AS may be guessed, Jennings was very vexed that Maraquito had escaped. He had posted his men at the front and back doors and also at the side entrance through which Senora Gredos in her disguise as Mrs. Herne had entered. He never considered for the moment that so clever a woman might have some way of escape other than he had guessed. “Yet I might have thought it,” he said, when Cuthbert and he left the house. “I expect that place is like a rabbit-burrow. Maraquito always expected to be taken some day in spite of her clever assumption of helplessness. That was a smart dodge.”

“How did you learn that she was shamming?”

“I only guessed so. I had no proof. But when I interviewed the pseudo Mrs. Herne at her Hampstead lodgings, she betrayed so much emotion when speaking of you that I guessed it was the woman herself. I only tried that experiment to see if she was really ill. If she had not moved I should have been done.”

“It seems to me that you are done now,” said Cuthbert angrily. He was not very pleased at the use Jennings had made of him.

“By no means. Maraquito will take refuge in a place I know of. She does not fancy I am aware of its existence. But I am on my way there now. You can come also if you like.”

“No,” said Mallow decisively, “so far as I am concerned, I have no further interest in these matters. I told you so the other day.”

“Don’t you wish to know who killed Miss Loach?”

Mallow hesitated, and wondered how much the detective knew. “Have you any clue to the assassin?” he asked.

Jennings shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t say that. But I suspect the coiners have something to do with the matter.”

“The coiners?”

“Ah! I know you have not learned much about them. I have no time now to talk, but you will see everything in the papers shortly. I can tell you, Mallow, there’s going to be a row.”

Mallow, like all young Englishmen, was fond of fighting, and his blood was at once afire to join in, but, on second thoughts, he resolved to stick to his original determination and stay away. It would be better, he thought, to let Jennings carry out his plans unhampered. In order, therefore, to preserve Basil’s secret, Mallow nodded to the detective and went home. That night he spent wondering what had become of Maraquito.

Meantime, Jennings, with a dozen men, was on his way to Rexton. It was now after eleven, and the clock struck the half hour as they landed at Rexton Station. The police force of the suburb had been notified of the raid about to be made, and Inspector Twining was on the spot. He guided the party through the side path which terminated near Rose Cottage. The night was dark and rainy, but there were occasional gleams of moonlight. There was no light in the windows of Rose Cottage, and everything appeared to be quiet. Behind loomed the ruins of the unfinished house beneath which was the coining factory.

On the way to the spot Jennings conversed with Twining in low tones and detailed his experience with Maraquito.

“I am quite sure that she has gone to the factory,” he said; “she does not think that I know about it. I fancy she will tell her pals that the game is up and the lot will light out for America.”

“They may have gone by this time,” suggested the inspector.

“I don’t think so. Maraquito must have just arrived, if indeed she has come here. Besides, she will never guess that I know how to get into the place, or indeed think that I know of its existence.”

“How did you guess?”

“Guess is a good word. I just did guess, Twining. From various facts which there is no time to tell you, I became convinced that there was a factory in existence. Also I fancied that the death of that old lady was connected with the preservation of the secret. But I only got at the hard facts the other day, when a girl called Grant —”

“I remember. She gave evidence at the inquest.”

“Precisely. Well, she brought me some plans belonging to her father which she found. He was engaged in a quiet job hereabouts five years ago, and died when it was finished. He was poisoned with arsenic.”

“What! like that man Tyke?”

“Yes. The person who runs this show — Maraquito, I think — evidently has a partiality for that extremely painful poison. Well, this workman having constructed the secret entrance, was got out of the way by death, so that the secret might be preserved. And I guess Miss Loach was settled also in case she might give the alarm.”

“But if the secret entrance is in the cottage,” said Twining, “this old woman may have been aware of its existence.”

“Certainly, and was about to split when she was killed. At least, that is my theory.”

“She must have been in with the gang.”

“I have never been able to fix that,” said Jennings thoughtfully. “I know she was a lady and of good birth. Also she had money, although she condemned herself to this existence as a hermit. Why she should let Maraquito and her lot construct a secret entrance I can’t understand. However, we’ll know the truth to-night. But you can now guess, Twining, how the bell came to be sounded.”

“No, I can’t,” said the inspector, promptly.

“I forgot. You don’t know that the secret entrance is in the room where Miss Loach was murdered. Well, one of the gang, after the death, sounded the bell to call attention to the corpse, and then slipped away before Susan Grant could get to the room.”

“But why should this person have sounded the bell?”

“That is what I have to find out. There’s a lot to learn here.”

“Have you any idea who killed Miss Loach?”

“Maraquito, under the disguise of Mrs. Herne.”

“Was she Mrs. Herne?”

“Yes. She masqueraded as an invalid who could not leave her couch, but I managed to get at the truth to-night.”

“But from the evidence at the inquest, Mrs. Herne was out of the house when the blow was struck.”

“Quite so: But we did not know of this secret entrance then. I fancy she came back —”

“But how can you —”

“There’s no more time to talk,” interrupted Jennings. “We must get to work as soon as possible. Order your men to surround the house.”

“And the park also?”

“We have not enough men for that. And I don’t think there’s any other exit from the factory save that through Rose Cottage. If there was, Maraquito and her two friends would not have played whist so persistently with Miss Loach every night.”

“It was three times a week, I think.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Here we are.” Jennings opened the garden gate and walked boldly up the path towards the silent house. The men, under the low-spoken directions of Twining, spread themselves round the house so as to arrest any coiner who might attempt escape. Then the detective rang the bell. There was no answer for a few minutes. He rang again.

A window in the cottage was opened cautiously, and the head of Mrs. Pill, in a frilled nightcap of gigantic size, was thrust out. “Is that you, Thomas, coming home at this late hour the worse for drink, you idle wretch, and me almost dead with want of sleep.”

“It’s a message from your husband, Mrs. Barnes,” said Jennings, signing to Twining to keep out of sight. “Come and open the door, and I’ll tell you what has happened.”

“Oh, lor! is Thomas gone the way of flesh?” wailed Mrs. Barnes, formerly Pill. “Come to the cottage door.”

“No. Open this one,” said Jennings, who had his own reasons for this particular entrance being made use of. “You know me —”

“Mr. Jennings, as was in the case of my pore, dear, dead lady. Of course I knows you, sir, and the fact as you are police makes me shudder to think as Thomas is jailed for drink. Wait one moment, sir. I’ll hurry on a petticoat and shawl. How good of you to come, sir.”

When the window shut down, Jennings bent towards the inspector, who was crouching on the other side of the steps. “This woman is innocent,” he whispered. “She knows nothing, else she would not admit us so quickly.”

“It may be a blind, Jennings. She may have gone to give the gang warning, you know.”

“I don’t know,” retorted the detective sharply. “I am quite sure that Mrs. Barnes doesn’t even know her husband Thomas is one of the lot. I don’t care if she does give warning either, if your surmise is correct. All our men are round the house, and if any of the gang escape we can collar them.”

“That is supposing there isn’t another exit from the unfinished house,” muttered Twining, anxious to have the last word.

Mrs. Barnes appeared at the door in a brilliant red petticoat, a white woollen shawl, and the cap aforesaid. Her feet were thrust into carpet slippers and she carrie............