"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 bass 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 pronounce 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 assertion. "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?" "Why not? Call on me at any time. 'The Haven, Hampstead'; that will always find me."