At the mention of this name, which was the last one he expected to hear his visitor pronounce, the Italian, in spite of his coolness and cunning, could not forbear a start.
"Mrs. Clear?" he repeated. "And what do you know of Mrs. Clear?"
"As much as Dr. Jorce could tell me, Count."
Ferruci's brow cleared. "Then you know I pay for keeping her miserable husband with my friend," he said composedly. "It is for her sake I am so kind."
"Rather it is for your own you are so cunning."
"Cunning! A most strange word for my goodness," said the Count coolly.
"The most fit word, you mean," replied Lucian, impatient of this fencing. "It is no use beating about the bush, Count. I know that the man you keep in the asylum is not Clear, but Mark Vrain."
"La! la! la! You talk great humbug. Mr. Vrain is dead and buried!"
"He is not dead," answered Lucian resolutely, "and the man who was buried under his name is Michael Clear, the husband of the woman who told me all."