The woman darted a terrible look at her host. In spite of the mask of age which she had assumed, her eyes filled with youthful vigor and fire betrayed her. They shone brilliantly from her wrinkled face. Her hair was concealed under a close cap, above which she wore a broad-brimmed hat. This head-dress would have been remarkable a few years back, but now that ladies are reverting to the fashions of their grandmothers, it passed unnoticed. With a plain black dress, a black cloak trimmed profusely with beads, mittened hands and an ebony cane, she looked quite funereal. To complete the oddity of her dress a black satin bag dangled by ribbons from her left arm. In this she carried her handkerchief and--something else. As usual, she was perfumed with the Hikui scent. Caranby noticed this, and when she did not reply to his remark, pointed out its danger to her. "If you wish to escape the police, you must stop using so unusual a perfume, Miss Saul--" "Call me Maraquito; I am used to that name," she said harshly, and seated herself near the fire, shivering to keep up a character of old age, with slowly circulating blood. "Let us say Maraquita," answered Caranby, smiling, "we may as well be grammatical. But this perfume betrays you. Jennings knows that your friends use it as a sign." "Quite so," she answered, "it was clever of Jennings to have guessed its meaning. I invented the idea. But he is ill, and I don't think he has told anyone else about it. He is fond of keeping his discoveries to himself. He wants all the glory." "Surely he has had enough by this time, Maraquita. But the scent--" "You are quite right, I shall not use it for the future. But what do you think of my disguise? Would anyone know me?" "Certainly not. But I wonder you have the courage to show yourself so disfigured to the woman who is your rival." "Oh, as to that, she is my rival no longer," said Maraquito, with a gesture of disdain, "your nephew is not worthy of me. I surrender him from this moment." "That is very wise of you. I expect you will go abroad and marry a millionaire." "I might. But I have plenty of money of my own." "The way in which you made it is not creditable," said Caranby. "Bah!" she sneered. "I did not come here to hear you talk morality, Lord Caranby. You were no saint in your young days. I have heard all about you." "From whom?" "From my Aunt Emilia." "I scarcely think that. You were but a child when she died." "She did not die," said Maraquito coldly. "I have come to tell you that she lived as Miss Loach at Rose Cottage." Caranby started to his feet. "What is this you tell me?" "The truth. Emilia is dead now, but she lived alone for many a long day. I knew that Selina Loach was my aunt, and," Maraquito looked at him with piercing eyes, "Mrs. Octagon knew also."