"An Italian?"
"As you may guess from the name."
"Now, that is strange," cried Lucian, with some excitement, "for, from the nature of the wound, I believe that your father was stabbed by an Italian stiletto."
"Aha!" said Diana, with satisfaction. "That strengthens the accusation I bring against Ferruci."
"And, again," continued Denzil, hardly listening to what she was saying, "when I mentioned my suspicion about the stiletto in the hearing of Mrs. Vrain, she fainted."
"Which showed that her guilty conscience pricked her. Oh, I am sure of it, Mr. Denzil! My stepmother and the count are the criminals!"
"Our evidence, as yet, is only circumstantial," said Lucian cautiously. "We must not jump to conclusions. At present I am completely in the dark regarding this foreigner."
"I can enlighten you, but it is a long story."
"The longer the better," said Denzil, thinking he could hear Diana speak and watch her face for hours without weariness. "I wish for all details, then I shall be in a better position to judge."
"What you say is only reasonable, Mr. Denzil. I shall tell you my father's history from the time he went to Italy some three years ago. It was in Italy—to be precise, in Florence—that he met with Lydia Clyne and her father."