"And the man's shadow was the Count's?" questioned Lydia.
"I think so. He bought the cloak for the woman, visited the man Wrent at Jersey Street, and was seen by the servant in the back yard. He did not act thus without some object, Mrs. Vrain, you may be sure of that."
"Sakes!" said Lydia, with a weary sigh. "I ain't sure of anything save that my head is buzzing like a sawmill. Who is Wrent, anyhow?"
"I don't know. An old man with white beard and a skull-cap of black velvet."
"Ugh!" said Mrs. Vrain, with a shiver. "Mark used to wear a black skull-cap, and the thought of it makes me freeze up. Sounds like a judge of your courts ordering a man to be lynched. Well, Mr. Denzil, it seems to me as you'd best hustle Ercole. If he knows who the woman is—and he wouldn't buy cloaks for her if he didn't—he'll know who this Wrent is. I guess he can supply all information."
"Where does he live?"
"Number 40, Marquis Street, St. James's. You go and look him up, while I tell poppa what a mean white he is. I guess poppa won't let him come near me again. Pop's an honest man, though he ain't no Washington."
"Suppose I find out that he killed your husband?" asked Lucian, rising.
"Then you'd best lynch him right away," replied Lydia without hesitation. "I draw the line at murder—some!"