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 o