Hale, Mr. Clancy and
myself would have been with her till nearly midnight had I not
quarrelled with Mr. Clancy. As it was, Mr. Hale escorted me home about
half-past nine, and I understand Mr. Clancy left about ten. When Miss
Loach was not playing whist or bridge she never cared about having
anyone in her house. She was rather a misanthrope."

"Did she expect anyone that evening?"

"No. At all events, she said nothing about expecting anyone."

"Did she expect her nephew?"

"Mr. Basil Saxon?" said Mrs. Herne, looking surprised. "Not that I am
aware of. She did not mention his name. To be sure, they were on bad
terms, and she had forbidden him the house. No, I do not think she
expected him."

"Do you know the cause of the quarrel?"

"It had something to do with money. I believe Miss Loach helped Mr.
Saxon, who was rather extravagant, but she grew weary of his demands
and refused to help him further. He lost his temper and said things
which forced her to order him out of the house."

"Did he utter any threats?"

"Miss Loach never said that he did. Mr. Jennings," remarked the old
lady, bending her brows, "is it possible you suspect that young man?"

"No. I suspect no one at present. But I am bound to make inquiries in
every direction, and of course, if Mr. Saxon is of a passionate temper,
he might wish to avenge himself for being forbidden the house."

"He has a temper," said Mrs. Herne, thoughtfully, "but I never saw it
exhibited, though I met him once at Miss Loach's. She said he had a
lot of bad blood in him, but that may have been because she hated her
sister, Isabella Octagon."

"Did she hate her?"

"Yes. And I think she had cause. Mrs. Octagon behaved very badly in
connection with some romantic episode of the past."

"I fancy I know about that," said Jennings quickly, then added, "You
are fond of perfumes?"

"What a strange question," laughed Mrs. Herne. "Yes, I am. Do you like
this scent. It is called Hikui, and was given to me by a dear friend
who received it from a Japanese attache."

"From a friend or relative?"

Mrs. Herne frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

Jennings shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, nothing. Only you are very like
a lady called Senora Gredos."

"Maraquito," said Mrs. Herne unexpectedly. "Of course I am. Her father
was my brother."

"You are then her aunt?"

"Naturally. But the fact is, I do not proclaim the relationship, as I
do not approve of Maraq