ng violently. "What do you know of the
stiletto?"

CHAPTER XVII

A DENIAL

"What do you know of the stiletto?" repeated Mrs. Vrain anxiously.

She had risen to her feet, and, with an effort to be calm, was holding
on to the near chair. Her bright colour had faded to a dull white hue,
and her eyes had a look of horror in their depths which transformed her
from her childish beauty into a much older and more haggard woman than
she really was. It seemed as though Lucian, by some necromantic spell,
had robbed her of youth, vitality, and careless happiness. To him this
extraordinary agitation was a proof of her guilt; and hardening his
heart so as not to spare her one iota of her penalty--a mercy she did
not deserve--he addressed her sternly:

"I know that a stiletto purchased in Florence by your late husband hung
on the library wall of Berwin Manor. I know that it is gone!"

"Yes! yes!" said Lydia, moistening her white, dry lips, "it is gone; but
I do not know who took it."

"The person who killed your husband."

"I feared as much," she muttered, sitting down again. "Do you know the
name of the person?"

"As well as you do yourself. The name is Lydia Vrain!"

"I!" She threw herself back on the chair with a look of profound
astonishment on her colourless face. "Mr. Denzil," she stammered,
"is--is this--is this a jest?"

"You will not find it so, Mrs. Vrain."

The little woman clutched the arms of her chair and leaned forward with
her face no longer pale, but red with rage and indignation. "If you are
a gentleman, Mr. Denzil, I guess you won't keep me hanging on like this.
Let us get level. Do you say I killed Mark?"

"Yes, I do!" said Lucian defiantly. "I am sure of it."

"On what grounds?" asked Mrs. Vrain, holding her temper back with a
visible effort, that made her eyes glitter and her breath short.

"On the grounds that he was killed with that stiletto and----"

"Go slow! How do you know he was killed with that stiletto?"

"Because the ribbon which attached it to the wall was found in the
Geneva Square house, where your husband was killed. Miss Vrain
recognised it."

"Miss Vrain--Diana! Is she in England?"

"Not only in England, but in London."

"Then why hasn't she been to see me?"

Denzil did not like to answer this question, the more so as Lydia's
sudden divergence from the point of discourse rather disconcerted him.
It is impossible to maintain dignity in making a serious accusation