CHAPTER XVI. STRONG MEASURES.

"You have made a most extraordinary mistake," Walter said. "On and off I have known Mrs. Delahay for some considerable time. I am quite certain that she is no relation whatever to Countess Flavio."

"And I, sir, am equally positive," the Italian detective replied. "I think my friend Inspector Dallas told you just now that I had the Flavio case in hand from the first. Indeed, I have had many conversations with the Countess. So positive am I that I am right that I will be prepared to make an affidavit of the facts."

"This is very strange," Lance murmured. "I cannot but believe that you have been deceived by a strong likeness between two different women. I know all about Mrs. Delahay. She comes from a very good Italian family, though I believe they were poor; they were exceedingly proud and exclusive, and until the death of her parents, Mrs. Delahay lived a life of almost monastic seclusion."

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me her name?" Berti asked. "It might facilitate matters."

"Certainly," Walter Lance replied. "Before she was married Mrs. Delahay was Signora Descarti."

A peculiar smile flitted over his face.

"That is assuredly a point in my favour," he said, "seeing that Countess Flavio also was Signora Descarti."

Lance began to feel less sure of his ground. It appeared to him that the mystery was deeper than he had anticipated, and the more he came to investigate, the more bewildering the puzzle was. Certainly he had known Maria Delahay for the last three years on and off, but when he came to think over matters it struck him for the first time with peculiar force that, really, he knew little or nothing of Maria Delahay's antecedents. He well recollected the time when Louis Delahay announced his approaching marriage. He recalled that evening perfectly. Delahay had been a self-contained sort of man, and one of the last persons in the world to associate with matrimony, but he seemed to have found his fate at length, and had quite come out of his shell, discussing his future wife with Lance.

And what was it that he had told him after all? In the first instance, Signora Descarti was no longer in the bloom of her youth. In the second place, she was shy and retiring, possibly because, up to a certain time, she had lived such a secluded life. Despite the fact that she was of excellent family, she was earning a precarious living with her brush, and Delahay had hinted that there had been a romance in her early days which had coloured her life. Really, beyond this, Walter Lance had no knowledge of this unhappy woman's past, and he did not forget that the Flavio affair was nearly twenty years old. Except by the police, the thing was absolutely forgotten. It was almost impossible that anybody besides these authorities would recognise Carlotta, Countess Flavio, at this moment.

It came upon Lance with quite a shock that his unfortunate friend, after all, might have married a woman who had been tried five times on the capital charge. Eighteen years is a long span in a human life, and many changes can happen in that time.

Lance put aside the uneasy thoughts that rose to his mind, and turned to Berti again.

"That is distinctly a point in your favour," he said. "I confess that the fact that both ladies possessed the same maiden name comes as a shock to me. And yet, even now, I can't altogether abandon the idea that this is nothing more than a coincidence. But, tell me, what opinion did you form of Countess Flavio's character?"

The Italian smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"Enigma," he said, "the woman seemed to be without feeling altogether, from the time that I arrested her until her final acquittal I never knew her display any feeling at all. Even when I had to announce to her that she was at liberty, she gave no sign of pleasure or relief. She was like a creature who had been deprived of all the emotions, like some people you see who are deeply addicted to the drug habit. I have seen her execrated by a mob of excited people, and taking no more notice of them than if she were deaf. Yes; she was a most extraordinary woman."

"Did you believe her guilty?" Lance asked.

"Ah, there you puzzle me," Berti replied. "Upon my word, I don't know. Opinion was so equally divided; in each case the jury was balanced for and against. Sometimes I thought the woman was guilty, and sometimes I thought she was innocent. Of course, it was that extraordinary alibi which saved her life. There was no getting away from it, for the testimony in the woman's favour was given by people who were total strangers to her. On the other hand, all the household servants came forward one after the other, and gave their mistress a very bad name, indeed. On their testimony she would have been executed, without a doubt. If only half they said was true, the Countess Flavio was a fiend."

"Did no servant testify in her favour?" Lance asked.

"Well, one. And he was a manservant who had accompanied the Countess from her own home. According to his account, his mistress was a perfect angel, and the Count was no more nor less than a disgrace to humanity. This testimony passed for very little, seeing that Count Flavio's neighbours and tenants came forward and spoke of him as a man of singular charm and virtue."

"I have heard that," Lance said, thoughtfully. "You see, Lord Ravenspur, my uncle, was a great friend of the Count. I understand that he never met the Countess, though he had an interview with the Count not long before his death. According to what Lord Ravenspur says, at that time the Count walked in fear of his life. He was very fearful lest his wife should try to destroy him. And now you tell me that the Countess Flavio was no less than the wife of my friend Delahay. I don't know what to think about it. I presume that Inspector Dallas will take steps to assure himself that Mrs. Delahay is the woman you take her to be."

"Well, yes," Dallas said grimly; "I don't see how the matter can rest here. We know perfectly well that Mrs. Delahay was away from her hotel for upwards of two hours on the night of her husband's death. It has been proved that she was seen in his company. And yet, at the first outset, she declares that she has not been outside her bedroom. One doesn't like to come to conclusions; they are fatal things to form in our profession. But it seems to me pretty obvious that there is one person who could clear up this mystery, and she happens to be the dead man's wife."

Lance had nothing to say in objection to this. Still, at the same time, there was a haunting doubt in the back of his mind that circumstances were shaping themselves against Maria Delahay apart from any faults of her own.

"You haven't enough to justify an immediate arrest, I suppose?" he asked. "You see what I mean?"

"Oh, I see perfectly well what you mean, sir," Inspector Dallas replied. "There is nothing to gain by such a course. It is impossible for the woman to get away. Indeed, we should take immediate steps to prevent her leaving the country. If she is the guilty party, she will be much more use to us as a free woman than she would be as a suspected criminal under lock and key. But, unless I am mistaken, Mr. Lance, you came here to tell me something."

"I had clean forgotten all about it," Lance exclaimed. "But as it is getting late now, if you don't mind I will leave it till the morning. It is a long story."

A few moments later and Lance was retracing his steps in the direction of the Grand Hotel. He was going to do wrong; he was going to do something which, sooner or later, might land him in serious trouble, but that did not deter him for a moment. In the hall of the hotel he scribbled a hasty note, and sent it up to Mrs. Delahay. A message came down in a moment or two to say that Mrs. Delahay would be pleased to see Mr. Lance.

He found her waiting in the sitting-room, just as cold and pale and impassive as before.

"You have something very important?" she asked.

"Indeed, I have," Lance exclaimed. "I want you to believe that I am actuated entirely by the friendliest motives, and if I speak plainly you will understand that I am not wanting in feeling. I have been with Inspector Dallas tonight and he introduced me to an Italian detective whose name is Berti. The latter assures me that his name is quite familiar to you."

"He is quite mistaken," Mrs. Delahay said in her cold, even voice. "I don't know anybody of that name. As to a policeman, I never had the honour of speaking to one in my life."

"You are quite certain of that?"

"Absolutely. If it were true, what should I have to gain by denying it? If you have anything to say to me, it will be far better to speak quite plainly."

The woman spoke quietly enough. It was impossible to believe that she was wilfully deceiving her questioner.

"Very well, then," Lance said, "I may as well tell you that this man Berti was the detective who had the Flavio case in hand. You will remember, of course, what an extraordinary sensation that drama caused in Italy many years ago."

"Did it?" Mrs. Delahay said indifferently. "I never had the slightest interest in that kind of thing. So far as this particular case is concerned, I never heard of it before."

Lance could only stare in astonishment. She was speaking and acting now just as, according to Berti, the Countess Flavio had behaved before and during the trial. Was she the sport of circumstance, or was she the woman she denied herself to be?