offered a good reward
for the catching of the mean skunk that killed him. If I had done so
myself I wouldn't have been such a fool as to sharpen the scent of the
hounds on my own trail."

"You were in town on Christmas Eve?" said Denzil, not choosing to
explain the motives he believed the pair had for committing the crime.

"I was. What of that?"

"You were in Jersey Street, Pimlico, on that night."

"I was never in Pimlico in my life!" declared Lydia wrathfully, "and,
as I said before, I don't know where Jersey Street is."

"Do you know a man called Wrent?"

"I never heard of him!"

"Yet you visited him in Jersey Street on Christmas Eve, between seven
and eight o'clock."

"Did I, really?" cried Mrs. Vrain, ironically, "and how can you prove I
did?"

"By that cloak," said Lucian, pointing to where it lay on a chair. "You
wore that cloak and a velvet-spotted veil."

"I haven't worn a veil of that kind for over a year," said Lydia
decisively, "though I admit I used to wear veils of that sort. You can
ask my maid if I have any velvet-spotted veils in my wardrobe just now.
As to the cloak--I never wear rabbit skins."

"You might as a disguise."

"Sakes alive, man, what should I want with a disguise? I tell you the
cloak isn't mine. You can soon prove that. Find out who made it, and go
and ask in the shop if I bought it."

"How can I find out who made it?" asked Denzil, who was beginning to
feel that Lydia was one too many for him.

"Here! I'll show you!" said Lydia, and picking up the cloak she turned
over the tab at the neck, by which it was hung up. At the back of this
there was a small piece of tape with printed black letters. "Baxter &
Co., General Drapers, Bayswater," she read out, throwing down the cloak
contemptuously. "I don't go to a London suburb for my frocks; I get
them in Paris."

"Then you are sure this cloak isn't yours?" asked Lucian, much
perplexed.

"No! I tell you it isn't! Go and ask Baxter & Co. if I bought it. I'll
go with you, if you like; or better still," cried Mrs. Vrain, jumping up
briskly, "I can take you to see some friends with whom I stayed on
Christmas Eve. The whole lot will tell you that I was with them at
Camden Hill all the night."

"What! Can you prove an alibi?"

"I don't know what you call it," retorted Lydia coolly, "but I can prove
pretty slick that I wasn't in Pimlico."

"But--Mrs. Vrain--your friend--Ferruci was there!"

"Was he? Well, I don't know. I ne