"Perhaps, but it is the only word that can be used with propriety." "But I thought that I was called on to decide a bet." "Oh, that was Count Ferruci's clever way of putting it," responded Lucian, with a sneer. "He did not wish you to know too much about his business." "H'm! Perhaps I know more than you think, Mr. Denzil." "What do you mean, sir?" cried Lucian sharply. "Softly, Mr. Denzil, softly," rejoined the doctor, waving his hand. "I shall explain everything to your satisfaction. Do you know why I went to Italy?" "No; no more than I know why you went with Signor Ferruci," replied Lucian, recalling Link's communication. "Ah!" said Jorce placidly, "you have been making inquiries, I see. But you are wrong in one particular. I did not go to Italy with Ferruci--I left him in Paris, and I went on myself to Florence to find out the true character of the man." "Why did you wish to do that, doctor?" "Because I had some business with our mutual friend, the Count, and I was not altogether pleased with the way in which it was conducted. Also, my last interview with you about that bet made me suspicious of the man. Over in Florence I learned sufficient about the Count to assure me that he is a bad man, with whom it is as well to have as little to do as possible. I intended to return at once with this information and call on you, Mr. Denzil. Unfortunately, I fell ill of an attack of typhoid fever in Florence, and had to stay there these two months." "I am sorry," said Lucian, noting that the doctor did look ill, "but why did you not send on your information to me?" "It was necessary to see you personally, Mr. Denzil. I arrived back a few days ago, and intended writing to you when I recovered from the fatigue of the journey. However, your arrival saves me the trouble. Now I can tell you all about Ferruci, if you like." "Then tell me, Doctor, if you spoke truly about that alibi?" "Yes, I did. Count Ferruci was with me that night, and stayed here until the next morning." "What time did he arrive?" "About ten o'clock, or, to be precise," said Jorce, "about ten-thirty." "Ah!" cried Lucian exultantly, "then Ferruci must have been the man in the back yard!" "What do you mean by that?" asked Jorce in a puzzled tone. "Why, that Count Ferruci has had to do with a crime committed some months ago in Pimlico. A man called Mark Vrain was murdered, as you may have seen in the papers, Doctor, and I believe Ferruci murdered him." "If I remember rightly," said Jorce with calmness, "the man in question was murdered shortly before midnight on Christmas Eve. If that is so, Ferruci could not have killed him, because, as I said before, he was here at half-past ten on that night." "I don't say he actually killed the man," explained Lucian eagerly, "but he certainly employed some one to strike the blow, else what was he doing in the Jersey Street yard on that night? You can say what you like, Dr. Jorce, but that man is guilty of Mark Vrain's death."