"Mrs. Vrain!" cried the startled Lucian. "Do you still suspect her?"
"Yes, I do!"
"But she has cleared herself on the most undeniable evidence."
"Not in my eyes," said Diana obstinately. "If Mrs. Vrain is innocent, how did she find out that the unknown man murdered in Geneva Square was my father?"
"By his assumption of the name of Berwin, which was mentioned in the advertisement; also from the description of the body, and particularly by the mention of the cicatrice on the right cheek, and of the loss of the little finger of the left hand."
Diana started. "I never heard that about the little finger," she said hurriedly. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. I saw myself when I knew your father as Berwin, that he had lost that little finger."
"Then, Lucian, you did not see my father!"
"What!" cried Denzil, hardly able to credit her words.
"My father never lost a finger!" cried Diana, starting to her feet. "Ah, Lucian, I now begin to see light. That man who called himself Berwin, who was murdered, was not my father. No, I believe—on my soul, I believe that my father, Mark Vrain, is alive!"