"
"What on earth do you mean?"
"Basil," said Mrs. Octagon, in her deep, rich voice, "is too
fond of this fair stranger--Spanish, is she not?"
"She says she is," said the cautious Jennings.
Mrs. Octagon shot a glance of suspicion at him, but at once
resumed her engaging manner. "The foolish boy loves her," she
went on, clasping her hands and becoming poetical, "his heart
is captured by her starry eyes and he would wed her for her
loveliness. But I can't have that sort of thing," she added,
becoming prosaic, "so I went and told her I would denounce her
gambling salon to the police if she did not surrender my son.
She has done so, and I am happy. Ah, Mr. Jennings, had you a
mother's heart," she laid her hand on her own, "you would know
to what lengths it will lead a woman!"
"I am glad your son is safe," said Jennings, with apparent
cordiality, though he wondered how much of this was true.
"Maraquito is not a good wife for him. Besides, she is a
cripple."
"Yes," said Mrs. Octagon tragically, "she is a cripple."
Something in the tone of her voice made Jennings look up and
created a new suspicion in his heart. However, he said no
more, having learned as much as was possible from this tricky
woman. "I must go now," he said, "I have examined the house."
Mrs. Octagon led the way upstairs. "And have you any clue?"
"None! None! I wish you could assist me."
"I?" she exclaimed indignantly, "no, my sister and I were not
friends, and I will have nothing to do with the matter.
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