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............