He
suffered, as he had told Jennings, from an incurable
complaint, and there was no chance of his recovering. But he
refused to take to his bed, and insisted on keeping his feet.
Cuthbert often came to see him, but on this particular
afternoon Caranby had manoeuvred him out of the way by sending
him to see an old friend with a message about his illness.
Cuthbert never suspected what was in the wind or he certainly
would not have gone. Afterwards, he bitterly regretted that
he had not told Caranby of Maraquito's threat against Juliet.
Had he done so, Caranby would never have received her. As it
was, the old lord waited patiently for the woman who was about
to bring disaster in her train. Precisely at three o'clock
his servant showed up a lady. "Madame Durand," he announced,
and then retired, leaving his master alone with a bent, crooked
old woman who walked with the aid of a cane, and seemed very
ill.
"I should never have known you," said Caranby, admiring
Maraquito's talent for disguise.
"Necessity has made me clever," she replied in a croaking
voice, and glanced at the door.
Caranby interpreted the look and voice. "You can speak
freely," he said ironically, "I have no police concealed
hereabouts."
"And Miss Saxon?" asked Maraquito, speaking in her natural
voice.
"She will be here at half-past three. I wish to have a talk
with you first, Miss Saul."
The woman darted a terrible look at her host.
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