JENNINGS ASKS QUESTIONS
"Will you play, Lord Caranby?" asked Maraquito, when the introduction
had been accomplished.
"Pardon me, not at present: in a little time," said the old nobleman,
with a polite bow and his eyes on the beautiful face.
"As you like," she answered carelessly; "everyone who comes here does
just as he pleases. Is your nephew coming?"
"I fear not. He is unwell."
Maraquito started. "Unwell. Nothing serious, I hope?"
"A slight cold."
"Ah! Everyone has colds just now. Well, Lord Caranby, I hope to have
a conversation with you later when someone else takes the bank."
Caranby bowed and moved away slowly, leaning on his cane. Jennings, who
was beside him, threw a glance over his shoulder at Senora Gredos.
Maraquito's face was pale, and there was a frightened look in her eyes.
Catching Jennings' inquisitive look she frowned and again addressed
herself to the game. Wondering why Lord Caranby should produce such an
effect, Jennings rejoined him at the end of the room, where they sat on
a sofa and smoked. "Have you been here before?" asked the detective.
"No," answered the other, lighting his cigar, "and it is improbable
that I shall come again. My reason for coming--" he broke off--"I can
tell you that later. It is sufficient to say that it has to do with
your conduct of this case."
"Hush!" whispered Jennings quickly, "my profession is not known here."
"I fear it will be if these two have tongues in their heads."
The detective glanced towards the door and saw Hale enter with Clancy
at his heels. Jennings had not seen them since the inquest on the body
of Miss Loach, when they had given their evidence with great grief and
frankness. He was annoyed at meeting them here, for although he had
seen them in Maraquito's salon before, yet at that time they had not
known his profession. But since the inquest the knowledge was common
property, and doubtless they would tell Senora Gredos if they had not
done so already. Jennings' chances of learning what he wished would
therefore be slight, as everyone is not willing to speak freely before
an officer of the law.
"It can't be helped," said Jennings with a shrug; "and, in any case,
Maraquito is too anxious to stand well with the police to make any
trouble about my coming here."
Caranby did not reply, but looked steadily at the two men who were
walking slowly up the room. Hale was slender, tall, and dark in color,
with a nose like the beak of an eagle. He was perfectly dressed and
had even an elegant appearance. His age might have been forty, but in
the artificial light he looked even younger. Clancy, on the other
hand, wore his clothes with the air of a man unaccustomed to evening
dress. He was light in color, with weak blue eyes and a foolish
expression about his slack mouth. Jennings wondered why a man like
Hale should connect himself with such a creature. The men nodded to
Senora Gredos, who took little notice of them, and then repaired to the
buffet. Owing to the position of the detective and Caranby, the new
arrivals did not see them. Nor for the present was the detective
anxious to attract their notice. Indeed, he would have stolen away
unperceived, but that he wished to question Hale as to the whereabouts
of Mrs. Herne.
"It is a long time since I have seen you," said Caranby, removing his
eyes from the newcomers, and addressing the detective; "you were not
an--er--an official when we last met."
"It is three years ago," said Jennings; "no. I had money then, but
circumstances over which I had no control soon reduced me to the
necessity of earning my living. As all professions were crowded, I
thought I would turn my talents of observation and deduction to this
business."
"Do you find it lucrative?"
Jennings smiled and shrugged his shoulders again. "I do very well," he
said, "but I have not yet made a fortune."
"Ah! And Cuthbert told me you wished to marry."
"I do. But when my fortune will allow me to marry, I don't know."
Caranby, without raising his voice or looking at his companion,
supplied the information. "I can tell you that," said he, "when you
learn who killed Miss Loach."
"How is that?"
"On the day you lay your hand on the assassin of that poor woman I
shall give you five thousand pounds."
Jennings' breath was taken away. "A large sum," he murmured.
"She was very dear to me at one time," said Caranby with emotion. "I
would have married her but for the machinations of her sister."
"Mrs. Octagon?"
"Yes! She wanted to become my wife. The story is a long one."
"Cuthbert told it to me."
"Quite right," said Caranby, nodding, "I asked him to. It seems to me
that in my romance may be found the motive for the death of Selina
Loach."
The detective thought over the story. "I don't quite see--"
"Nor do I. All the same--" Caranby waved his hand and abruptly changed
the subject. "Do you know why I came here to-night?"
"No. I did not know you ever came to such places."
"Nor do I. My life is a quiet one now. I came to see this woman you
call Maraquito."
"What do you call her?" asked Jennings alertly.
"Ah, that I can't tell you. But she is no Spaniard."
"Is she a Jewess by any chance?"
Caranby turned to look directly at his companion. "You ought to be
able to tell that from her face," he said, "can you not see the seal of
Jacob impressed there--that strange look which stamps a Hebrew?"
"No," confessed Jennings, "that is, I can see it now, but I came here
for many a long day before I did guess she was a Jewess. And then it
was only because I learned the truth."
"How did you learn it?"
The detective related details of his visit to Monsieur Le Beau and the
discovery that Maraquito Gredos was one and the same as Celestine
Durand. Caranby listened attentively. "Yes, that is all right," he
said, "but her name is Bathsheba Saul."
"What?" said Jennings, so loud that several people turned to look.
"Hush!" said Caranby, sinking his voice, "you attract notice. Yes, I
made Cuthbert describe the appearance of this woman. His description
vaguely suggested Emilia Saul. I came here to-night to satisfy myself,
and I have no doubt but what she is the niece of Emilia--the daughter
of Emilia's brother."
"Who was connected with the coining gang?"
"Ah, you heard of that, did you? Exactly. Her father is dead, I
believe, but there sits his daughter. You see in her the image of
Emilia as I loved her twenty years ago."
"Loved her?" echoed Jennings, significantly.
"You are right," responded Caranby with a keen look. "I see Cuthbert
has told you all. I never did love Emilia. But she hypnotized me in
some way. She was one of those women who could make a man do what
pleased her. And this Bathsheba--Maraquito--Celestine, can do the
same. It is a pity she is an invalid, but on the whole, as she looks
rather wicked, mankind is to be congratulated. Were she able to move
about like an ordinary woman, she would set the world on fire after the
fashion of Cleopatra. You need not mention this."
"I know how to hold my tongue," said Jennings, rather offended by the
imputation that he was a chatterer, "can I come and see you to talk
over this matter?"
"By all means. I am at the Avon Hotel."
"Oh, and by the way, will you allow me to go over that house of yours
at Rexton?"
"If you like. Are you a ghost-hunter also?"
"I am a detective!" whispered Jennings quietly, and with such a look
that Caranby became suddenly attentive.
"Ah! You think you may discover something in that house likely to lead
to the discovery of the assassin."
"Yes I do. I can't explain my reasons now. The explanation would take
too long. However, I see Senora Gredos is beckoning to you. I will
speak to Hale and Clancy. Would you mind telling me what she says to
you?"
"A difficult question to answer," said Caranby, rising, "as a
gentleman, I am not in the habit of repeating conversations, especially
with women. Besides, she can have no connection with this case."
"On the face of it--no," replied Jennings doubtfully, "but there is a
link--"
"Ah, you mean that she is Emilia's niece."
"Not exactly that," answered Jennings, thinking of the photograph. "I
will tell you what I mean when we next meet."
At this moment, in response to the imperative beckoning of Maraquito's
fan, Caranby was compelled to go to her. The couch had been wheeled
away from the green table, and a gentleman had taken charge of the
bank. Maraquito with her couch retreated to a quiet corner of the
room, and had a small table placed beside her. Here were served
champagne and cakes, while Lord Caranby, after bowing in his
old-fashioned way, took a seat near the beautiful woman. She gazed
smilingly at Lord Caranby, yet there was a nervous look in her eyes.
"I have heard of you from Mr. Mallow," she said flushing.
"My nephew. He comes here at times. Indeed," said Caranby gallantly,
"it was his report of your beauty that brought me here to-night."
Maraquito sighed. "The wreck of a beauty," said she bitterly, "three
years ago indeed--but I met with an accident."
"So I heard. A piece of orange peel."
The woman started. "Who told you that?"
"I heard it indirectly from a professor of dancing. You were a dancer,
I believe?"
"Scarcely that," said Senora Gredos, nervously playing with her fan; "I
was learning. It was Le Beau who told you?"
"Indirectly," responded Caranby.
"I should like to know," said Maraquito deliberately, "who has taken
the trouble to tell you this. My life--the life of a shattered
invalid--can scarcely interest anyone."
"I really forget to whom I am indebted for the information," said Lord
Caranby mendaciously, "and a lady of your beauty must always interest
men while they have eyes to see. I have seen ladies like you in
Andalusia, but no one so lovely. Let me see, was it in Andalusia or
Jerusalem?" mused Lord Caranby.
"I am a Spanish Jewess," said Maraquito, quickly and uneasily, "I have
only been in London five years."
"And met with an accident a year or two after you arrived," murmured
Caranby; "how very sad."
Maraquito did not know what to make of the ironical old gentleman. It
seemed to her that he was hostile, but she could take no offence at
what he said. Moreover, as he was Mallow's uncle, she did not wish to
quarrel with him. With a graceful gesture she indicated a glass of
champagne. "Will you not drink to our better acquaintance?"
"Certainly," said Caranby without emotion, and sipped a few drops of
the golden-colored wine. "I hope to see much of you."
"I reciprocate the hope," said Maraquito radiantly, "and I'll tell you
a secret. I have been consulting specialists, and I find that in a few
months I shall be able to walk as well as ever I did."
"Excellent news," said Caranby, "I hope you will."
"And, moreover," added Maraquito, looking at him from behind her fan;
"I shall then give up this place. I have plenty of money, and--"
"You will go back to Spain?"
"That depends. Should I leave my heart in England--"
"How I envy the man you leave it with."
Maraquito looked down moodily. "He doesn't care for my heart."
"What a stone he must be. Now I--upon my word I feel inclined to marry
and cut my nephew out of the title."
"Your nephew," stammered Maraquito, with a flash of her big eyes.
"You know him well, he tells me," chatted Caranby garrulously, "a
handsome fellow is Cuthbert. I am sure the lady he is engaged to
thinks as much, and very rightly too."
"Miss Saxon!" cried Maraquito, breaking her fan and looking furious.
"Ah!" said Caranby coolly, "you know her?"
"I know of her," said Maraquito bitterly. "Her brother Basil comes
here sometimes, and said his sister was engaged to--but they will never
marry--never!" she said vehemently.
"How can you tell that?"
"Because the mother objects to the match."
"Ah! And who told you so? Mr. Basil Saxon?"
"Yes. He does not approve of it either."
"I fear that will make little difference. Mallow is set on the
marriage. He loves Miss Saxon with all his heart."
Maraquito uttered a low cry of rage, but managed to control herself
with an effort. "Do you?" she asked.
Caranby shrugged his thin shoulders. "I am neutral. So long as
Cuthbert marries the woman he loves, I do not mind."
"And what about the woman who loves him?"
"Miss Saxon? Oh, I am sure--"
"I don't mean Miss Saxon, and he will never marry her--never. You know
that Mr. Mallow is poor. Miss Saxon has no money--"
"Pardon me. I hear her aunt, Miss Loach, who was unfortunately
murdered at Rexton, has left her six thousand a year."
Senora Gredos turned quite pale and clenched her hands, but she managed
to control herself again with a powerful effort and masked the rage she
felt under a bland, false smile.
"Oh, that makes a difference," she said calmly. "I hope they will be
happy--if they marry," she added significantly.
"Oh, that is quite settled," said Caranby.
"There's many a slip between the cup and the lip," said Maraquito
viciously. "Yonder is Mr. Saxon. Tell him to come to me."
Caranby bowed and crossed the room to where Basil was talking with a
frowning face to Hale. "Don't bother me," he was saying, "it will be
all right now that the will has been read."
"For your own sake I hope it will be all right," replied Hale, and
Caranby caught the words as he came up. After giving his message, he
sauntered round, watching the play, and seemingly listened to no one.
But all the time he kept his ears open to hear what Hale and Clancy
were talking about.
The two men were in a corner of the room, and Clancy was expostulating
angrily with Hale. They held their peace when Caranby drifted near
them, he saw that they were on their guard. Looking round, he espied
Jennings playing at a side table, and crossed to him.
"Permit me to take your place," said Caranby, and added in a low tone,
"watch Hale and Clancy!"
Jennings seized the idea at once and surrendered the chair to the old
nobleman. Then he lighted a cigarette and by degrees strolled across
the room to where the two were again talking vigorously. "I tell you
if Basil is pressed too hard he will--" Clancy was saying, but shut his
mouth as he saw Jennings at his elbow. The detective came forward with
a smile, inwardly vexed that he had not been able to hear more. As he
advanced he saw Clancy touch Hale on the arm.
"How are you?" said Jennings, taking the initiative, "we met at that
inquest, I believe."
"Yes," said Hale, polite and smiling, "I remember, Mr. Jennings! I had
seen you here before, but I never knew your calling."
"I don't tell it to everyone," said Jennings, "How do you do, Mr.
Clancy? I hope you are well. An amusing place this."
"I need amusement," said Clancy, again assuming his silly smile, "since
the death of my dear friend. By the way, have you found out who killed
her, Mr. Jennings?"
"No. I fear the assassin will never be discovered." Here the two men
exchanged a glance. "I am engaged on other cases. There was only one
point I wished to learn in connection with Miss Loach's death."
"What is that?" asked Hale calmly.
"Was Mrs. Herne in Miss Loach's bedroom on that night?"
"I forget," said Clancy before Hale could speak.
"That's a pity," resumed Jennings. "You see from the fact of the bell
having been sounded, it struck me that the assassin may have been
concealed in the bedroom. Now if Mrs. Herne was in that room, she
might have noticed something."
"I don't think she did," said Hale hastily. "Mrs. Herne and I left
early, owing to Clancy here having offended her. Besides, Mrs. Herne
told all she knew at the inquest."
"All save that point."
"The question was not asked," said Clancy.
"No. I should like to ask Mrs. Herne now, but it seems she has gone
away from Hampstead."
"I don't care if she has," grumbled Clancy, "I hated Mrs. Herne. She
was always quarrelling. Did you call to see her?"
"Yes, but I could not learn where she was. Now, as you are her lawyer,
Mr. Hale, you may know."
"She is at Brighton," replied Hale readily, "at the Metropolitan Hotel,
but she returns to Hampstead in a week."
Jennings was secretly astonished at his question being thus answered,
as he was inclined to suspect the men. However, he took a note of the
address, and said he would attend to the matter. "But, to tell you the
truth, it is useless," he said. "The assassin will never be discovered.
Moreover, there is no reward, and I should only work for no wages. You
stay at Rose Cottage now, I believe, Mr. Clancy?"
"I do. Mrs. Pill has taken the place. Who told you?"
"I heard from Susan Grant. She was witness, if you remember. And has
Mrs. Pill married Barnes yet?"
"I can't say," said Clancy, looking keenly at the detective. "I am not
yet a boarder. I move in after a fortnight. I expect the marriage
will take place before then. Susan Grant told you that also?"
"She did. But I don't expect I'll see her again. Well, gentlemen, I
must go away. I hope you will be lucky."
Jennings moved away and saw from the eager manner in which the two men
began to converse that he was the subject of the conversation. He
looked round for Caranby, but could not see him. When he was out of
the house, however, and on the pavement lighting a cigarette, he felt a
touch on his arm and found Caranby waiting for him. The old gentleman
pointed with his cane to a brougham! "Get in," he said, "I have been
waiting to see you. There is much to talk about."
"Maraquito?" asked Jennings eagerly.
"She has something to do with the matter. Love for Cuthbert has made
her involve herself. How far or in what way I do not know. And what
of Clancy and Hale?"
"Oh, I have put them off the scent. They think I have given up the
case. But they and Maraquito are connected with the matter somehow. I
can't for the life of me see in what way though."
"There is another woman connected with the matter--Mrs. Octagon."
"What do you mean?" asked Jennings quickly.
"I saw her enter Maraquito's house a few moments before you came down."