twinkle in his
eyes.

"I do not know what to think," replied Lucian dismally, "save that it is
a strange coincidence that _another_ Italian should have bought the
cloak."

The Count shrugged his shoulders as they got into the hansom, but he did
not speak until they were well on their way back to Marquis Street. He
then looked thoughtfully at his companion. "I do not believe
coincidence," he said abruptly, "but in design."

"What do you mean, Count? I do not quite follow you."

"Some one who knows I love Mrs. Vrain wish to injure me," said the
Italian rapidly, "and so make theirself like me to buy that cloak. Ah!
you see? But he could not make himself as tall as me. Oh, yes, sir, I am
sure it is so."

"Do you know any one who would disguise himself so as to implicate you
in the murder?"

"No." Ferruci shook his head. "I cannot think of one man--not one."

"Do you know a man called Wrent?" asked Lucian abruptly.

"I do not, Mr. Denzil," said Ferruci at once. "Why do you ask?"

"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