"Ah!" said Jorce placidly, "you have been making inquiries, I see. But you are wrong in one particular. I did not go to Italy with Ferruci—I left him in Paris, and I went on myself to Florence to find out the true character of the man."
"Why did you wish to do that, doctor?"
"Because I had some business with our mutual friend, the Count, and I was not altogether pleased with the way in which it was conducted. Also, my last interview with you about that bet made me suspicious of the man. Over in Florence I learned sufficient about the Count to assure me that he is a bad man, with whom it is as well to have as little to do as possible. I intended to return at once with this information and call on you, Mr. Denzil. Unfortunately, I fell ill of an attack of typhoid fever in Florence, and had to stay there these two months."
"I am sorry," said Lucian, noting that the doctor did look ill, "but why did you not send on your information to me?"
"It was necessary to see you personally, Mr. Denzil. I arrived back a few days ago, and intended writing to you when I recovered from the fatigue of the journey. However, your arrival saves me the trouble. Now I can tell you all about Ferruci, if you like."
"Then tell me, Doctor, if you spoke truly about that alibi?"
"Yes, I did. Count Ferruci was with me that night, and stayed here until the next morning."
"What time did he arrive?"
"About ten o'clock, or, to be precise," said Jorce, "about ten-thirty."