"I thought so," said Jennings, releasing Mallow and rising
quickly.
Maraquito threw a small knife at Cuthbert's feet. "Kill him--
kill him!" she said with hysterical force.
"There is no need to," said the detective, feeling his arms,
which were rather sore. "Mallow, I beg your pardon for having
fought you, but I knew you would not lend yourself to a
deception, and the only way in which I could force this lady
to show that she was able to walk was by a feigned fight."
"Then you don't intend to arrest me?" said Mallow, rising and
staring.
"Never had any idea of doing so," rejoined Jennings coolly.
"I wished to learn the truth about Mrs. Herne."
"Mrs. Herne!"
"Or Maraquito Gredos or Bathsheba Saul. She has a variety of
names, my dear fellow. Which one do you prefer?" he asked,
turning to the discovered woman.
Maraquito looked like the goddess of war. Her eyes flashed
and her face was red with anger. Standing in a striking
attitude, with one foot thrust forward, her active brain was
searching for some means of escape. "I don't know what you
mean by calling me these names!"
"I mean that you are to be arrested. You are Mrs. Herne.
Your accident was merely a sham to avert suspicion."
"Mrs. Herne is my aunt."
"Pardon me, no. The only aunt you ever had was Emilia Saul,
who died in Caranby's house. In our interview at Hampstead
you betrayed yourself when we talked of Mallow. I had you
watched.
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