"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 the woman I mistook for you." "And who may she be?" "That is just what I wish to find out. This woman who came to Jersey Street so often wore this cloak; therefore, she must have obtained it from the Count. I'll make him tell me who she is, and what she has to do with this crime." "Do you think she has anything to do with it?" said Mrs. Vrain doubtfully. "I am certain. It must have been her shadow I saw on the blind." "And the man's shadow was the Count's?" questioned Lydia. "I think so. He bought the cloak for the woman, visited the man Wrent at Jersey Street, and was seen by the servant in the back yard. He did not act thus without some object, Mrs. Vrain, you may be sure of that." "Sakes!" said Lydia, with a weary sigh. "I ain't sure of anything save that my head is buzzing like a sawmill. Who is Wrent, anyhow?" "I don't know. An old man with white beard and a skull-cap of black velvet." "Ugh!" said Mrs. Vrain, with a shiver. "Mark used to wear a black skull-cap, and the thought of it makes me freeze up. Sounds like a judge of your courts ordering a man to be lynched. Well, Mr. Denzil, it seems to me as you'd best hustle Ercole. If he knows who the woman is--and he wouldn't buy cloaks for her if he didn't--he'll know who this Wrent is. I guess he can supply all information." "Where does he live?" "Number 40, Marquis Street, St. James's. You go and look him up, while I tell poppa what a mean white he is. I guess poppa won't let him come near me again. Pop's an honest man, though he ain't no Washington." "Suppose I find out that he killed your husband?" asked Lucian, rising. "Then you'd best lynch him right away," replied Lydia without hesitation. "I draw the line at murder--some!"