange. You see."
It was as the Italian said. Dr. Jorce--who was waiting for them in the Count"s room--proved to be a small, dried-up atom of a man, who looked as though all the colour had been bleached out of him. At first sight he was more like a monkey than a man, owing to his slight, queer figure and agile movements; but a closer examination revealed that he had a clever face, and a pair of most remarkable eyes. These were of a steel-grey hue, with an extraordinary intensity of gaze; and when he fixed them on Lucian at the moment of introduction the young barrister felt as though he were being mesmerised.
For the rest, Jorce was dressed sombrely in black cloth, was extremely voluble and vivacious, and impressed Lucian with the idea that he was less a fellow mortal than a changeling from fairyland. Quite an exceptional man was Dr. Jorce, and, as the Italian said, "most strange."
"My good friend," said Ferruci, laying his stern hand on the shoulder of this oddity, "this gentleman wishes you to decide a--what do you say?--bet?"
"A bet!" cried the little doctor in a deep ba.s.s voice, but with some indignation. "Do I understand, Count, that you have brought me all the way from my place in Hampstead to decide a bet?"
"Ah, but sir, it is a bet most important," said Ferruci, with a smile.
"This Mr. Denzil declares that he saw me in Pim--Pim--what?"
"In Pimlico," said Lucian, seeing that Ferruci could not p.r.o.nounce the word. "I say that the Count was in Pimlico on Christmas Eve."
"You are wrong, sir," said Jorce, with a wave of his skinny hand. "My friend, Count Ferruci, was in my house at Hampstead on that evening."
"Was he?" remarked Lucian, astonished at this confident a.s.sertion. "And at what time did he leave?"
"He did not leave till next morning. My friend the Count remained under my roof all night, and left at twelve o"clock on Christmas morning."
"So you see," said Ferruci airily to Lucian, "that I could not have done what you think, as that was done--by what you said--between eleven and twelve on that night."
"Was the Count with you at ten o"clock on that evening?" asked Denzil.
"Certainly he was; so you have lost your bet, Mr. Denzil. Sorry to bring you such bad fortune, but truth is truth, you know."
"Would you repeat this statement, if I wished?"