Have you discovered
anything likely to lead to the discovery of her assassin?"
"I am ashamed to say I am quite in the dark," replied
Jennings. "I don't suppose the truth will ever be
discovered."
The woman appeared relieved, but tried to assume a sad
expression. "Oh, how very dreadful," she said, "she will lie
in her untimely grave, unavenged. Alas! Alas!"
But Jennings was not mystified by her tragic airs.
He was certain she knew something and feared lest it should
come to his knowledge. Therefore he resolved to startle her
by a blunt question. "I never knew you were acquainted with
Maraquito!"
Mrs. Octagon was not at all taken aback. "I don't know such
creatures as a rule," she said calmly. "What makes you think
I do?"
"I saw you enter her house one night."
"Last night," said Mrs. Octagon coolly. "Yes. Maraquito, or
Senora Gredos, or whatever she calls herself, told me you had
just gone. I saw her in 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.
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