she also examined the
cloak, and departed to refresh her memory by looking at some account
book. When she returned it was to intimate that the cloak had been
bought by a man.

"A man!" repeated Lucian, much astonished. "What was he like?"

"A dark man," replied the brisk shopwoman, "dark hair, dark eyes, and a
dark moustache. I remember him well, because he was a foreigner."

"A foreigner?" repeated Lydia in her turn. "A Frenchman?"

"No, madam--an Italian. He told me as much."

"Sakes alive!" cried Mrs. Vrain. "You are right, Mr. Denzil. It's
Ferruci sure enough!"

CHAPTER XIX

THE DEFENCE OF COUNT FERRUCI

"It is quite impossible!" cried Mrs. Vrain distractedly. "I can't
believe it nohow!"

The little woman was back again in her own drawing-room, talking to
Lucian about the discovery which had lately been made regarding
Ferruci's purchase of the cloak. Mrs. Vrain having proved her own
innocence by the evidence of the Pegall family, was now trying to
persuade both herself and Denzil that the Count could not be possibly
implicated in the matter. He had no motive to kill Vrain, she said, a
statement with which Lucian at once disagreed.

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Vrain, he had two motives," said the barrister
quickly. "In the first place, he was in love, and wished to marry you;
in the second, he was poor, and wanted money. By the death of your
husband he hoped to gain both."

"He has gained neither, as yet," replied Lydia sharply. "I like Ercole
well enough, and at one time I was almost engaged to him. But he has a
nasty temper of his own, Mr. Denzil, so I shunted him pretty smart to
marry Mark Vrain. I wouldn't marry him now if he dumped down a million
dollars at my feet to-morrow. Besides, poppa don't like him at all. I've
got my money, and I've got my freedom, and I don't fool away either the
one or the other on that Italian dude!"

"Is the Count acquainted with these sentiments?" asked Lucian drily.

"I guess so, Mr. Denzil. He asked me to marry him two months after
Mark's death, and I just up and told him pretty plain how the cat
jumped."

"In plain English, you refused him?"

"You bet I did!" cried Lydia vigorously. "So you see, Mr. Denzil, he
could not have killed Mark."

"Why not? He did not know your true mind until two months after the
murder."

"That's a fact, anyhow," commented Mrs. Vrain. "But what the mischief
made him buy that rabbit-skin cloak?"

"I expect he bought it for