In the midst of the confusion caused by Maraquito’s wickedness Cuthbert arrived. Juliet flew to him at once and flung herself sobbing into his arms.

“Oh, Cuthbert — Cuthbert!” she cried, her head on his shoulder, “that woman has been here. She tried to throw vitriol at me, and the bottle broke on Lord Caranby’s face. He has burnt his head also; he is dying.”

“Good heavens!” cried Mallow, pressing her to his heart, “thank God you are safe! How did Maraquito come here?”

“I don’t know — I don’t know,” sobbed Juliet, completely unstrung; “he asked me to see him, and she arrived disguised as an old woman. Oh, where is the doctor!”

“He has just arrived, miss. Here he comes,” said an excited waiter.

While the doctor examined Caranby’s injuries, Cuthbert, very pale, led Juliet out of the room, and taking her into an adjoining apartment, made her drink a glass of port wine. “An old woman,” he repeated, “it must have been the disguised Maraquito then who was killed.”

“Killed! She is not killed. She came here and —”

Juliet began to tell the story over again, for she was badly frightened. Mallow interrupted her gently.

“Maraquito is dead,” he said, “she was run over by a motor-car a quarter of an hour ago.”

“Was that her cry we heard?”

“I don’t know,” replied Cuthbert gloomily. “I was coming round the corner of the street and saw a woman flying along the pavement. A car was tearing towards me. I had just time to see the woman as she passed and note that she was old. She caught a glimpse of my face, and with a cry ran into the centre of the street. I never thought she was Maraquito, and could not understand why she acted as she did. I cried out in alarm, and ran forward to drag her back from before the approaching motor. But it was too late, the car went over her and she shrieked when crushed under the wheels. The impediment made the car swerve and it ran into a lamp-post. The occupants were thrown out. I fancy someone else is hurt also. Maraquito is dead. I heard a policeman say so. I then saw a waiter gesticulating at the door of the hotel, and fancied something was wrong; I ran along and up the stairs. But I never expected to find you here, Juliet, much less to witness the death of that wretched woman.”

“I am sorry,” faltered Juliet, as she sat with his arms round her, “I don’t know why she wanted to throw vitriol at me. She failed to hurt me, and I think she has killed Lord Caranby, and —”

“I must see to my uncle,” said Mallow, rising, “stay here, Juliet.”

“No! no,” she said, clinging to him, “let me go home. Get a cab. I dare not stop. That terrible woman —”

“She will never hurt you again. She is dead.”

“I wish to go home — I wish to go home.”

Mallow saw that the poor girl was quite ill with fright; and small wonder, considering the catastrophe of the last half hour. To have vitriol thrown is bad enough, but when the act leads to two deaths — for Maraquito was already dead, and it seemed probable that Lord Caranby would follow — it is enough to shake the nerves of the strongest. Mallow took Juliet down and placed her in a cab. Then he promised to see her that same evening, and to tell her of Lord Caranby’s progress. When the cab drove away he went again upstairs. As he went he could not help shuddering at the thought of the danger from which Juliet had escaped. He remembered how Maraquito had threatened to spoil the beauty of the girl, but he never thought she would have held to her devilish purpose. Moreover, he could not understand how Maraquito in disguise came to see Caranby. The disguise itself was an obvious necessity to escape the police. But why should she have been with his uncle and why should Juliet have come also? It was to gain an answer to these questions that Cuthbert hurried to the sitting-room.

Lord Caranby was no longer there. The doctor had ordered him to be taken to his bedroom, and when Mallow went thither he met him at the door, “He is still unconscious,” said the doctor, “I must send for his regular medical attendant, as I was only called in as an emergency physician.”

“Is he very ill?”

“I think the shock will kill him. He is extremely weak, and besides the shock of the vitriol being thrown, he has sustained severe injuries about the head from fire. I don’t think he will live. To whom am I speaking?” asked the young man.

“My name is Mallow. I am Lord Caranby’s nephew.”

“And the next heir to the title. I fancy you will be called ‘my lord’ before midnight.”

Mallow did not display any pleasure on hearing this. He valued a title very little and, so far as money was concerned, had ample for his needs. Besides, he was really fond of his uncle who, although consistently eccentric, had always been a kind, good friend. “Will he recover consciousness?”

“I think so,” said the doctor doubtfully, “I am not quite sure. His own medical attendant, knowing his constitution and its resisting power, will be able to speak more assuredly. How did this happen?”

Cuthbert, for obvious reasons, explained as little as he could. “Some old woman came to see my uncle and threw vitriol at Miss Saxon, the young lady who was with him. He intercepted the stuff and fell into the fire.”

“What a demon! I hope she will be caught.”

“She is dead,” and Cuthbert related the accident in the street. The doctor had strong nerves, but he shuddered when he heard the dreadful story. Nemesis had been less leaden-footed than usual.

In due time Dr. Yeo, who usually attended Caranby, made his appearance and stated that his patient would not live many hours. “He was always weak,” said Yeo, “and of late his weakness increased. The two severe shocks he has sustained would almost kill a stronger man, let alone an old man of so delicate an organization. He will die.”

“I hope not,” said Cuthbert, impulsively.

The physician looked at him benignly. “I differ from you,” he declared, “death will come as a happy release to Lord Caranby. For years he has been suffering from an incurable complaint which gave him great pain. But that he had so much courage, he would have killed himself.”

“He never complained.”

“A brave man like that never does complain. Besides, he took great care of himself. When he came back to London he was fairly well. I think he must have done something rash to bring on a recurrence of his illness. Within a few days of his arrival he grew sick again. In some way he over-exerted himself.”

“I don’t think he ever did,” said Mallow, doubtfully.

“But I am certain of it. Within a week of his arrival here he had a relapse. I taxed him with going out too much and with over-exertion, but he declined to answer me.”

“Will he become conscious again?”

“I think so, in a few hours, but I cannot be sure. However, you need not be alarmed, Mr. Mallow. His affairs are all right. In view of his illness I advised him to make his will. He said that he had done so, and that everything was in apple-pie order.”

“It is not that, doctor. I wish to ask him some questions. Will you remain here?”

“Till the end,” replied Yeo, significantly; “but it will not take place for a few hours, so far as I can see.”

“I wish to go out for an hour. Can I, with safety?”

“Certainly. Lord Caranby will live for some time yet.”

Mallow nodded and left the bedroom, while Yeo returned to the bed upon which lay the unconscious form of the old man. Cuthbert took a walk to the end of the street where the wreckage of the motor car had now been removed, and asked the policeman what had become of the victims. He was informed that the chauffeur, in a dying condition, had been removed to the Charing Cross Hospital, and that the body of the old woman — so the constable spoke — had been taken to the police station near at hand. “She’s quite dead and very much smashed up,” was the man’s report.

Mallow thanked him with half-a-crown and, having learned the whereabouts of the police station, he went there. He introduced himself to the inspector and, as the nephew of Lord Caranby, received every attention, particularly when he described how the vitriol had been thrown. Cuthbert thought it as well to say this, as the waiters at the Avon Hotel would certainly inform the police if he did not. He looked at the body of the miserable woman in its strange mask of age. “She went to see Lord Caranby in disguise,” said the inspector, “you can see her face is made up. Does his lordship know who she is?”

“Yes. And Mr. Jennings, the detective, knows also.”

“Perhaps you do yourself, Mr. Mallow?”

Cuthbert nodded. “She is Maraquito, the —”

“What! the gambling-house coiner we have been looking for?”

“The same. Jennings can tell you more about the matter than I can.”

“I’ll get Mr. Jennings to come here as soon as he is on his feet, and that will be tomorrow most probably. But why did Maraquito throw vitriol at Lord Caranby?”

“Jennings can tell you that,” said Mallow, suppressing the fact that the vitriol had been meant for Juliet. “Perhaps it had something to do with the raid made on the unfinished house which, you know, belonged to my uncle.”

“Bless me, so it did. I expect, enraged by the factory being discovered, Maraquito wished to revenge herself on your uncle. She may have thought that he gave information to Jennings about the place.”

“She might have thought so,” said Mallow. “I am returning to the Avon Hotel. If you want to see me you can send for me there. But Jennings knows everything.”

“What about his lordship?”

“He will die,” said Cuthbert abruptly, and departed, leaving the inspector full of regrets that Maraquito had not lived to figure in the police court. He looked at the matter purely from a professional standpoint, and would have liked the sensation such an affair would have caused.

When Mallow came back to the hotel he found that his uncle had recovered consciousness and was asking for him. Yeo would not allow his patient to talk much, so Cuthbert sat by the bedside holding the hand of the dying man. Caranby had been badly burnt about the temples, and the sight of one eye was completely gone. Occasionally Yeo gave him a reviving cordial which made him feel better. Towards evening Caranby expressed a wish to talk. The doctor would have prevented him, but the dying man disregarded these orders.

“I must talk,” he whispered faintly. “Cuthbert, get a sheet of paper.”

&ldquo............