a little room off the salon where the play went on."

The detective was surprised by this ready admission, and at once became
suspicious. It would seem that Mrs. Octagon, expecting such a
question, was uncommonly ready to answer it. "May I ask why you went to
see this woman?" he demanded.

An innocent woman would have resented this question, but Mrs. Octagon
ostentatiously seized the opportunity to clear herself, and thereby
increased Jennings' suspicions. "Certainly," she said in an open manner
and with a rather theatrical air, "I went to beg my son's life from
this fair siren."

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Basil," said Mrs. Octagon, in her deep, rich voice, "is too fond of
this fair stranger--Spanish, is she not?"

"She says she is," said the cautious Jennings.

Mrs. Octagon shot a glance of suspicion at him, but at once resumed her
engaging manner. "The foolish boy loves her," she went on, clasping
her hands and becoming poetical, "his heart is captured by her starry
eyes and he would wed her for her loveliness. But I can't have that
sort of thing," she added, becoming prosaic, "so I went and told her I
would denounce her gambling salon to the police if she did not
surrender my son. She has done so, and I am happy. Ah, Mr. Jennings,
had you a mother's heart," she laid her hand on her own, "you would
know to what lengths it will lead a woman!"

"I am glad your son is safe," said Jennings, with apparent cordiality,
though he wondered how much of this was true. "Maraquito is not a good
wife for him. Besides, she is a cripple."

"Yes," said Mrs. Octagon tragically, "she is a cripple."

Something in the tone of her voice made Jennings look up and created a
new suspicion in his heart. However, he said no more, having learned
as much as was possible from this tricky woman. "I must go now," he
said, "I have examined the house."

Mrs. Octagon led the way upstairs. "And have you any clue?"

"None! None! I wish you could assist me."

"I?" she exclaimed indignantly, "no, my sister and I were not friends,
and I will have nothing to do with the matter. Good-day," and Mrs.
Octagon sailed away, after ushering the detective out of the door.

Jennings departed, wondering at this change of front. As he passed
through the gate a fair, stupid-looking man entered. He nodded to
Jennings, touching his hat, and at the same time a strong perfume
saluted the detective's nostrils. "Thomas Barnes uses Hikui also,"