ne to grant his visitor an interview; but on second thoughts he
ordered Lucian to be shown into the sitting-room, and shortly afterwards
joined him there wrapped in a dressing-gown. He welcomed the barrister
with a smiling nod, and having some instinct that Lucian came on an
unpleasant errand, he did not offer him his hand. From the first the two
men were on their guard against one another.

"Good-morning, sir," said Ferruci in his best English. "May I ask why
you take me from my bed so early?"

"To tell you a story."

"About my friend Dr. Jorce saying I was with him on that night?" sneered
the Count.

"Partly, and partly about a lady you know."

Ferruci frowned. "You speak of Mrs. Vrain?"

"No," replied Lucian coolly. "I speak of Mrs. Clear."

At the mention of this name, which was the last one he expected to hear
his visitor pronounce, the Italian, in spite of his coolness and
cunning, could not forbear a start.

"Mrs. Clear?" he repeated. "And what do you know of Mrs. Clear?"

"As much as Dr. Jorce could tell me, Count."

Ferruci's brow cleared. "Then you know I pay for keeping her miserable
husband with my friend," he said composedly. "It is for her sake I am so
kind."

"Rather it is for your own you are so cunning."

"Cunning! A most strange word for my goodness," said the Count coolly.

"The most fit word, you mean," replied Lucian, impatient of this
fencing. "It is no use beating about the bush, Count. I know that the
man you keep in the asylum is not Clear, but Mark Vrain."

"La! la! la! You talk great humbug. Mr. Vrain is dead and buried!"

"He is not dead," answered Lucian resolutely, "and the man who was
buried under his name is Michael Clear, the husband of the woman who
told me all."

Ferruci, who had been pacing impatiently up and down the room, stopped
short, with a nervous laugh.

"This is most amusing," he said, with an emotion he could not conceal
despite his self-control. "Mrs. Clear told you all, eh? She told you
what, my friend?"

"That is the story I have come to tell you," replied Lucian sharply.

"Very good," said Ferruci, with a shrug. "I wait to hear this pretty
story," and with a frown he threw himself into a chair near Lucian.
Apparently he saw that he was found out, for it took him all his time to
keep his voice from trembling and his hands from shaking. The man was
not a coward, but being thus brought face to face with a peril he little
expected, it was scarcely to b