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Updated: June 9, 2025
No doubt the poor man grew jealous of Ferruci; and, unable to assert himself, seeing how ill he was, left the house and retired to Geneva Square to meet his death, as we know." "But all this is supposition," remonstrated Lucian. "We really do not know why Mr. Vrain left the house." "What does Lydia say?" "She gives no feasible explanation." "Nor will she.
"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."
"She is absolutely innocent of all knowledge concerning the feigned death of her husband and his actual existence in a private lunatic asylum; and on the strength of this confession of mine which will fix the guilt of the matter on the right persons I demand that she shall be set free. It is not fair that she should suffer, for I and Ferruci planned and carried out the whole conspiracy.
Vrain, jumping up briskly, "I can take you to see some friends with whom I stayed on Christmas Eve. The whole lot will tell you that I was with them at Camden Hill all the night." "What! Can you prove an alibi?" "I don't know what you call it," retorted Lydia coolly, "but I can prove pretty slick that I wasn't in Pimlico." "But Mrs. Vrain your friend Ferruci was there!" "Was he?
Lydia had cleared herself; Ferruci had proved himself innocent; and Lucian could not make up his mind what was now to be done. In this dilemma he sought out Diana, as, knowing from experience that where a man's logic ends a woman's instinct begins, he thought she might suggest some way out of the difficulty.
My father, finding that he could do nothing, and seeing what a mistake he had made, returned to his books, and soon became ill again. Instead of looking after him, Lydia as I heard encouraged him to study hard, hoping, no doubt, that he would die, and that she would be free to marry Count Ferruci. Then my father left the house." "Why? That is a very necessary detail."
He wished for proofs of innocence, and these he tried to obtain as soon as Ferruci drew breath in his fiery harangue. "If you are innocent, Count," said Lucian, in reply to the fluent, incorrect English of the Italian, "appearances are against you. However, you can prove yourself innocent, if you will." "Sir!" cried Ferruci, "is not my word good?"
They had only lately arrived in Italy from New York, I suppose but already she was said to be engaged to a needy Italian nobleman named Hercule Ferruci." "Then I suppose the Clynes were rich," said Lucian, "for I know those Italian nobles too well to suspect that this Count Ferruci would pay attention to any one but an heiress." "She was supposed to be rich, Mr. Denzil.
"Assuredly she is! The evidence of the Pegall family given in all innocence proves that she could not have been in Geneva Square or in Jersey Street on Christmas Eve." "Then we come back to my original belief, Mr. Denzil. Lydia did not commit the crime herself, but employed Ferruci to do so." "No," replied Denzil decidedly. "Whether the Italian is guilty or not, Mrs. Vrain knows nothing about it.
At that time Lydia was in love with, and almost engaged to, Count Ercole Ferruci, a penniless Italian nobleman, who courted my pretty girl less for her beauty than for her supposed wealth.
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