"I went over the opposite wall as you did," said Cuthbert, "we must have run each other very close."

"I expect we were in different parts of the park," said Basil, "but I swear that I am telling you the truth. I said nothing about this, as I was afraid of being arrested. But, if you like, I'll tell that detective Jennings what I told you. He will help me."

"My advice to you is to hold your tongue and keep silent."

"But if I am traced?" stammered Basil.

"I shall say nothing," said Mallow, "and Jennings has dropped the case. I shall get the check from Hale, and you must go abroad. I believe you are innocent."

"Oh, thank you—thank you—"

"But you are a scoundrel for all that. When I get you sent abroad and marry your sister, neither she nor I will have anything to do with you. And if you come back to England, look out."



CHAPTER XXI

AN EXPERIMENT

Next day Cuthbert received a letter from Jennings. It intimated that Maraquito wished to see him that evening. "If you will call at nine o'clock," wrote the detective, "she will be alone. The police have decided to close the gambling-house, and she is making preparations to leave England. I understand she has something to tell you in connection with the death of Miss Loach, which it is as well you should hear. A confession on her part may save you a lot of trouble in the future."

Mallow hesitated to obey this summons. He thought it was strange that Maraquito should get the detective to write to him, as he knew she mistrusted the man. And, apart from this, he had no wish to see Senora Gredos again. Things were now smooth between him and Juliet—comparatively so—and it would not do to rouse the girl's jealousy. Maraquito was a dangerous woman, and if he paid her a solitary visit, he might fall into some snare which she was quite capable of laying. Such was her infatuation, that he knew she would stop at nothing to gain her ends.

On the other hand, Maraquito, to all appearances, knew of something in connection with the case which it behooved him to learn if he wished for peace in the future. So far as Mallow knew, the matter was at an end. He believed that Jennings had shelved the affair, and that no further inquiries would be made. This belief calmed his anxiety, as he greatly desired to save Basil Saxon from arrest. Certainly, the young scamp protested his innocence, and told a plausible tale, but he was such a liar that Mallow could not be satisfied. He might be innocent as he said, yet the facts of the visit to the cottage, the possession of the knife and of the overcoat which he wore when seen by Juliet, hinted at his guilt. Also the forged bill and check might implicate him in the matter. Did Jennings learn of these things, he would certainly arrest Saxon on suspicion, and, for Juliet's sake, Cuthbert did not wish such a thing to happen.

It struck Mallow that Hale might have confided in Maraquito, with whom he was in love. Being unscrupulous, she would probably use this information, and might threaten to denounce Basil, to the subsequent disgrace of Juliet, if Cuthbert refused to marry her. Taking these things into consideration, Mallow decided that it would be best to pay the visit and learn what Maraquito had to say.

It was a wild, blustering evening, rainy and damp. When Mallow stepped out of the door he shivered as the keen wind whistled down the street. Few people were abroad, as they preferred, very sensibly, the comfort of a fireside to the windy, gleaming thoroughfares. Wishing his visit to be as secret as possible, Mallow walked to Soho and turned into Golden Square shortly before the appointed hour. He did not expect a pleasant interview, as Maraquito was an uncivilized sort of woman with little control over her very violent emotions. Altogether, he anticipated a disagreeable quarter of an hour.

He was admitted smilingly by a woman, and noticed with some surprise that Gibber the page was not at his accustomed post. But he put this down to the fact that there was no gambling on this particular evening. The windows of the great salon were dark, and Senora Gredos received him in a small apartment which she used as a sitting-room. Her couch was drawn up close to the fire, and she appeared to be in better health than usual. Standing at the door, Mallow thought she made a pretty picture. She had on a white wrapper trimmed with gold lace, and as usual, wore a profusion of jewelry. Across the lower part of the couch was flung a gorgeous purple coverlet of eastern manufacture, and what with the brilliant colors and the glitter of precious stones, she looked remarkably eastern herself. Mallow noticed particularly how Jewish she was in appearance, and wondered how he could have been so blind as not to have remarked it before. The room looked cheerful and warm, and was welcome after the chilly, dreary streets. Mallow, having taken off his overcoat in the hall, came forward and bowed somewhat formally, but Maraquito was not to be put off with so frigid a greeting. Holding out both hands, she shook his warmly and pointed to a chair near her couch. It was now a few minutes after nine.

"How good of you to come and see me," she said in her deep, rich voice. "The evening was so dull."

"You are not having any play this evening?"

Maraquito shrugged her fine shoulders and unfurled a quite unnecessary fan, which, to keep up her fiction of being a Spanish lady, she always carried. "Some idiot told the police what was going on and I received a notice to close."

"But the police knew long ago."

"Not officially. The police can be silent when it suits. And I always kept things very quiet here. I can't understand why any objection should be made. I suspect that man Jennings told."

"I thought you liked him."

"Oh, I fancied he was a friend of yours and so I made the best of him. But, to tell you the truth, Mr. Mallow, I always mistrusted him. He is much too fond of asking questions for my taste. Then Mr. Hale told me that the man was a detective, so I understood his unwarrantable curiosity. I shall have nothing to do with him in future."

"In that case," said Mallow, anxious to arrive at the truth, "I wonder you employ him to write letters for you."

The woman raised herself on one rounded elbow and looked surprised at this speech. "Really, I don't think I am so foolish," said she dryly. "Why do you say that?"

Mallow looked puzzled. "Jennings wrote me a letter, asking me to come here this evening at nine. He said you wished to see me."

Maraquito's eyes flashed. "I always wish to see you," she said, sinking her voice to a tender tone, "and I am much obliged that Mr. Jennings' note should have brought you here. But I gave him no authority to write it."

"Have you seen Jennings lately?" asked Cuthbert, more and more puzzled.

"A few nights ago. But he said nothing about you. He simply played cards for a time and then took himself off."

"Are you leaving England?"

"I am. Being an invalid as you see, I have no amusement but card-playing. Now that the Puritan authorities have stopped that, I cannot stay in this dull country to be bored. But who told you?"

"Jennings said you were making preparations to leave."

"In this letter he wrote you?" asked Maraquito, frowning.

"Yes. I am sorry I did not bring the letter with me. But I can show it to you on another occasion. He also said you had something to tell me."

Maraquito fastened her brilliant eyes on his face. "Mr. Jennings seems to know much about my affairs and to take a deep interest in them. But I assure you, I never gave him any authority to meddle."

"Then why did he write and bring me here?"

Senora Gredos frowned and then her face cleared. "The man is such a secretive creature that I don't trust him," she said; "and yet he declared himself to be my friend. He knows I like you, and hinted that he should be glad to bring us together."

"Jennings is a gentleman in spite of his profession," said Mallow in cutting tones. "I scarcely think he would take so great a liberty."

"Is it a liberty?" asked Maraquito softly.

"I consider it to be one. Jennings knows that I am engaged."

"Stop!" she cried, gripping her fan so tightly that her knuckles grew white. "Do you dare to tell me this?"

"Senora—Maraquito—don't let us have a scene. I told you before that I could not give you the love you asked."

"And I told you that I would have that love in spite of your unwillingness," said the woman doggedly. "You have scorned me, and I ought to have sufficient pride to let you go your own way. But I am such an infatuated fool that I am content to let you tread on me."

"I have no wish to do that, but—"

"You do—you do—you do!" she said, vehemently. "Why can you not love me? I would be a better wife than that doll you—"

"Drop that, Maraquito. Leave Miss Saxon's name out of the question."

"I shall talk of Miss Saxon as long as I like," cried Maraquito, snapping the fan and growing flushed. "You scorn me because I am an invalid—"

"I do not. If you were perfectly restored to health I would give you the same answer." Mallow was on his feet by this time. "I think it would be wise of me to go."

But Senora Gredos, stretching out her hand, caught him by the coat convulsively. "No! no! no!" she muttered fiercely. "I did not ask you to come here. I did not send for you. But now that you are here, you will stop. We must understand one another."

"We do understand one another," said Cuthbert, who was growing angry at this unreasonable attitude. "You must know that I am engaged to Miss Saxon!"

"You will never marry her—never!" cried Maraquito passionately; "oh, cruel man, can you not see that I am dying of love for you."

"Maraquito—"

"If I were not chained to this couch," she said between her teeth, "I should go after her and throw vitriol in her face. I would give her cause to repent having lured you from me with her miserable doll's face. Pah! the minx!"

Cuthbert grew really angry. "How dare you speak like this?" he said. "If you were able to attack Miss Saxon in the vile way you say, I should show you no mercy."

"What would you do—what would you do?" she panted.

"Put you in jail. That sort of thing may do abroad but we don't allow it here. I thought you were merely a foolish woman. Now I know you are bad and wicked."

"Cuthbert—Cuthbert."

"My name is Mallow to you, Senora Gredos. I'll go now and never see you again. I was foolish to come here."

"Wait—wait," she cried savagely, "it is just as well that you are here—just as well that we should come to an understanding."

"There can be no understanding. I marry Miss Saxon and—"

"Never, never, never! Listen, I can ruin her—"

"What do you mean?"

"Her brother—"

"Oh, Basil, I know all about that."

Maraquito threw herself back on her couch, evidently baffled. "What do you know?" she demanded sullenly.

"That you are about to accuse him of the death of Miss Loach."

"Yes, I do. He killed her. There is a forged bill in—"

"I know all about that also," said Cuthbert, making a gesture for her to be silent. "If you hope to stop my marriage with Miss Saxon by such means, you have wasted your time," he moved again towards the door. "It is time this interview ended," he said.

"Why did you seek it then?" she flashed out.

"I did not. Jennings wrote, asking me to call and see you. I understood that you had something to say to me."

"I have much—though how that detestable man knew I can't think. But I can disgrace that doll of a girl through her brother."

"No, you cannot. Basil is perfectly innocent of murder."

"You have to prove that," she sneered, her features quivering and one white hand clutching the purple drapery, "and you know—so you say, that Basil is a forger."

"He is a fool. I don't condone his folly, but his sister shall not suffer on his account. The bill to which Miss Loach's name was forged is in the possession of Miss Saxon—in fact I may tell you that Basil himself assured me it had been destroyed."

"Of course he would say that," scoffed Maraquito, her eyes flashing, "but the check to which Hale's name is affixed is not destroyed, and Hale shall proceed on that."

"Hale shall not do so," said Cuthbert resolutely. He did not wish to betray Hale's confidence, as a confession would entail the man's loss of the woman he loved. But it was necessary to stop Maraquito somehow; and Cuthbert attempted to do so in his next words, which conveyed a distinct threat. "And you will not move in the matter."

Maraquito laughed in an evil manner. "Won't I?" she taunted. "I just will. Hale will do what I want, and he will have Basil arrested unless you promise to give up this girl and marry me."

"Hale will do nothing, neither will you," retorted Cuthbert. "I don't care about threatening a woman, but you must not think that you are able to play fast and loose with me."

"How can you hurt me?" asked Maraquito with a scornful smile, although her lips quivered at his tone.

"I can tell Jennings that you are Bathsheba Saul!"

She turned quite pale. "I? My name is Maraquito Gredos."

"It is nothing of the sort. My uncle Lord Caranby came here and recognized you from your likeness to the woman Emilia he was once engaged to. He can state that in court."

"Where is his proof?"

"Proof will be forthcoming when necessary."

"Not to prove that I am Bathsheba Saul. I know nothing of the name."

Cuthbert shrugged his shoulders. He had said what was necessary and, unwilling to speak further, prepared to go. Maraquito saw him slipping from her grasp. Once gone, she knew he would never come back. With a cry of despair she stretched out her hands. "Cuthbert, do not leave me!" she cried in anguish.

"I must leave you. I was foolish to come. But you know now, that if you move in this matter I can move too. I doubt very much, madam, if your past life will bear looking into."

"You coward!" she moaned.

"I know I am a coward," said Mallow uncomfortably; "it is not my way to threaten a woman—I said that before. But I love Juliet so much that at any cost I must protect her."

"And my love counts for nothing."

"I am sorry, Maraquito, but I cannot respond. A man's heart is not his own to give."

"Nor a woman's," she moaned bitterly; "oh, heaven, how I suffer. Help!"

Cuthbert heard footsteps ascending the stairs—the light footsteps of a hasty man. But Maraquito's head had fallen back, her face was as white as snow and her mouth was twisted in an expression of anguish. She seemed to be on the point of death, and moved by her pain—for she really appeared to be suffering, he sprang forward to catch her in his arms. Had he not done so she would have fallen from the sofa. But hardly had he seized her form when she flung her arms round his neck and pressed her mouth to his. Then she threw back her head, not now white, but flushed with color and triumph. "I have you now," she said breathlessly. "I love you—I love you—I will not let you go!"

What Cuthbert would have done it is hard to say. Apparently Maraquito was determined to hold him there. But at this moment Jennings appeared at the door. On seeing him arrive so unexpectedly, Maraquito uttered a cry of rage and dismay, and released Mallow. "Send him away—send him away!" she cried, pointing to Jennings, who looked cold and stern. "How dare he come here."

"I come on an unpleasant errand," said Jennings, stepping forward. "I want you, Mallow!"

Cuthbert, who had moved forward, stopped. "Why do you want me?"

Jennings placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. "I arrest you on the charge of murdering Selina Loach!"

Maraquito uttered a shriek, and Cuthbert's face grew red. The latter spoke first. "Is this a jest?" he asked harshly.

"You will not find it so."

"Let me pass. I refuse to allow you to arrest me."

Jennings still continued to keep his hand on Cuthbert's shoulder, whereupon the young man flung it aside. At the same moment Jennings closed with him, and a hand-to-hand struggle ensued. Maraquito, with straining eyes, watched the fight. With stiffened muscles the two reeled across the room. Cuthbert was almost too amazed to fight. That Jennings should accuse him and attack him in this way was incredible. But his blood was up and he wrestled with the detective vigorously. He was an excellent athlete, but Jennings was a west-country-man and knew all that was to be known about wrestling. With a quick twist of his foot he tripped up his opponent, and in a minute Cuthbert was lying on his back with Jennings over him. The two men breathed hard. Cuthbert struggled to rise, but Jennings held him down until he was suddenly dragged away by Maraquito, who was watching the fight eagerly. There she stood in the centre of the room which she had reached with a bound.

"I thought so," said Jennings, releasing Mallow and rising quickly.

Maraquito threw a small knife at Cuthbert's feet. "Kill him—kill him!" she said with hysterical force.

"There is no need to," said the detective, feeling his arms, which were rather sore. "Mallow, I beg your pardon for having fought you, but I knew you would not lend yourself to a deception, and the only way in which I could force this lady to show that she was able to walk was by a feigned fight."

"Then you don't intend to arrest me?" said Mallow, rising and staring.

"Never had any idea of doing so," rejoined Jennings coolly. "I wished to learn the truth about Mrs. Herne."

"Mrs. Herne!"

"Or Maraquito Gredos or Bathsheba Saul. She has a variety of names, my dear fellow. Which one do you prefer?" he asked, turning to the discovered woman.

Maraquito looked like the goddess of war. Her eyes flashed and her face was red with anger. Standing in a striking attitude, with one foot thrust forward, her active brain was searching for some means of escape. "I don't know what you mean by calling me these names!"

"I mean that you are to be arrested. You are Mrs. Herne. Your accident was merely a sham to avert suspicion."

"Mrs. Herne is my aunt."

"Pardon me, no. The only aunt you ever had was Emilia Saul, who died in Caranby's house. In our interview at Hampstead you betrayed yourself when we talked of Mallow. I had you watched. You were seen to enter this house, and out of it Mrs. Herne never came. Your servants do not know Mrs. Herne—only their invalid mistress."

Maraquito, seeing her danger, panted with rage, and looked like a trapped animal. "Even if this is true, which I deny," she said in a voice tremulous with rage, "how dare you arrest me, and for what?"

"For setting that boy Gibber to poison the man who called himself Tyke. The lad has left your service—which means he is in hiding."

"I know nothing about this," said Maraquito, suddenly becoming cool. "Do you mean to arrest me now?"

"I have the warrant and a couple of plain-dress detectives below. You can't escape."

"I have no wish to escape," she retorted, moving towards a door which led into an inner room. "I can meet and dispose of this ridiculous charge. The doctor told me that a sudden shock might bring back my strength. And that it has done. I am not Mrs. Herne—I am not Bathsheba Saul. I am Maraquito Gredos, a Spanish lady—"

"Who doesn't know her own language," said Jennings.

"I pass over your insults," said the woman with dignity. "But as you intend to take me away, will you please let me enter my bedroom to change my dress?"

Jennings drew aside and permitted her to pass. "I am not afraid you will escape," he said politely. "If you attempt to leave you will fall into the hands of my men. They watch every door."

Maraquito winced, and with a last look at the astounded Mallow, passed into the room. When she shut the door Mallow looked at Jennings. "I don't know what all this means," he said.

"I have told you," replied Jennings, rather impatiently, "the letter I sent you was to bring you here. The struggle was a feigned one on my side to make Maraquito defend you. I knew she would never let you be worsted if she could help; exactly as I knew you would never consent to play such a trick on her."

"Certainly not. With all her faults, she loves me."

"So well that she will kill Juliet Saxon rather than see her in your arms. Don't frown, Mallow, Maraquito is a dangerous woman, and it is time she was laid by the heels. You don't know what I have found out."

"Have you learned who killed Miss Loach?"

"No. But I am on the way to learn it. I'll tell you everything another time. Meanwhile, I must get this woman safely locked up. Confound her, she is a long time."

"She may have escaped," said Mallow, as Jennings knocked at the door.

"I don't see how she can. There are men at the front door and at a secret entrance she used to enter as Mrs. Herne." He knocked again, but there was no reply. Finally Jennings grew exasperated and tried to open the door. It was locked. "I believe she is escaping," he said, "help me, Mallow."

The two men put their shoulders to the door and burst it in. When they entered the bedroom it was empty. There was no sign of Maraquito anywhere, and no sign, either, of how she had managed to evade the law.



CHAPTER XXII

THE SECRET ENTRANCE

AS may be guessed, Jennings was very vexed that Maraquito had escaped. He had posted his men at the front and back doors and also at the side entrance through which Senora Gredos in her disguise as Mrs. Herne had entered. He never considered for the moment that so clever a woman might have some way of escape other than he had guessed. "Yet I might have thought it," he said, when Cuthbert and he left the house. "I expect that place is like a rabbit-burrow. Maraquito always expected to be taken some day in spite of her clever assumption of helplessness. That was a smart dodge."

"How did you learn that she was shamming?"

"I only guessed so. I had no proof. But when I interviewed the pseudo Mrs. Herne at her Hampstead lodgings, she betrayed so much emotion when speaking of you that I guessed it was the woman herself. I only tried that experiment to see if she was really ill. If she had not moved I should have been done."

"It seems to me that you are done now," said Cuthbert angrily. He was not very pleased at the use Jennings had made of him.

"By no means. Maraquito will take refuge in a place I know of. She does not fancy I am aware of its existence. But I am on my way there now. You can come also if you like."

"No," said Mallow decisively, "so far as I am concerned, I have no further interest in these matters. I told you so the other day."

"Don't you wish to know who killed Miss Loach?"

Mallow hesitated, and wondered how much the detective knew. "Have you any clue to the assassin?" he asked.

Jennings shrugged his shoulders. "I can't say that. But I suspect the coiners have something to do with the matter."

"The coiners?"

"Ah! I know you have not learned much about them. I have no time now to talk, but you will see everything in the papers shortly. I can tell you, Mallow, there's going to be a row."

Mallow, like all young Englishmen, was fond of fighting, and his blood was at once afire to join in, but, on second thoughts, he resolved to stick to his original determination and stay away. It would be better, he thought, to let Jennings carry out his plans unhampered. In order, therefore, to preserve Basil's secret, Mallow nodded to the detective and went home. That night he spent wondering what had become of Maraquito.

Meantime, Jennings, with a dozen men, was on his way to Rexton. It was now after eleven, and the clock struck the half hour as they landed at Rexton Station. The police force of the suburb had been notified of the raid about to be made, and Inspector Twining was on the spot. He guided the party through the side path which terminated near Rose Cottage. The night was dark and rainy, but there were occasional gleams of moonlight. There was no light in the windows of Rose Cottage, and everything appeared to be quiet. Behind loomed the ruins of the unfinished house beneath which was the coining factory.

On the way to the spot Jennings conversed with Twining in low tones and detailed his experience with Maraquito.

"I am quite sure that she has gone to the factory," he said; "she does not think that I know about it. I fancy she will tell her pals that the game is up and the lot will light out for America."

"They may have gone by this time," suggested the inspector.

"I don't think so. Maraquito must have just arrived, if indeed she has come here. Besides, she will never guess that I know how to get into the place, or indeed think that I know of its existence."

"How did you guess?"

"Guess is a good word. I just did guess, Twining. From various facts which there is no time to tell you, I became convinced that there was a factory in existence. Also I fancied that the death of that old lady was connected with the preservation of the secret. But I only got at the hard facts the other day, when a girl called Grant—"

"I remember. She gave evidence at the inquest."

"Precisely. Well, she brought me some plans belonging to her father which she found. He was engaged in a quiet job hereabouts five years ago, and died when it was finished. He was poisoned with arsenic."

"What! like that man Tyke?"

"Yes. The person who runs this show—Maraquito, I think—evidently has a partiality for that extremely painful poison. Well, this workman having constructed the secret entrance, was got out of the way by death, so that the secret might be preserved. And I guess Miss Loach was settled also in case she might give the alarm."

"But if the secret entrance is in the cottage," said Twining, "this old woman may have been aware of its existence."

"Certainly, and was about to split when she was killed. At least, that is my theory."

"She must have been in with the gang."

"I have never been able to fix that," said Jennings thoughtfully. "I know she was a lady and of good birth. Also she had money, although she condemned herself to this existence as a hermit. Why she should let Maraquito and her lot construct a secret entrance I can't understand. However, we'll know the truth to-night. But you can now guess, Twining, how the bell came to be sounded."

"No, I can't," said the inspector, promptly.

"I forgot. You don't know that the secret entrance is in the room where Miss Loach was murdered. Well, one of the gang, after the death, sounded the bell to call attention to the corpse, and then slipped away before Susan Grant could get to the room."

"But why should this person have sounded the bell?"

"That is what I have to find out. There's a lot to learn here."

"Have you any idea who killed Miss Loach?"

"Maraquito, under the disguise of Mrs. Herne."

"Was she Mrs. Herne?"

"Yes. She masqueraded as an invalid who could not leave her couch, but I managed to get at the truth to-night."

"But from the evidence at the inquest, Mrs. Herne was out of the house when the blow was struck."

"Quite so: But we did not know of this secret entrance then. I fancy she came back—"

"But how can you—"

"There's no more time to talk," interrupted Jennings. "We must get to work as soon as possible. Order your men to surround the house."

"And the park also?"

"We have not enough men for that. And I don't think there's any other exit from the factory save that through Rose Cottage. If there was, Maraquito and her two friends would not have played whist so persistently with Miss Loach every night."

"It was three times a week, I think."

"Well, it doesn't matter. Here we are." Jennings opened the garden gate and walked boldly up the path towards the silent house. The men, under the low-spoken directions of Twining, spread themselves round the house so as to arrest any coiner who might attempt escape. Then the detective rang the bell. There was no answer for a few minutes. He rang again.

A window in the cottage was opened cautiously, and the head of Mrs. Pill, in a frilled nightcap of gigantic size, was thrust out. "Is that you, Thomas, coming home at this late hour the worse for drink, you idle wretch, and me almost dead with want of sleep."

"It's a message from your husband, Mrs. Barnes," said Jennings, signing to Twining to keep out of sight. "Come and open the door, and I'll tell you what has happened."

"Oh, lor! is Thomas gone the way of flesh?" wailed Mrs. Barnes, formerly Pill. "Come to the cottage door."

"No. Open this one," said Jennings, who had his own reasons for this particular entrance being made use of. "You know me—"

"Mr. Jennings, as was in the case of my pore, dear, dead lady. Of course I knows you, sir, and the fact as you are police makes me shudder to think as Thomas is jailed for drink. Wait one moment, sir. I'll hurry on a petticoat and shawl. How good of you to come, sir."

When the window shut down, Jennings bent towards the inspector, who was crouching on the other side of the steps. "This woman is innocent," he whispered. "She knows nothing, else she would not admit us so quickly."

"It may be a blind, Jennings. She may have gone to give the gang warning, you know."

"I don't know," retorted the detective sharply. "I am quite sure that Mrs. Barnes doesn't even know her husband Thomas is one of the lot. I don't care if she does give warning either, if your surmise is correct. All our men are round the house, and if any of the gang escape we can collar them."

"That is supposing there isn't another exit from the unfinished house," muttered Twining, anxious to have the last word.

Mrs. Barnes appeared at the door in a brilliant red petticoat, a white woollen shawl, and the cap aforesaid. Her feet were thrust into carpet slippers and she carried a candle. "An' it is good of you, sir, to come 'ere and tell me that Thomas is in jail, he being-"

"We can talk of that inside," said the detective, pushing past her. "I suppose you don't mind my friend coming in."

Mrs. Barnes almost dropped when she saw the second person, especially when she noted the uniform. "It must be murder at least," she wailed, almost dropping the candle in her fright; "lor! do tell me, sir, that Thomas have not murdered anyone."

"Lead us down to the sitting-room and we'll tell you, Mrs. Barnes."

"I can't do that, sir, Mr. Clancy may be 'ome any moment"

"Isn't he at home now?"

"Bless you, no, Mr. Jennings, he being fond of goin' out, not that he's an old man, and why shouldn't he enjoy hisself. Not that a woman could wish for a better lodger, though he only bin 'ere a week or so, he givin' no trouble and havin' a latch-key."

"I want to see Mr. Clancy also," said Jennings impatiently, while Twining turned on the electric light in the hall. "Take us down to the basement."

The woman would have objected again, but from the stern expression on her visitors' faces she judged that it would be wiser to obey. She descended, candle in hand, turning on the lights as she went down. In the sitting-room she paused and faced the detective. "Do tell me what's wrong, sir?" she asked. "Thomas is a fool, but we're newly wed and I shouldn't like anything to 'appen to 'im, though he do take fondly-like to the bottle."

"When did Thomas go out?"

"At eight, and Mr. Clancy at nine, though Mr. Clancy havin' a latch-key, don't give me trouble lettin' him in which Thomas does."

"Ah!" said Jennings, with a side-glance at the inspector, "so your husband goes out often?"

"He do, sir. Three times a week. I 'ave tried to break 'im of these larky 'abits but he won't do what I arsks him. I wish I'd stopped at bein' Pill," wailed Mrs. Barnes, wiping her eyes. "An' if Thomas is drunk and bail bein' required—"

"I don't know if your husband is drunk or sober," interrupted Jennings. "We are on a different errand. Tell me, Mrs. Barnes, do you know if Miss Loach had a secret entrance to this room?"

"Lor no, sir," cried the woman, casting a surprised glance round, "whatever would she 'ave that for, pore dear?"

"The furniture is oddly placed," said Twining.

And indeed it was. Tables and chairs and sofa were ranged in two lines on either side of the room, leaving the middle portion bare. The floor was covered with a Turkey carpet down the centre, but the sides of the floor were without covering. Mrs. Barnes explained this.

"Miss Loach liked to 'ave things straight this way for the night, bein' of tidy 'abits. She thought the floor bein' clear left the 'ousemaid, who was Geraldine, room to sweep and dust thoroughly. Mr. Clancy 'ave the same fancy, though being a man as tidy as ever was."

"Strange Mr. Clancy should be tidy," said Jennings drily. "He certainly is not so in his dress. Now the best thing you can do, Mrs. Barnes, is to go to bed."

"An' leave you 'ere," screeched the cook indignantly. "Why, whatever would Mr. Clancy say, he being respectable."

"Very good then, you can stop here. Stand on one side, Twining, and you, Mrs. Barnes. Both of you stand on the bare floor near the wall."

Considerably surprised, Mrs. Barnes did as she was told, and uttered a cry when she saw the floor begin to move. Jennings, who was pressing a button at the end of the room, stopped. "Take her upstairs, Twining. She will alarm the gang!"

"Alarm who?" cried the cook, struggling with the inspector. "Whatever do you mean? Shame—shame to 'old a defenceless lady. 'Elp!"

But her cries for help were unheeded. Twining bore her up the stairs and summoned one of his men. In a few minutes Mrs. Barnes was safely locked up in her own bedroom in the cottage, a prey to terrors. Poor woman, being innocent, she could not understand the meaning of this midnight visit, nor indeed the mysterious moving of the floor. It had never happened so before within her recollection.

Twining came down with six men, leaving the others to guard the exits from the house and garden. At the door of the sitting-room he stopped at the head of those he was bringing. At his feet yawned a gulf in which steps appeared. The whole of the centre of the floor had disappeared into the wall opposite to the fireplace, and the rough steps led down into a kind of passage that ran in the direction of the unfinished house. "This is the entrance," said Jennings, "it works from a concealed button on the wall. Electricity is used. You see why the sides of the floor are left bare; the carpet has quite disappeared. But we have no time to lose," he jumped down lightly. "Come along men, hurry up."

"As we will be at a disadvantage, we may as well get our barkers out," said the inspector, and the men produced revolvers. Then they went into the burrow at the tail of the intrepid Jennings.

That gentleman stole along the narrow passage: It ran straightly for a few yards and then took a turn to the right. The ground continued to slope for some distance until it terminated in a heavy door of wood. Jennings fancied this might be locked, and felt a pang of disappointment. But it proved to be merely closed to. Apparently the coiners were so sure of their safety that they did not trouble to keep the door locked. The detective opened it gently, and with the men close at his heels stole forward. He held his revolver lightly in his right hand, ready for emergencies. The passage was quite dark, but being narrow, the men had no hesitation in going forward. Some way down, after leaving the door, the passage branched into two ways, for Jennings came against a wall directly ahead. Wondering what this meant, he struck a match, and the blue light revealed one passage running down to the left and another opening up to the right. While the detective hesitated which to take, the darkness was suddenly illuminated with the glare of lamps. From a dozen electric lights at the sides of the passage sprang a white glow. At the further end of the sloping passage appeared the figure of a man. He gave a shout when the figures of the police were revealed in the sudden illumination and vanished suddenly. There was not a moment to be lost. Jennings, crying to his men, dashed ahead. As he neared the end of the burrow, for it was nothing else, a pistol shot rang out and he felt as though his shoulder had been pierced with a red-hot iron. But the wound did not stop him.

"Quick, men—quick! Some stop and guard the double way. They will try and escape that way."

His orders were obeyed with precision, and two men stopped behind, while the rest, with Twining at their head, pressed forward. They ran against another door, but it also was open, as the watching man had not had time to close it. Through this the police poured, and found themselves in a large, dry cellar, brilliantly lighted. On every hand were the evidences of the pursuits of the gang. But no one had time to take in details. The startled and infuriated coiners were fighting for their liberty. In a moment the lights were out, but not before Jennings saw Clancy and Hale at the far end of the cellar, with white faces and levelled revolvers. There were other men also. Shots rang out, but in the darkness everyone fired at random. The coiners strove to force their way to the door, evidently anxious to gain the forked passage, so that they could escape by one of the two exits. Twining uncovered his lantern and flashed the light round. It converted him into a target and he fell, shot through the heart by Hale. The other men made a dash for liberty, but the police also producing their lights, managed to seize them. At last Hale, apparently seeing there was no chance of escaping in the gloom, turned on the electric lights again, and the illumination revealed a cellar filled with struggling men. Jennings made for Clancy, as it struck him that this man, in spite of the foolish look on his face, was the prime agent. Clancy fired and missed. Then he strove to close with Jennings. The latter hammered him over the head with the butt of his revolver. Shouts and oaths came from the infuriated thieves, but the police fought like bulldogs, with tenacious courage, silent and grim.

"Hold them—hold them!" cried Jennings, as he went down.

"I'll do for you this time," said Hale between his teeth, and flung himself forward, but Jennings struggled valiantly. The coiner was over him, and trying to get at his revolver which had fallen in the fight. Jennings waited till he stretched, then fired upward. Hale gave a yell of agony, and throwing up his arms, fell on one side. Wounded, and in great pain, Jennings rose. He had just time to see Clancy in the grip of two policemen, fighting desperately, when his senses left him and he fainted. The shouts and oaths and shots rang out wildly and confusedly as he lost consciousness.



CHAPTER XXIII

A SCAMP'S HISTORY

When Jennings came to himself he was lying on a sofa in the dining-room on the ground-floor of the villa. His shoulder hurt him a trifle, but otherwise he felt well, though slightly weak. The doctor was at his side. It was the same man who had attended to the body of the late occupant of the house.

"Are you feeling better?" said Doctor Slane, when he saw the eyes of the detective open. "You had better remain here for a time. Your men have secured the rascals—all five of them."

"And Twining?" asked Jennings, trying to sit up.

"He is dead—shot through the heart. Clancy killed him."

"Then he'll swing for it," said Jennings in a stronger tone, "we lose a good man in poor Twining. And Hale?"

"You have wounded him severely in the lungs. I fear he will die. We have put him in Mrs. Barnes' room on her bed. The poor woman is wild with grief and terror. I suppose you know her husband was amongst those rascals."

"I thought as much. His going out was merely a blind. But I must get up and look at the factory. Send Atkins to me."

Atkins was the man next in command now that the inspector was dead.

The doctor tried to keep Jennings on his back, but the detective would not listen. "There is much to do," he said, rising unsteadily. "You have bound up my shoulder. I won't lose any more blood."

"You have lost a good deal already."

"It's my business. We detectives have our battles to fight as well as soldiers have theirs. Give me some brandy and send Atkins."

Seeing that the man was resolved, Slane gave him the drink and went out. In a few minutes Atkins entered and saluted. Jennings, after drinking the fiery spirit, felt much better, and was fairly steady on his legs. "Did you see any women amongst the men we took?" he asked.

"No, sir," replied the other, "there were five men. Two are wounded—one slightly, and the other—Hale—severely. He wants to make a confession to you, and I have sent to the office for a clerk to take down his words. Dr. Slane says he will not live till morning."

"He will cheat the law, I suppose," said Jennings, "give me your arm, Atkins. I want to visit the factory."

"Are you strong enough, sir?"

"Quite strong enough. Don't bother," replied the other as a twinge of pain made him wince. "We've made a good haul this time."

"You'll say that, sir, when you see the factory. It is the most complete thing of its kind."

"Tell the clerk when he arrives not to take down Hale's confession till I arrive. I won't be more than a quarter of an hour. Give me your arm when you return."

Atkins departed on his errand, and Jennings sat down, wondering what had become of Maraquito. He made sure she would go to the factory, as being a place of refuge which the police would find hard to discover. But, apparently, she had taken earth in some other crib belonging to the gang. However, he would have all the ports watched, and she would find it hard to escape abroad. Maraquito was so striking a woman that it was no easy matter for her to disguise herself. And Jennings swore that he would capture her, for he truly believed that she had killed Miss Loach, and was the prime mover in the whole business. Hitherto she had baffled him by her dexterity, but when they next met he hoped to get the upper hand.

His underling returned and, resting on his arm, Jennings with some difficulty managed to get down the stairs. The whole house now blazed with light. Formerly the detective had wondered why Miss Loach had been so fond of electric lamps, thinking that as an old lady she would have preferred a softer glow. But now he knew that she required the electricity for the illumination of the factory, and for manipulating the metals required in the manufacture of coins. There was no doubt that she was one of the gang also, but Jennings could not conceive why she should take to such a business. However, the woman was dead and the gang captured, so the detective moved along the narrow passage with a sense of triumph. He never thought that he would be so lucky as to make this discovery, and he knew well that such a triumph meant praise and reward. "I'll be able to marry Peggy now," he thought.

The coiners had been removed to the Rexton cells, and only Hale remained under the charge of Mrs. Barnes and Dr. Slane. The body of Twining lay in the dining-room of the villa. A policeman was on guard at the door of the villa, and two remained at the forked passage. When Jennings arrived here he felt inclined to turn off to the right and explore the other passage, but he was also anxious to see the factory and assure himself of the value of his discovery. He therefore painfully hobbled along, clinging to Atkins, but sustained in his efforts by an indomitable spirit.

"Here you are, sir," said Atkins, turning on the light and revealing the workshop. "A fine plant, isn't it?"

"It is, indeed," said Jennings, glancing up to the rough roof where five or six lamps blazed like suns, "and a nice hiding-place they found. I'll sit here and look round, Atkins."

He dropped into a chair near the bench and stared at the cellar. It was large, and built of rough stones, so that it looked like a prison cell of the Bastille. The floor was of beaten earth, the roof of brick, built in the form of an arch, and the door was of heavy wood clamped with iron. The brilliant illumination enabled Jennings to see everything, even to the minutest detail of the place.

In one corner were three large dynamos, and in another a smelting pot, and many sheets of silver and copper. Also, there were moulds of gutta-percha arranged to hold coins in immersion. On a bench were a number of delicate tools and a strong vice. Jennings also saw various appliances for making coins. On rough deal shelves ranged round the walls stood flasks and jars containing powders, with tools and a great many chemicals. Also there were piles of false money, gold and silver and copper, and devices for sweating sovereigns. In a safe were lumps of gold and silver. Beside it, a bath filled with some particular liquid used in the trade. Electric cells, acids, wooden clips to hold the coins could also be seen. In fact the whole factory was conducted on the most scientific principles, and Jennings could understand how so many cleverly-prepared coins came to be in circulation. There were even moulds for the manufacture of francs and louis.

"I daresay the gang have other places," he said to Atkins, "but this is their headquarters, I fancy. If I can only get some of them to tell the truth we might find the other places."

"Hale wants to confess."

"Yes. But I fancy it is about the murder of Miss Loach. She was apparently killed to ensure the safety of this den. We must root the coiners out, Atkins. Maraquito, who is the head of the business, is at large, and unless we can take her, she will continue to make false money in some other place. However, I have seen enough for the time being. Keep guard over this place till we hear from the Yard tomorrow."

"You'll go home and lie down, sir."

"No. I intend to hear Hale's confession. By to-morrow it will be too late. I wouldn't miss hearing what he has to say for anything."

"But can you keep up, sir?"

"Yes, yes—don't bother," said Jennings, rising, the pain making him testy, "give me your arm, Atkins. By the way, where does the other passage lead to? I have not enough strength to explore."

"It leads to the top of the ground, sir, and comes out into the trunk of a tree."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, sir, it's very clever. There's an old oak near the wall, and the trunk is hollow. All anyone has to do is to climb up through the trunk by means of stairs and drop over the wall. The coiners were making for that when we captured them."

"Humph! Have that place watched. Maraquito may come here to-night after all. It is now one o'clock."

"I don't think she'll come, Mr. Jennings. But we have every point watched. No one can come or go unless we know."

"Come along then," said Jennings, who was growing weak, "let us see Hale. The sooner his confession is written and signed the better."

Not another word did Jennings say till he got on to the ground floor of the villa. But he had been thinking, for when there he turned to the man who supported him. "How is it the oak with the hollow trunk still stands?" he asked.

"Oh, it escaped the fire, sir. Some of the boughs were burnt off but the trunk itself is all right. It is close to the wall too."

"Humph!" said Jennings, setting his teeth with the pain, "give me a sup of brandy out of your flask, Atkins. Now for Hale."

When he arrived in the bedroom where Hale was lying groaning, Jennings had the factitious strength of the spirit. A sleepy-eyed clerk was seated at the table with sheets of paper before him. A lamp was on the table. Mrs. Barnes was crouching in a chair near the bed. When she saw Jennings she flung herself down weeping.

"Oh, sir, I knew no more of this than a babe unborn," she wailed, "I never thought my second was a villing. To think that Thomas—"

"That's all right, Mrs. Barnes, I quite acquit you."

"Not Barnes. Pill I am again, and Mrs. Pill I'll be to the end of my days. To think Thomas should be a blackguard. Pill drank, I don't deny, but he didn't forge and coin, and—"

"Wasn't clever enough, perhaps," said Hale from the bed in a weak voice, "oh, there you are, Jennings. Get that fool out of the room and listen to what I have to tell you. I haven't much time. I am going fast."

Jennings induced Mrs. Pill, as she now insisted on being called, to leave the room. Then he sat down on the bed beside the dying man. Atkins remained at the door, and the doctor seated himself by Hale's head with a glass of brandy. It might be needed for the revival of Hale, who, having lost much blood, was terribly weak. But the poor wretch was bent upon confession, and even told his story with pride.

"You had a job to take us, Jennings," he said with a weak chuckle. "I don't know how you found us out though."

"It's too long a story to tell. But, first of all, tell me did Maraquito come here to-night?"

"No. Are you after her?"

"Yes, I know she isn't an invalid."

"Ah, she diddled you there," said Hale with another chuckle, "a very clever woman is Maraquito. I wished to marry her, but now I'm done for. After all, I'm not sorry, since my pals are taken. But I did think I'd have been able to go to South America and marry Maraquito. I've made plenty of money by this game. Sometimes we sweated four hundred sovereigns a day. The factory has been here for five years, Jennings—"

"I know. The man Maxwell, who was Susan Grant's father, made the secret entrance, and you had him killed."

"No, I didn't. Miss Loach did that. I thought she was a fool at the time. I told her so. We could have taken Maxwell as a pal. He was willing to come. But she thought death was best."

"And Maraquito killed Tyke?"

"No. I did that. I sent Gibber to fix him up. Tyke was a drunkard and made a fool of himself in being arrested. He would have given the show away, so I sent Gibber with a poisoned bottle of whisky. I knew Tyke couldn't resist a drink. He died, and—"

"Did you kill Miss Loach also?" interrupted Jennings, casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure that the clerk was noting all this.

Hale laughed weakly.

"No!" he said. "I fancied you would ask that. I tell you honestly that none of us know who killed her."

"That's rubbish. You do know."

"I swear I don't. Neither does Maraquito. You haven't caught her yet and you never will. I'm not going to split on the pals I have left, Jennings. You have nabbed some, but there are others, and other factories also. I won't tell you about those."

"Clancy is captured—he will."

"Don't you make any mistake. Clancy is not the fool he looks. He has the cleverest head of the lot of us. But I'd better get on with my confession, though it won't do you much good."

"So long as you say who killed Miss Loach—"

"Miss Loach," sneered Hale, "why not Emilia Saul?"

Jennings was almost too surprised to speak. "Do you mean to say—"

"Yes, I do. All the time you and Miss Saxon and that idiot of a brother thought she was Selina Loach. She wasn't, but she was very like her. Emilia met Selina in the house that is now burnt and pushed her off the plank. The face was disfigured and Selina was buried as Emilia."

"Then Mrs. Octagon must know—"

"She knows a good deal. You'd better ask her for details. Give me a sup of brandy, doctor. Yes," went on Hale, when he felt better, "I laughed in my sleeve when I thought how Emilia tricked you all. She was Maraquito's aunt. Her name—"

"Maraquito's name is Bathsheba Saul."

"Yes. I expect Caranby told you that. He was too clever, that old man. I was always afraid that he would find out about the factory. A long while ago I wished Maraquito to give up the business and marry me. Then we would have gone to South America and have lived in peace on no end of money. Emilia left six thousand a year, so you may guess that Maraquito and I made money also. But she was in love with Mallow, and would not come away. I feared Caranby should take it into his head to search the house—"

"Was that why you had it burnt?"

"No. Tyke did that out of revenge, because Maraquito marked him with a knife. Do you think I would have been such a fool as to burn the house. Why, Caranby would have probably let out the land, and foundations would have been dug for new villas, when our plant would have been discovered."

"Who are you, Hale?"

"Who do you think?" asked the dying man, chuckling.

"One of the Saul family. You have the same eyebrows as Maraquito."

"And as Mrs. Herne, who really was Maraquito."

"Yes, I know that. But who are you?"

"My real name is Daniel Saul."

"Ah! I thought you were a member of the family. There is a likeness to Maraquito—"

"Nose and eyebrows and Hebrew looks. But I am only a distant cousin. My father married a Christian, but I retain a certain look of his people. He died when I was young. Emilia's mother brought me up. I knew a lot about the coining in those days, and I was always in love with Bathsheba, who is my cousin—"

"Bathsheba?"

"You know her best as Maraquito, so by that name I shall speak of her. Jennings," said Hale, his voice growing weaker, "I have little time left, so you had better not interrupt me." He took another sup of brandy and the doctor felt his pulse. Then he began to talk so fast that the clerk could hardly keep pace with his speech. Evidently he was afraid lest he should die before his recital ended.

"When old Mrs. Saul lost Emilia—" he began.

"But she didn't lose Emilia," interrupted Jennings.

"She thought she had. She never knew that Emilia took the name of Selina Loach. You had better ask Mrs. Octagon for details on that subject. Don't interrupt. Well, when Mrs. Saul lost Emilia, she took more and more to coining. So did her son, Bathsheba's father. They were caught and put in prison. I was taken in hand by a benevolent gentleman who brought me up and gave me the profession of a lawyer. I chose that because I thought it might be handy. Then Mrs. Saul came out of prison and her son also. Both died. Maraquito tried various professions and finally went in for dancing. She hurt her foot, and that attempt to gain a living failed. I was in practice then and we started the gambling-house together. But by this time I had found Emilia living here as Selina Loach. Mrs. Octagon can tell you how we met. Emilia persuaded me and Maraquito to go in for the coining. She already had Clancy interested. He was a good man at getting the proper ring of the coins. Well, we managed to make a tunnel to the cellars of the unfinished house, and then Emilia built the extra wing to the villa. The secret entrances were made by—"

"By Maxwell. I know that. Go on."

"Well, we started the concern. I haven't time to tell you in detail how lucky we were. We counterfeited foreign coins also. We all made plenty of money. Emilia suggested Maraquito feigning to be an invalid, so as to make things safe. False coins were passed at the gambling-house. Maraquito came here as Mrs. Herne and had a house—or rather lodgings—at Hampstead. We came here three times a week, and while supposed to be playing whist, we were at the factory. Emilia kept guard. Sometimes we went out by the door of this house and at times by another way—"

"I know. Up the tree-trunk."

"Ah, you have found that out," said Hale in a weak voice; "what a place it is," he murmured regretfully, "no one will ever get such another. I can't understand how you came to find us out."

"Tell me what happened on that night?" asked Jennings, seeing that the man was growing weaker, and fearful lest he should die without telling the secret of the death.

"On that night," said the dying scamp, rousing himself; "well, Maraquito quarrelled with Clancy, and went with me to the factory."

"Then you were not out of the house?"

"No. We went by the underground passage to work. Clancy went away, as he had business elsewhere. The moment he had gone I came up from the passage. Emilia was seated with the cards on her lap. She came with me to the factory, and thinking Clancy might come back, she went out by the tree-trunk way."

"What, that old lady?"

"She wasn't so very old, and as active as a cat. Besides, she did not want Clancy to come down, as she was afraid there might be a fight between him and Maraquito. They had quarrelled about the division of some money, and Maraquito can use a knife on occasions."

"She did on that night."

"No. Miss Loach—I mean Emilia—never came back. We became alarmed, as we knew people had been round the house of late—"

"Mr. Mallow—"

"Yes, the fool. We knew he had come prowling after ghosts. But he found nothing. Well, I—" here Hale's voice died away. The doctor gave him some more brandy and looked significantly at Jennings.

"Get him to tell all at once," he whispered, "he's going."

"Yes, I'm going," murmured Hale. "I don't mind, though I am sorry to leave Maraquito. Well," he added, in a stronger voice. "I went out to see what was up. We found Emilia lying dead near the tree. She had been stabbed to the heart. A bowie knife was near. In great alarm I got Maraquito to come out, as the body could not be left there. We dropped it down the tree-trunk and got it into the factory. Then we wondered what was to be done. Maraquito suggested we should take it back to the sitting-room, and then, people being ignorant of the passage, no one would know how Emilia had met with her death. I thought there was nothing else to be done. We carried the body through the passage and placed it in the chair. I arranged the cards on the lap, knowing the servant had seen Emilia in that position, and that it would still further throw prying people"—here Hale glanced at Jennings—"off the scent. Hardly had we arranged this and closed the floor, over us when we heard that someone was in the room. It was a woman, and we heard her speaking to the corpse, ignorant that the woman was dead. Then we heard a suppressed shriek. We guessed it was a woman, at least I did, but Maraquito was quicker and knew more. She said it was Miss Saxon, and at once became anxious to fix the blame on her. But I was afraid lest things should be discovered, so I dragged Maraquito back to the factory. I believe Miss Saxon found the knife and then ran out, being afraid lest she should be discovered and accused. This was what Maraquito wanted. She suddenly escaped from me and ran back to the secret entrance. By shifting the floor a little she saw into the room. It was then eleven. She saw also that the knife was gone, and it struck her that Miss Saxon could not be far off."

"She was not," said Jennings, "she was hidden in the field of corn."

"Ah. I thought so. Well, Maraquito fancied that if she was arrested with the knife before she could leave the neighborhood she would be charged with the murder."

"But would Maraquito have let her suffer?" asked Jennings, horrified.

"Of course she would," said Hale weakly, "she hated Miss Saxon because she was engaged to Mallow, the fool. To get her caught, Maraquito jumped up into the sitting-room and rang the bell."

"At eleven o'clock?"

"Yes, I believe—I believe—" Hale's voice was getting weaker and weaker. "She did ring—bell—then closed floor. Servant came—I—I—" he stopped and his head fell back. Suddenly he half rose and looked wildly into blank space. "Maraquito," he cried strongly, "the game's at an end. Fly, my love, fly. We have fought and—and—lost. Maraquito, oh my—" his voice died away. He stretched out his hand, fell back and died with a look of tender love on his pallid face.

"Poor wretch!" said Slane pityingly, "at least he loved truly."



CHAPTER XXIV

REVENGE

The capture of the coiners caused an immense sensation, and the papers were filled with descriptions of the raid. Jennings came in for much congratulation, and his feat considerably improved his position with the authorities. He was confined to his bed for some days by his wound and, meanwhile, events transpired in which he would have been considerably interested had he heard of them. They had to do with Maraquito.

Since her flight from the Soho house nothing had been heard of her, although every inquiry had been made. Guessing that Jennings knew much more than was suspected, she was wise enough not to go to the Rexton factory, and congratulated herself on her foresight when she read the accounts of the raid in the papers. But she was furiously angry at losing all, when on the point of realizing her desires. She had sent her money to be banked abroad; she hoped, by means of threats to induce Mallow to give up Juliet, and she had trusted to win his love by assiduous attentions. But the trick played by Jennings which revealed her deception, and the raid on the factory and the consequent death of Hale, upset her plans, and caused her to take refuge in hiding. She did not fear being arrested, especially as her arch-enemy, the detective, was confined to bed, so she had time to make her plans. Maraquito particularly wished to revenge herself on Mallow and Juliet. She still loved the young man as much as ever, despite his contemptuous rejection of her suit. But she blamed Juliet Saxon for the hardening of his heart, and it was on the girl that she determined to revenge herself. At first she intended to call at the "Shrine of the Muses," but thinking she would meet with opposition from Mrs. Octagon, likely to prevent the realization of her malignant wishes, she changed her mind. It was no use visiting Mallow, as with him she could do nothing. Therefore she resolved to write to Lord Caranby and arrange a meeting with Juliet at his rooms in the Avon Hotel. Then, when in the presence of the girl, she hoped to revenge herself in a way likely to cause Mallow exquisite pain.

Thus it happened that Lord Caranby, who was very ill and confined to his rooms, received a letter from Maraquito, asking him to invite Miss Saxon to a meeting with the writer. "I see that the game is up," wrote the artful Maraquito, "and I am willing to put things straight. I know much which will be of service in clearing up matters, as I was a partner with Hale and Clancy in the coining. I do not mind admitting this, as I am not afraid of the police arresting me. I can look after myself, and I am quite sure that you will not betray me when I call at your rooms. I also have something to tell you about my dead Aunt Emilia whom you so deeply loved. Therefore, if you will arrange for me to meet Miss Saxon, and allow me to make a clean breast of it, all will be well."

When Caranby received this letter his first idea was to send for Mallow. But he reflected that Cuthbert was bitterly angered against Maraquito, and would probably hand her over to the police. Caranby, from a remembrance of his love for Emilia, did not wish this to happen; therefore, he refrained from letting Mallow learn of Maraquito's determination. He hoped to get the complete truth from her and arrange matters once and for all. Also, there was another reason, and a very strong one, which prevented the old gentleman from having his nephew present at the projected interview.

Maraquito soon received an answer to her letter. It stated that Lord Caranby would be pleased to receive her on Sunday afternoon at three o'clock, and that Miss Saxon would be present. When Maraquito read this she smiled an evil smile and went out to make a certain purchase which had to do with her visit. Had Lord Caranby known of her wicked intention he would rather have cut off his right arm than have subjected Juliet to the danger she was about to undergo. But he never credited Maraquito with such calculated wickedness.

On Sunday afternoon the old gentleman was seated near the fire, carefully dressed as usual, but looking very ill. He suffered, as he had told Jennings, from an incurable complaint, and there was no chance of his recovering. But he refused to take to his bed, and insisted on keeping his feet. Cuthbert often came to see him, but on this particular afternoon Caranby had manoeuvred him out of the way by sending him to see an old friend with a message about his illness. Cuthbert never suspected what was in the wind or he certainly would not have gone. Afterwards, he bitterly regretted that he had not told Caranby of Maraquito's threat against Juliet. Had he done so, Caranby would never have received her. As it was, the old lord waited patiently for the woman who was about to bring disaster in her train. Precisely at three o'clock his servant showed up a lady. "Madame Durand," he announced, and then retired, leaving his master alone with a bent, crooked old woman who walked with the aid of a cane, and seemed very ill.

"I should never have known you," said Caranby, admiring Maraquito's talent for disguise.

"Necessity has made me clever," she replied in a croaking voice, and glanced at the door.

Caranby interpreted the look and voice. "You can speak freely," he said ironically, "I have no police concealed hereabouts."

"And Miss Saxon?" asked Maraquito, speaking in her natural voice.

"She will be here at half-past three. I wish to have a talk with you first, Miss Saul."

The woman darted a terrible look at her host. In spite of the mask of age which she had assumed, her eyes filled with youthful vigor and fire betrayed her. They shone brilliantly from her wrinkled face. Her hair was concealed under a close cap, above which she wore a broad-brimmed hat. This head-dress would have been remarkable a few years back, but now that ladies are reverting to the fashions of their grandmothers, it passed unnoticed. With a plain black dress, a black cloak trimmed profusely with beads, mittened hands and an ebony cane, she looked quite funereal. To complete the oddity of her dress a black satin bag dangled by ribbons from her left arm. In this she carried her handkerchief and—something else. As usual, she was perfumed with the Hikui scent. Caranby noticed this, and when she did not reply to his remark, pointed out its danger to her.

"If you wish to escape the police, you must stop using so unusual a perfume, Miss Saul—"

"Call me Maraquito; I am used to that name," she said harshly, and seated herself near the fire, shivering to keep up a character of old age, with slowly circulating blood.

"Let us say Maraquita," answered Caranby, smiling, "we may as well be grammatical. But this perfume betrays you. Jennings knows that your friends use it as a sign."

"Quite so," she answered, "it was clever of Jennings to have guessed its meaning. I invented the idea. But he is ill, and I don't think he has told anyone else about it. He is fond of keeping his discoveries to himself. He wants all the glory."

"Surely he has had enough by this time, Maraquita. But the scent—"

"You are quite right, I shall not use it for the future. But what do you think of my disguise? Would anyone know me?"

"Certainly not. But I wonder you have the courage to show yourself so disfigured to the woman who is your rival."

"Oh, as to that, she is my rival no longer," said Maraquito, with a gesture of disdain, "your nephew is not worthy of me. I surrender him from this moment."

"That is very wise of you. I expect you will go abroad and marry a millionaire."

"I might. But I have plenty of money of my own."

"The way in which you made it is not creditable," said Caranby.

"Bah!" she sneered. "I did not come here to hear you talk morality, Lord Caranby. You were no saint in your young days. I have heard all about you."

"From whom?"

"From my Aunt Emilia."

"I scarcely think that. You were but a child when she died."

"She did not die," said Maraquito coldly. "I have come to tell you that she lived as Miss Loach at Rose Cottage."

Caranby started to his feet. "What is this you tell me?"

"The truth. Emilia is dead now, but she lived alone for many a long day. I knew that Selina Loach was my aunt, and," Maraquito looked at him with piercing eyes, "Mrs. Octagon knew also."

By this time Caranby had recovered from his emotion. "There is nothing bad I don't expect to hear of Isabella Octagon," he said, "so this then was why she visited you?"

"Yes. I ordered her to come by threatening to reveal what she knew to the police. I could have done so by an anonymous letter. She came and then I forced her to promise to stop the marriage. I may as well add that I wrote insisting on the marriage being stopped as soon as Emilia died."

"Ah! And I thought along with Cuthbert that it was hatred of me that made Mrs. Octagon—"

"Oh, she hates you sure enough. But are you not astonished by my news?"

"Very much astonished," responded Caranby thoughtfully, "how came it that Selina died and Isabella lived?"

"The three met in the unfinished house," explained Maraquito. "I had the story from Emilia myself. There was a quarrel. All three were in love with you. Selina was standing on a plank at a considerable height from the ground. In a rage Emilia pushed her off. Isabella held her tongue as she hated Selina."

"But the substitution?"

"Well. In the fall Selina's face was much mutilated. I believe," added Maraquito, in a coldblooded manner, "that Emilia made it worse"—here Caranby shuddered and Maraquito laughed—"oh, my aunt was not a woman to stick at trifles. She insisted on changing dresses with the dead. It was the workmen's dinner-hour and no one was about. She forced Isabella to assist her by threatening to tell the police that Isabella had murdered her sister. As the sisters were on bad terms, Isabella knew that she might be accused, and so she held her tongue."

"But she could have accused Emilia."

"Emilia would have denied the accusation. Moreover, Isabella was intimidated by the fierce nature of my aunt."

"A fierce nature, indeed, that would mutilate the dead. But I do not see how Emilia hoped that the substitution would pass undiscovered by Selina's friends, to say nothing of her father."

"The idea was that Emilia, as Selina, should go abroad and return to England in a few years. Owing to the unexpected death of Mr. Loach, the father, the substitution was easy. You know how Isabella alone appeared at the inquest, and how Selina—really my aunt—pretended to be sick. Then the two went abroad and came back; Emilia as Miss Loach went to Rose Cottage, and Isabella married Mr. Saxon."

"But why did Emilia take Selina's name and—"

"Because Emilia was in danger of being arrested along with her mother and brother for coining. You could not have saved her. The accident of Selina's death—"

"The murder of Selina, you mean."

Maraquito made a gesture of indifference. "Call it what you like. It happened opportunely however. It gave Emilia safety, and by threatening to denounce Isabella, she stopped her from marrying you."

Caranby looked up. "Ah! Now I see why Isabella left me alone. She made one attempt, however."

"And did not succeed in inducing you to marry her. But had she succeeded, Emilia would have stopped the marriage. Emilia loved you."

"No," said Caranby coldly, "she loved my title and my name and wealth. I never loved her nor she me. She exercised a kind of hypnotic influence over me, and I dare say I would have married her. But her heart I am sure was always in the coining business."

"You are quite right," said Maraquito, looking keenly at him, "though I can't guess how you came to think so, seeing you thought my aunt dead. Yes, she loved coining. When I grew up she sent for me and for Daniel Saul—"

"Who is he? Another of your precious family."

"A distant cousin. You know him best as Hale the lawyer."

"Oh, indeed," said Caranby, considerably surprised, "and what did Emilia do with you two?"

"She got us to help her to coin. We made use of your house. I need not tell you how we dug the tunnel and arranged the factory. Emilia knew that you would not disturb the house—"

"I was a sentimental fool. If I had been wiser you would not have carried on your wickedness for so long."

"Oh, we have other factories," said Maraquito coolly, "Jennings has not discovered everything. But your house was certainly an ideal place. I can't understand how Jennings learned about the secret—"

"The entrance. He learned that from plans left by Maxwell who designed the same. Emilia poisoned him."

"She did—to preserve her secret. Hale and I thought it was unwise; he would have joined us. But it was all for the best."

"Apparently you think so," returned Caranby, looking at her with abhorrence, "seeing you poisoned Tyke in the same way."

"Hale did that and I agreed. It was necessary," said the woman coldly, "but you appear to know all about the matter."

"Jennings has told me everything. Even to the fact, which he learned from Hale that you rang that bell."

"I did. I knew Juliet Saxon was in the room, and I wished to get her arrested. She left the house and I rang the bell as soon as I could get away from Hale, who did not wish me to draw attention to the murder. But Juliet was too far away by that time to be caught."

"Why did you wish to hang the poor girl?"

"Because I loved Cuthbert. I would have hanged her with pleasure," said Maraquito vindictively. "I hate her!"

"Then why do you wish to see her to-day?"

"To tell her that I give up your nephew."

"That is not in accordance with the sentiments you expressed now."

Maraquito made a gesture of indifference and made no reply. Caranby now began to suspect that she intended harm to Juliet, and wondered if she had any weapon about her. That dangling bag could easily carry a stout knife or a neat little revolver. And Maraquito, as was evident from the deaths of Maxwell and Tyke, had no idea of the sacredness of life. Caranby wished he had kept Cuthbert at hand to avert any catastrophe. He was about to ring and order his servant not to bring Miss Saxon into the room when Maraquito roused herself from her reverie.

"Do you wish to know anything further?" she asked.

"No. I think you have told me everything."

She smiled scornfully. "I have told you very little. But for the rest of the information you must apply to Mrs. Octagon."

"Ah! Supposing I wish to learn who killed Emilia?"

"Mrs. Octagon can tell you!" said the woman significantly.

"Do you mean to say—"

"I say nothing. Emilia came to the factory and went out into the open air by another exit to see if anyone was about. She never returned and Hale and I went in search of her. We found her dead, and—"

"I know all this. Hale confessed it. But he does not know who killed her. Do you?"

"I can't say for certain. But I suspect Mrs. Octagon stabbed her."

"But how could Mrs. Octagon get the knife?"

"Basil got that from Mallow's room. He gave it to his mother, and—"

"This is all theory," said Caranby angrily, "you have no grounds."

"None at all," replied Maraquito calmly, "but if anyone had a wish to kill my aunt, Mrs. Octagon had. Emilia kept a tight hold over that woman, and made her do what she wished."

"About the marriage?"

"Yes, and other things. I have never been able to understand why Aunt Emilia took such a fancy to Cuthbert and that girl. But she certainly wished to see them married. She asked Juliet for a photograph of your nephew, and Juliet gave her one. I took it, and that girl Susan Grant stole it from me. It was strange that the photograph should have gone back to the cottage. Aunt and I quarrelled over the marriage. She knew I loved Cuthbert, but she would never help me to marry him. It was all Juliet with her—pah! I detest the girl. I could do nothing while Emilia lived. She knew too much. But after her death I made Mrs. Octagon stop the marriage."

"I think Mrs. Octagon will consent now," said Caranby, calmly.

"I doubt it. She hates you too much. However, she can, for all I care, Lord Caranby. I have done with Cuthbert."

The old man hoped she had done with Juliet also, for he was still uneasy. The expression of her face was most malignant. More than ever persuaded that she intended harm, Caranby again was about to summon his servant and forbid the entrance of the expected girl, when suddenly the door opened and Juliet; looking bright and happy, entered. She started back when she saw the supposed old woman, who rose. Caranby jumped off the sofa with an activity he had not shown for years, and got between Juliet and her enemy. Maraquito burst into tears. "Ah, you will be happy with Cuthbert," she wailed, "while I-" a fresh burst of tears stopped her speech and she groped in the satin bag for her handkerchief.

Juliet looked amazed. "Who is this, Lord Caranby?"

"Senora Gredos."

"Maraquito!" cried Juliet, starting back with an indignant look. "I never expected to meet that woman—"

"You call me that?" cried Maraquito, flashing, up into a passion. "I am the woman Cuthbert loves."

"He does not. He loves me. You, so old and—"

"Old!" shrieked Maraquito, snatching off her hat and cap. "I am young and much more beautiful than you. Look at my hair." It came streaming down in a glorious mass on her shoulders. "My face is as beautiful as yours. I disguised myself to see you. I hate you!—I loathe you! I forbid you to marry Cuthbert."

"How dare you—how dare—"

"I dare all things—even this." Maraquito raised her arm, and in her hand Caranby saw a small bottle she had taken out of the bag. "What will Cuthbert say to your beauty now?"

She flung the bottle straight at Juliet. It would have struck her in the face, but Caranby, throwing himself between the two, received it fair on his cheek. It smashed, and he uttered a cry. "Vitriol! Vitriol!" he shrieked, his hands to his face, and fell prone on the hearth-rug. His head struck against the bars of the grate, and a spurt of flame caught his hair. Juliet seized him and dragged him away, calling loudly for help.

"You devil—you devil!" cried Maraquito, striking the girl on the face. "I dare not stay now. But I'll spoil your beauty yet. Wait—wait!"

She hastily put on her hat and ran out of the room. The servant of Lord Caranby burst into the room, followed by some waiters. "Send for the doctor," cried Juliet, trying to raise Caranby—"and that woman-"

"She has left the hotel," said a waiter, but at this moment there was a loud shout in the street, followed by a shriek and a crash.



CHAPTER XXV

NEMESIS

In the midst of the confusion caused by Maraquito's wickedness Cuthbert arrived. Juliet flew to him at once and flung herself sobbing into his arms.

"Oh, Cuthbert—Cuthbert!" she cried, her head on his shoulder, "that woman has been here. She tried to throw vitriol at me, and the bottle broke on Lord Caranby's face. He has burnt his head also; he is dying."

"Good heavens!" cried Mallow, pressing her to his heart, "thank God you are safe! How did Maraquito come here?"

"I don't know—I don't know," sobbed Juliet, completely unstrung; "he asked me to see him, and she arrived disguised as an old woman. Oh, where is the doctor!"

"He has just arrived, miss. Here he comes," said an excited waiter.

While the doctor examined Caranby's injuries, Cuthbert, very pale, led Juliet out of the room, and taking her into an adjoining apartment, made her drink a glass of port wine. "An old woman," he repeated, "it must have been the disguised Maraquito then who was killed."

"Killed! She is not killed. She came here and—"

Juliet began to tell the story over again, for she was badly frightened. Mallow interrupted her gently.

"Maraquito is dead," he said, "she was run over by a motor-car a quarter of an hour ago."

"Was that her cry we heard?"

"I don't know," replied Cuthbert gloomily. "I was coming round the corner of the street and saw a woman flying along the pavement. A car was tearing towards me. I had just time to see the woman as she passed and note that she was old. She caught a glimpse of my face, and with a cry ran into the centre of the street. I never thought she was Maraquito, and could not understand why she acted as she did. I cried out in alarm, and ran forward to drag her back from before the approaching motor. But it was too late, the car went over her and she shrieked when crushed under the wheels. The impediment made the car swerve and it ran into a lamp-post. The occupants were thrown out. I fancy someone else is hurt also. Maraquito is dead. I heard a policeman say so. I then saw a waiter gesticulating at the door of the hotel, and fancied something was wrong; I ran along and up the stairs. But I never expected to find you here, Juliet, much less to witness the death of that wretched woman."

"I am sorry," faltered Juliet, as she sat with his arms round her, "I don't know why she wanted to throw vitriol at me. She failed to hurt me, and I think she has killed Lord Caranby, and—"

"I must see to my uncle," said Mallow, rising, "stay here, Juliet."

"No! no," she said, clinging to him, "let me go home. Get a cab. I dare not stop. That terrible woman—"

"She will never hurt you again. She is dead."

"I wish to go home—I wish to go home."

Mallow saw that the poor girl was quite ill with fright; and small wonder, considering the catastrophe of the last half hour. To have vitriol thrown is bad enough, but when the act leads to two deaths—for Maraquito was already dead, and it seemed probable that Lord Caranby would follow—it is enough to shake the nerves of the strongest. Mallow took Juliet down and placed her in a cab. Then he promised to see her that same evening, and to tell her of Lord Caranby's progress. When the cab drove away he went again upstairs. As he went he could not help shuddering at the thought of the danger from which Juliet had escaped. He remembered how Maraquito had threatened to spoil the beauty of the girl, but he never thought she would have held to her devilish purpose. Moreover, he could not understand how Maraquito in disguise came to see Caranby. The disguise itself was an obvious necessity to escape the police. But why should she have been with his uncle and why should Juliet have come also? It was to gain an answer to these questions that Cuthbert hurried to the sitting-room.

Lord Caranby was no longer there. The doctor had ordered him to be taken to his bedroom, and when Mallow went thither he met him at the door, "He is still unconscious," said the doctor, "I must send for his regular medical attendant, as I was only called in as an emergency physician."

"Is he very ill?"

"I think the shock will kill him. He is extremely weak, and besides the shock of the vitriol being thrown, he has sustained severe injuries about the head from fire. I don't think he will live. To whom am I speaking?" asked the young man.

"My name is Mallow. I am Lord Caranby's nephew."

"And the next heir to the title. I fancy you will be called 'my lord' before midnight."

Mallow did not display any pleasure on hearing this. He valued a title very little and, so far as money was concerned, had ample for his needs. Besides, he was really fond of his uncle who, although consistently eccentric, had always been a kind, good friend. "Will he recover consciousness?"

"I think so," said the doctor doubtfully, "I am not quite sure. His own medical attendant, knowing his constitution and its resisting power, will be able to speak more assuredly. How did this happen?"

Cuthbert, for obvious reasons, explained as little as he could. "Some old woman came to see my uncle and threw vitriol at Miss Saxon, the young lady who was with him. He intercepted the stuff and fell into the fire."

"What a demon! I hope she will be caught."

"She is dead," and Cuthbert related the accident in the street. The doctor had strong nerves, but he shuddered when he heard the dreadful story. Nemesis had been less leaden-footed than usual.

In due time Dr. Yeo, who usually attended Caranby, made his appearance and stated that his patient would not live many hours. "He was always weak," said Yeo, "and of late his weakness increased. The two severe shocks he has sustained would almost kill a stronger man, let alone an old man of so delicate an organization. He will die."

"I hope not," said Cuthbert, impulsively.

The physician looked at him benignly. "I differ from you," he declared, "death will come as a happy release to Lord Caranby. For years he has been suffering from an incurable complaint which gave him great pain. But that he had so much courage, he would have killed himself."

"He never complained."

"A brave man like that never does complain. Besides, he took great care of himself. When he came back to London he was fairly well. I think he must have done something rash to bring on a recurrence of his illness. Within a few days of his arrival he grew sick again. In some way he over-exerted himself."

"I don't think he ever did," said Mallow, doubtfully.

"But I am certain of it. Within a week of his arrival here he had a relapse. I taxed him with going out too much and with over-exertion, but he declined to answer me."

"Will he become conscious again?"

"I think so, in a few hours, but I cannot be sure. However, you need not be alarmed, Mr. Mallow. His affairs are all right. In view of his illness I advised him to make his will. He said that he had done so, and that everything was in apple-pie order."

"It is not that, doctor. I wish to ask him some questions. Will you remain here?"

"Till the end," replied Yeo, significantly; "but it will not take place for a few hours, so far as I can see."

"I wish to go out for an hour. Can I, with safety?"

"Certainly. Lord Caranby will live for some time yet."

Mallow nodded and left the bedroom, while Yeo returned to the bed upon which lay the unconscious form of the old man. Cuthbert took a walk to the end of the street where the wreckage of the motor car had now been removed, and asked the policeman what had become of the victims. He was informed that the chauffeur, in a dying condition, had been removed to the Charing Cross Hospital, and that the body of the old woman—so the constable spoke—had been taken to the police station near at hand. "She's quite dead and very much smashed up," was the man's report.

Mallow thanked him with half-a-crown and, having learned the whereabouts of the police station, he went there. He introduced himself to the inspector and, as the nephew of Lord Caranby, received every attention, particularly when he described how the vitriol had been thrown. Cuthbert thought it as well to say this, as the waiters at the Avon Hotel would certainly inform the police if he did not. He looked at the body of the miserable woman in its strange mask of age. "She went to see Lord Caranby in disguise," said the inspector, "you can see her face is made up. Does his lordship know who she is?"

"Yes. And Mr. Jennings, the detective, knows also."

"Perhaps you do yourself, Mr. Mallow?"

Cuthbert nodded. "She is Maraquito, the—"

"What! the gambling-house coiner we have been looking for?"

"The same. Jennings can tell you more about the matter than I can."

"I'll get Mr. Jennings to come here as soon as he is on his feet, and that will be to-morrow most probably. But why did Maraquito throw vitriol at Lord Caranby?"

"Jennings can tell you that," said Mallow, suppressing the fact that the vitriol had been meant for Juliet. "Perhaps it had something to do with the raid made on the unfinished house which, you know, belonged to my uncle."

"Bless me, so it did. I expect, enraged by the factory being discovered, Maraquito wished to revenge herself on your uncle. She may have thought that he gave information to Jennings about the place."

"She might have thought so," said Mallow. "I am returning to the Avon Hotel. If you want to see me you can send for me there. But Jennings knows everything."

"What about his lordship?"

"He will die," said Cuthbert abruptly, and departed, leaving the inspector full of regrets that Maraquito had not lived to figure in the police court. He looked at the matter purely from a professional standpoint, and would have liked the sensation such an affair would have caused.

When Mallow came back to the hotel he found that his uncle had recovered consciousness and was asking for him. Yeo would not allow his patient to talk much, so Cuthbert sat by the bedside holding the hand of the dying man. Caranby had been badly burnt about the temples, and the sight of one eye was completely gone. Occasionally Yeo gave him a reviving cordial which made him feel better. Towards evening Caranby expressed a wish to talk. The doctor would have prevented him, but the dying man disregarded these orders.

"I must talk," he whispered faintly. "Cuthbert, get a sheet of paper."

"But you have made your will," said Yeo, rebukingly.

"This is not a will. It is a confession. Cuthbert will write it out and you will witness my signature along with him, Yeo."

"A confession!" murmured Cuthbert, going out of the room to get pen, ink and paper. "What about?"

He soon knew, for when he was established by the side of the bed with his writing materials on a small table, Caranby laughed to himself quietly. "Do you know what I am about to say?" he gasped.

"No. If it is nothing important you had better not exhaust yourself."

"It is most important, as you will hear. I know who murdered the supposed Miss Loach."

Cuthbert nearly dropped the pen. "Who was it?" he asked, expecting to hear the name of Mrs. Octagon.

"I did!" said Caranby, quietly.

"You!—that's impossible."

"Unfortunately it is true. It was an accident, though. Yeo, give me more drink; I must tell everything."

Yeo was quite calm. He had known Caranby for many years, and was not at all disposed to shrink from him because he confessed to having committed a murder. He knew that the Earl was a kind-hearted man and had been shamefully treated by three women. In fact, he was secretly glad to hear that Emilia Saul had met her death at the hand of a man she had injured. But he kept these sentiments to himself, and after giving his patient a strong tonic to revive his energies, he sat by the bedside with his fingers on the pulse of the dying man. Caranby rallied considerably, and when he began his recital spoke in stronger tones.