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.

Cuthbert dipped his pen in the ink, but did not dare even to think.  He
was wondering how the death of Emilia had come about, and also how his
uncle had gone to the unfinished house on the same night as he had
done.  Remembering how Basil stated he had been chased by someone
unknown, Cuthbert began to fancy he saw light.  However, at this moment
Caranby began to speak, and as every moment was precious, both men
forbore to interrupt him unless desirous to have a clearer
understanding on certain points.

"When I came back to England," said Caranby, "I never thought that
Emilia was alive.  Owing to the clever way in which the substitution
was effected by Isabella, I always thought Selina lived at Rose
Cottage.  Several times I tried to see her, hoping she would marry me.
But she always refused.  I was puzzled at the time, but now I know the
reason.  I never thought of looking at the unfinished house.  It was a
piece of sentimental folly my shutting it up, but afterwards, as time
slipped by, I never troubled about looking into the matter. As Cuthbert
will tell you, Yeo, laziness is a vice with me."

"Go on with the story and save your strength," said Yeo softly.

"Yes."  Caranby heaved a sigh. "I haven't much left.  Well, Cuthbert,
you told me about the ghosts supposed to be haunting the house.  I
asked you to go down and see.  You came here one night and left at
eight o'clock to go down to Rexton."

"I never expected you to follow.  Why did you not come with me?"

"Because I was keeping something back from you.  On the previous day I
received a letter.  There was no name to it, and the writing was
disguised.  It advised me to see Selina Loach, and said I would be
surprised when she spoke to me."

"Because then you would recognize the woman you believed to be dead."

"Exactly," said Caranby faintly, "but at the time I knew nothing, and
was much puzzled with the letter.  On that night I intended to tell
you, but I did not.  Then I thought I would go down to Rose Cottage and
prove the truth of the letter.  I went almost immediately after you,
Cuthbert."

"What, in your state of health?"

"Yes.  I was stronger then."

"And have been less strong since," murmured Yeo.  "I understand now why
you refused to tell me how you had over-exerted yourself."

"I had my secret to keep," said Caranby coldly, "some more drink,
please."  Then, when he felt better, he continued "Yes! I was
wonderfully well and strong on that night.  I climbed the wall--"

"Impossible!" said Mallow, "I can't believe that."

"Nevertheless it is the truth.  I expect the excitement made me
unnaturally strong.  I suffered greatly when it was over."

"You were a wreck," said the physician bluntly.

"When what was over?" asked Mallow, anxiously.

"The event of the night to which I am coming.  It took me some time to
get to Rexton, and a long time to walk to the unfinished house.  I did
not go down Crooked Lane, but round by the wall."

"Did you come by the railway station path?"

"I did not.  I took a wide detour and arrived at the unfinished house
on the side opposite to where Rose Cottage stood."

"Ah!" murmured the young man.  "No wonder I missed you.  But I thought
you were calling on Miss Loach."

"I intended to, but first I thought I would assure myself about the
ghosts.  Certainly I had set you to perform that task, but, as I was on
the spot, I determined to see for myself.  I climbed the wall, not
without difficulty, and found myself in the park--"

"About what time was this?"

"After ten.  I can't say how long.  But I really cannot be precise as
to the time.  I wandered aimlessly about the park, threading my way
amongst the trees and shrubs and undergrowth. I was astonished to find
paths, and it struck me that someone used the park."

"I believe Miss Loach did--that is, Emilia," said Cuthbert. "Jennings
learned that in some way.  She always was on the watch for anyone
coming into the park and learning the secret of the factory."

"I did not know that at the time," said Caranby, his voice growing
weaker.  "Well, I walked about.  Sometimes it was moonlight and at
other times the moon would be obscured by clouds.  I struggled to get
near the house and succeeded. Then I saw a man standing in the shadow.
At once I went up to him--he fled.  I don't know who it was?"

"I can tell you," said Mallow, quietly, "young Saxon."

"Then why did he fly?"

"He was there with no very good purpose and his conscience smote the
miserable creature," said Cuthbert, "go on--or will you wait?"

"No! no! no!" said Caranby, vehemently; "if I stop now you will never
know the truth.  I don't want anyone else to be accused of the crime.
I know Maraquito hinted that Isabella Octagon was guilty, but she is
not.  I don't want even Isabella to suffer, though she has been a fatal
woman to me and wrecked my life's happiness."

His voice was growing so weak that Yeo gave him more cordial. After a
pause Caranby resumed with a last effort, and very swiftly, as though
he thought his strength would fail him before he reached the end of his
dismal story.

"I followed the man, though I did not know who he was, and wondered why
he should be trespassing.  He fled rapidly and I soon lost him.  But
when the moonlight was bright I saw that he had dropped a knife from
his pocket.  In stooping to pick it up I lost sight of the man."

"Basil crossed the park and ran away.  But he came back for the knife
afterwards," explained Mallow.  "Juliet saw him.  He had on my coat.  I
wonder you didn't think Basil was me, as Juliet did."

"I am not acquainted with your clothes," said Caranby, dryly, "as I
have been absent from England for so long.  But no wonder Saxon did not
find the knife.  I picked it up.  It was a bowie--"

"Belonging to me, which Basil had stolen."

"I didn't know that either.  Well, I went again towards the wall
surrounding the park.  I thought I might meet you."

"I wonder you didn't.  I was about at that time."

"The park was so thickly filled with trees and shrubs that we missed
one another I suppose.  Don't interrupt--I am going. Write quickly,
Cuthbert."  Then with a gasp Caranby resumed: "I halted to get breath
near the large oak which the fire spared.  I heard a rustling, and a
woman came out of the shadow of the tree.  I wondered who she was and
where she had come from.  The moon then came out brightly, and I
recognized her face with a sensation almost of terror.  It was Emilia."

"How did you recognize her after all these years?"

"By her Jewish look, and especially by the eyebrows. Moreover, she
revealed herself to me when dying."

"What happened?" asked Yeo, sharply.

"I was standing with the knife in my hand.  Emilia, seeing that I was
an intruder, came swiftly towards me.  She had a revolver in her hand
but did not fire.  She cried out something and rushed at me.  In doing
this she came straight against the knife.  I was holding it
instinctively in an attitude of defence, with the point outward.  She
rushed at me to bear me down by the weight and force of her charge, and
the next moment she dropped to the ground dying."

"She was not dead then?"

"No! not for the moment.  I knelt beside her and whispered 'Emilia!'
She opened her eyes and smiled.  Then she replied, 'Emilia--yes!' and
died.  I did not know what to do.  Then it struck me that I might be
arrested for the crime, though it really was no crime.  Had she not
rushed at me, had I not been holding the knife, she would not have met
with her death.  I wonder she did not fire, seeing she had a pistol."

"Perhaps she recognized you," said Yeo, glancing at Cuthbert, who was
writing rapidly.

"No.  Had she done so, she would never have attempted to hurt me.  She
thought I was some spy searching for the factory, and without giving
herself time to think dashed forward, believing I would give way and
fly.  It was all over in a second.  I made up my mind to go at once.  I
did not even wait to pick up the knife, but climbed the wall and came
home here.  What happened then I don't know."

"I can tell you," said Mallow.  "Maraquito and Hale came to look for
Miss Loach and took her body into the villa sitting-room.  They placed
the knife at her feet and the cards in her lap, thinking it would be
thought she had been stabbed in the room, and--"

"Sign, sign!" said Caranby, unexpectedly, and Mallow hastily brought
him the written document and the ink.  He signed feebly, and the two
men signed as witnesses.  Yeo then turned to his patient, but he drew
back.  Death was stamped on the face.

Cuthbert called in the servant.  "Lord Caranby is dead," he said
quietly.

"Yes, my lord," replied the servant, and Mallow started on hearing the
title.  But he was now Lord Caranby and his uncle was dead.

CHAPTER XXVI

CUTHBERT'S ENEMY

Before leaving the death-chamber, Mallow--now Lord Caranby--sealed the
confession in the presence of Yeo, and went with him into the
sitting-room.  "What will you do with that?" asked the doctor,
indicating the envelope with a nod.

"I shall place it in the hand of my lawyers to be put with family
papers," replied Cuthbert.  "I am sure you agree with me, Yeo, that it
is unnecessary to make the contents public. My uncle is dead."

"Even were he still alive, I should advise you to say nothing," replied
Yeo, grimly; "the woman deserved her fate, even though it was an
accident.  She destroyed Caranby's life. He would have married Selina
Loach and have been a happy man but for her."

"There I think you wrong her.  It is Isabella Octagon who is to blame.
She has indeed been a fatal woman to my poor uncle. But for her, he
would not have been prevented from marrying Selina and thus have fallen
into the toils of Emilia.  Emilia would not have murdered Selina, and
the result would not have come out after all these years in the death
of my uncle at the hands of Bathsheba Saul."

"Who is she?"

"Maraquito.  But you don't know the whole story, nor do I think there
is any need to repeat the sordid tragedy.  I will put this paper away
and say nothing about it to anyone save to Jennings."

"The detective!" said Yeo, surprised and startled.  "Do you think that
is wise?  He may make the matter public."

"No, he won't.  He has traced the coiners to their lair, and that is
enough glory for him.  When he knows the truth he will stop searching
further into the case.  If I hold my tongue, he may go on, and make
awkward discoveries."

"Yes, I see it is best you should tell him.  But Miss Saxon?"

"She shall never know.  Let her think Maraquito killed Emilia. Only
you, I and Jennings will know the truth."

"You can depend upon my silence," said Yeo, shaking Cuthbert by the
hand; "well, and what will you do now?"

"With your permission, I shall ask you to stop here and arrange about
necessary matters in connection with the laying-out of the body.  I
wish to interview Mrs. Octagon this evening.  To-morrow I shall see
about Caranby's remains being taken down to our family seat in Essex."

"There will be an inquest first."

"I don't mind.  Maraquito is dead and nothing detrimental to the honor
of the Mallows can transpire.  You need say nothing at the inquest as
to the bottle being thrown at Juliet."

"I'll do my best.  But she will be questioned."

"I intend to see her this evening myself."

"What about Mrs. Octagon?"

"Oh," said the new Lord Caranby with a grim smile, "I intend to settle
Mrs. Octagon once and for all."

"Surely you don't intend to tell her of the murder."

"Certainly not.  She would make the matter public at once. But her
knowledge of the real name of Emilia, and her hushing up of the murder
of her sister, will be quite enough to bring her to her knees.  I don't
intend that Juliet shall have anything more to do with her mother.  But
I'll say very little."

After this Cuthbert departed and took a hansom to the "Shrine of the
Muses."  He arrived there at ten o'clock, and was informed by the
butler that Miss Saxon was in bed with a headache, and that Mrs.
Octagon had given orders that Mr. Mallow was not to be admitted.  Basil
was out, and Mr. Octagon likewise.  Cuthbert listened quietly, and then
gave the man, whom he knew well, half a sovereign.  "Tell Mrs. Octagon
that Lord Caranby wishes to see her."

"Yes, sir, but I don't--"

"I am Lord Caranby.  My uncle died this evening."

The butler opened his eyes.  "Yes, m'lord," he said promptly, and
admitted Cuthbert into the hall.  "I suppose I needn't say it is really
you, m'lord," he remarked, when the visitor was seated in the
drawing-room, "I am afraid the mistress will be angry."

"Don't trouble about that, Somes.  Tell her Lord Caranby is here," and
the butler, bursting to tell the news in the servants' hall, went away
in a great hurry.

Cuthbert remained seated near the table on which stood an electric
lamp.  He had the confession in his pocket, and smiled to think how
glad Mrs. Octagon would be to read it. However, he had quite enough
evidence to force her into decent behavior.  He did not intend to leave
that room till he had Mrs. Octagon's free consent to the marriage and a
promise that she would go abroad for an indefinite period with her
hopeful son, Basil.  In this way Cuthbert hoped to get rid of these
undesirable relatives and to start his married life in peace. "Nothing
less than exile will settle matters," he muttered.

Mrs. Octagon, in a gorgeous tea-gown, swept into the room with a frown
on her strongly-marked face.  She looked rather like Maraquito, and
apparently was in a bad temper.  Mallow could see that she was
surprised when she entered, as, thinking Lord Caranby was incapacitated
by the accident described by Juliet, she did not know how he came to
call at so late an hour. Moreover, Lord Caranby had never visited her
before.  However, she apparently was bent on receiving him in a tragic
manner, and swept forward with the mien of a Siddons.  When she came
into the room she caught sight of Cuthbert's face in the blaze of the
lamp and stopped short.  "How--" she said in her deepest tone, and then
became prosaic and very angry.  "What is the meaning of this, Mr.
Mallow?  I hoped to see--"

"My uncle.  I know you did.  But he is dead."

Mrs. Octagon caught at a chair to stop herself from falling, and wiped
away a tear.  "Dead!" she muttered, and dropped on to the sofa.

"He died two hours ago.  I am now Lord Caranby."

"You won't grace the position," said Mrs. Octagon viciously, and then
her face became gloomy.  "Dead!--Walter Mallow. Ah!  I loved him so."

"You had a strange way of showing it then," said Cuthbert, calmly, and
he also took a seat.

Mrs. Octagon immediately rose.  "I forbid you to sit down in my house,
Lord Caranby.  We are strangers."

"Oh, no, we aren't, Mrs. Octagon.  I came here to arrange matters."

"What matters?" she asked disdainfully, and apparently certain he had
nothing against her.

"Matters connected with my marriage with Juliet."

"Miss Saxon, if you please.  She shall never marry you."

"Oh, yes, she will.  What is your objection to the marriage?"

"I refuse to tell you," said Mrs. Octagon violently, and then somewhat
inconsistently went on:

"If you must know, I hated your uncle."

"You said you loved him just now."

"And so I did," cried the woman, spreading out her arms, "I loved him
intensely.  I would have placed the hair of my head under his feet.
But he was never worthy of me.  He loved Selina, a poor, weak, silly
fool.  But I stopped that marriage," she ended triumphantly, "as I will
stop yours."

"I don't think you will stop mine," replied Cuthbert tranquilly, "I am
not to be coerced, Mrs. Octagon."

"I don't seek to coerce you," she retorted, "but my daughter will obey
me, and she will refuse your hand.  I don't care if you are fifty times
Lord Caranby.  Juliet should not marry you if you had all the money in
the world.  I hated Walter Mallow, your uncle.  He treated me
shamefully, and I swore that never would any child of mine be connected
with him.  Selina wished it, and forced me to agree while she was
alive.  But she is dead and Lord Caranby is dead, and you can do
nothing.  I defy you--I defy you!"

"We may as well conduct this interview reasonably."

"I shall not let you remain here any longer.  Go."

She pointed to the door with a dramatic gesture.  Cuthbert took up his
hat.

"I shall go if you insist," he said, moving towards the door, "and I
shall return with a policeman."

Mrs. Octagon gave a gasp and went gray.  "What do you mean?"

"You know well what I mean.  Am I to go?"

"You have nothing against me," she said violently, "stop, if you will,
and tell me the reason of that speech."

"I think you understand what I mean perfectly well," said Mallow again,
and returning to his seat.  "I know that your sister died years ago,"
Mrs. Octagon gasped, "and that Emilia feigned to be Selina Loach.  And
perhaps, Mrs. Octagon, you will remember how your sister died."

"I didn't touch her," gasped Mrs. Octagon, trembling.

"No, but Emilia Saul did, and you condoned the crime."

"I deny everything!  Go and get a policeman if you like."

Cuthbert walked to the door and there turned.  "The statement of Emilia
will make pleasant reading in court," he said.

Mrs. Octagon bounded after him and pulled him back by the coat-tails
into the centre of the room.  Then she locked the door and sat down.
"We won't be disturbed," she said, wiping her face upon which the
perspiration stood, "what do you know?"

"Everything, even to that letter you wrote to my uncle, stating he
should see the pretended Selina Loach."

This was a chance shot on Mallow's part, but it told, for he saw her
face change.  In fact, Mrs. Octagon was the only woman who could have
sent the letter.  She did not attempt to deny it.  "I sent that letter,
as I was weary of that woman's tyranny.  I thought it would get her
into trouble."

"She would have got you into trouble also.  Suppose she had lived and
had told the story of Selina's death."

"She would have put the rope round her own neck," said Mrs. Octagon in
a hollow tone, all her theatrical airs gone.  "I was a fool to wait so
long.  For twenty years that woman has held me under her thumb.  It was
Emilia that made me consent to your engagement to Juliet.  Otherwise,"
she added malevolently, "I should have died rather than have consented.
Oh," she shook her hands in the air, "how I hate you and your uncle and
the whole of the Mallows."

"A woman scorned, I see," said Cuthbert, rather cruelly, "well, you
must be aware that I know everything."

"You don't know who killed Emilia?"

"Maraquito said it was you."

"I" shrieked Mrs. Octagon, "how dare she?  But that she is dead, as
Juliet told me, I would have her up for libel. Maraquito herself killed
the woman.  I am sure of it.  That coining factory--"

"Did you know of its existence?"

"No, I didn't," snapped Mrs. Octagon.  "I knew nothing of Emilia's
criminal doings.  I let her bear the name of my sister--"

"Why?" asked Mallow, quickly, and not knowing what Maraquito had said
to Caranby.

"I don't know," replied Mrs. Octagon, sullenly, "Emilia was in some
trouble with the law.  Her brother and mother were afterwards arrested
for coining.  She might have been arrested also, but that I agreed to
hold my tongue.  Emilia pushed Selina off the plank.  Then she turned
and accused me.  As it was known that I was on bad terms with Selina, I
might have been accused of the crime, and Emilia would have sworn the
rope round my neck.  Emilia made me help her to change the dress, and
said that as the face of the dead was disfigured, and she was rather
like Selina--which she certainly was, she could arrange.  I did not
know how she intended to blind my father.  But my father died
unexpectedly.  Had he not done so, the deception could not have been
kept up.  As it was, I went to the inquest, and Emilia as Selina
pretended to be ill.  I saw after her and we had a strange doctor.
Then we went abroad, and she came back to shut herself up in Rose
Cottage. I tried to marry Caranby, but Emilia stopped that."

"Why did she?"

"Because she loved Caranby in her tiger way.  That was why she insisted
you should marry Juliet.  She always threatened to tell that I had
killed Selina, though I was innocent."

"If you were, why need you have been afraid?"

"Circumstances were too strong for me," said Mrs. Octagon, wiping her
dry lips and glaring like a demon.  "I had to give in.  Had I known of
that factory I would have spoken out.  As it was, I wrote to Caranby
when in a fit of rage; but afterwards I was afraid of what I had done,
as I thought Emilia would tell."

"She certainly would have done so had she not died so opportunely."

"Do you mean to say that I killed her?  I tell you, Maraquito did so."

"What makes you think that?" asked Mallow, delighted at the mistake.

"Because she was always fighting with Emilia about you. Maraquito
wished to marry you, and Emilia would not let her. After Emilia died,
Maraquito saw me, and we arranged to stop the marriage, and--"

"I know all about that.  I saw you--or rather my uncle saw you--enter
Maraquito's Soho house."

"I went on Basil's account also," said Mrs. Octagon, sullenly,
"however, I have told you all.  What do you wish to do?"

"I wish to marry Juliet."

"Then I refuse," said Mrs. Octagon, savagely.

"In that case I'll tell."

"You will disgrace Juliet.  Besides, the law can't touch me."

"I am not so sure of that.  You were an accessory after the fact.  And
if the public knew that you had acquiesced in the death of your sister
and had held your tongue for years, you would not be popular.  I fear
your books would not sell then."

Mrs. Octagon saw all this, and glared savagely at Cuthbert. She would
have liked to kill him, but he was the stronger of the two, and knew
much which she wished kept silent.  Mallow saw the impression he was
making and went on persuasively. "And think, Mrs. Octagon, Juliet can
give you up the six thousand a year--"

"Not she," laughed Mrs. Octagon, sneering.

"She will, at my request.  I don't want my wife to possess money made
out of coining.  The income will be made over to you by deed of gift."

"Six thousand a year," mused the lady, "and you will hold your tongue?"

"Of course, for Juliet's sake as well as for yours.  But I think it
will be advisable for you to travel for a few years."

"I'll take up my abode in America forever," said Mrs. Octagon, rising,
"do you think I'll stop here and see you my daughter's husband?  Not
for all the money in the world.  Besides, Mr. Octagon has been insolent
over money, and I sha'n't stay with him.  Basil and myself will go to
America and there we will become famous."

"It is certainly better than becoming famous in another way," said
Mallow, dryly, "you will, of course be quite amiable to Juliet.  Also
to me, in public."

"Oh," she replied, with a short laugh, "I'll kiss you if you like."

"There is no need to go so far.  I am sorry for you."

"And I hate you--hate you!  Leave me now at least.  You can come
to-morrow, and I'll consent publicly to the marriage. But I hope you
will both be miserable.  Juliet does not love me or she would despise
you.  I wish you had died along with your uncle."

She was becoming so wild in her looks that Cuthbert thought it best to
leave the room.  The key was in the door, so he departed, quite sure
that Mrs. Octagon, to avoid scandal about her shady doings, would be
most agreeable towards him in public, however much of a demon she might
be in private.  Thus ended the interview.

Next morning Mallow drove to Jennings and related everything, including
the confession of Caranby regarding the accident, and added details of
the interview with Mrs. Octagon. Jennings listened, astonished.

"I am glad you told me," he said, "of course I don't want you to make
all this public.  The general impression is the same as that of Mrs.
Octagon, that Maraquito murdered Miss Loach. It need not be known that
Emilia was masquerading under a false name.  She need not be brought
into the case at all. What a wonderful case, Mallow."

Cuthbert assented.  "It's more like fiction than fact."

"Fact is always like fiction," said Jennings epigrammatically,
"however, we've got a confession from Clancy about the other factories.
The whole gang will be caught sooner or later. And, by the way, Mallow,
on second thoughts, I think it will be best to state the real name of
Emilia."

"I think so too.  If she is pilloried as Miss Loach, everyone will know
that she is the aunt of Juliet.  Tell the truth, Jennings."

"We'll tell everything, save that Lord Caranby inadvertently murdered
that woman.  She was the fatal woman--"

"No," said the new Lord Caranby, "Mrs. Octagon is the fatal woman.  She
was at the bottom of everything."

"And has been rewarded with six thousand a year.  I don't suppose the
State can seize that money.  However, I'll see.  I should like to
punish Isabella Octagon in some way.  And Susan Grant?"

"You can give her a thousand pounds on my behalf, and she can marry her
baker.  Then there's Mrs. Barnes--Mrs. Pill that was.  She is quite
innocent.  Thomas her husband will be punished, so you had better tell
her, I'll provide for her. As to yourself--"

"That's all right, Mallow, this coining case means a rise of salary."

"All the same, I intend to give you a few thousands on behalf of myself
and Juliet.  Without you I would probably have been accused of the
crime.  And, in any case, things would have been awkward.  There might
have been a scandal."

"There won't be one now," said Jennings.  "I'll settle everything.
Mrs. Octagon will go to the States with that young cub, and you can
make Miss Saxon Lady Caranby.  It is good of you giving me a reward.  I
can now marry Peggy."

"We all seem to be bent on marriage," said Mallow, rising to take his
leave.  "How's the shoulder?"

"All right," said the detective, "and it's worth the wound to have
Peggy nursing me.  She is the dearest--"

"No, pardon me," said Cuthbert, "by no means.  Juliet is the dearest
girl in the wide world," and he departed laughing.

Needless to say, under the careful supervision of Jennings, all scandal
was averted.  The gang with Clancy at its head were sentenced to years
of imprisonment, likely to put a stop to all pranks.  Maraquito was
buried quietly and Mallow erected a gravestone to her, in spite of her
wicked designs against Juliet.  In six months Jennings married Peggy
and took a house at Gunnersbury, where Peggy and he live in the
congenial company of Le Beau, who has become quite reconciled to
Jennings' profession.  The old professor teaches dancing to the
children of the neighborhood.  Susan Grant also married her baker, and
the two now possess one of the finest shops in Stepney.  Mrs. Octagon
went to America almost immediately. She managed to keep the six
thousand a year, in spite of Jennings.  No one knows how she managed to
do this, but envious people hinted at Government influence.  However,
with Basil she departed to the States, as she confessed to being weary
of constant triumphs in England.  Mrs. Octagon now has a literary salon
in Boston, and is regarded as one of the leading spirits of the age.
Basil married an heiress.  Peter, weary of playing the part of husband
to a celebrity, remained in England but not in London.  He sold the
"Shrine of the Muses" and took a cottage on an estate in Kent belonging
to Lord Caranby.  Here he cultivates flowers and calls frequently on
his step-daughter and her husband, when they are in the neighborhood.
Peter never knew the true history of his wife. He always refers to Mrs.
Octagon with respect, but shows no disposition to join her in America.
Peter has had quite enough of sham art and sham enthusiasm.

And Cuthbert was married to Juliet within the year.  The wedding was
quiet on account of his uncle's death, and then Lord Caranby took his
bride for a tour round the world.  To this day Lady Caranby believes
that Maraquito murdered Miss Loach, and knows also from newspaper
reports that the pretended aunt was really Emilia Saul.  Mrs. Octagon
also expressed surprise at the infamous imposture, and quite deceived
Juliet, who never learned what part her mother had taken in the
business.  In fact Juliet thought her mother was quite glad she had
married Cuthbert.

"Mother really liked you all the time," she said to her husband when
they set off on their honeymoon.

"I doubt that," replied Lord Caranby, dryly.

"She told me that it was always the dream of her life to see me your
wife, but that Maraquito had threatened to ruin Basil if--"

"Oh, that is the story, is it?  Well, Juliet, I am much obliged to Mrs.
Octagon for loving me so much, but, with your permission, we will not
see more of her than we can help."

"As she is in America we will see very little of her," sighed Lady
Caranby, "besides, she loves Basil more than me.  Poor boy, I hope he
will get on in America."

"Of course he will.  He will marry an heiress--"  And Cuthbert's
prophecy proved to be correct--"Don't let us talk of these things any
more, Juliet.  This dreadful murder nearly wrecked our life.  My poor
uncle talked of a fatal woman. Maraquito was that to us."

"And I?" asked Juliet, nestling to her husband.

"You are the dearest and sweetest angel in the world."

"And you are the greatest goose," said she, kissing her husband fondly,
"we have had enough of fatal women.  Let us never mention the subject
again."

And they never did.

THE END