"No, sir, not near Rexton." "At what time was the man arrested?" "At nine last night. He is in jail now, and will be brought up this morning on a charge of passing false money." "I'll look into it, Drudge. It is strange about the scent: but there may be nothing in the matter. The man could easily buy scent of the kind Mrs. Herne uses. Go back to Soho and watch the house. Let me know if Mrs. Herne comes out, and where she goes." "Yes, sir," said Drudge, and bowed himself out. When the man was gone Jennings walked up and down his room in a great state of excitement. He was beginning to see the end of the matter. That the scent should be used by a man who was passing false coins confirmed his idea that it was some peculiar sign whereby the members of the gang recognized one another. If Mrs. Herne really was the aunt of Maraquito, this matter implicated her as well as the niece. And Mrs. Herne had been accustomed to go to Rose Cottage, which hinted that Miss Loach had perhaps learned of the existence of the gang and had suffered for her indiscreet curiosity. "I believe Miss Loach threatened to disclose what she knew. She may have learned that the gang worked in that house from the fact of the ghosts, in which so strongminded an old lady would not believe. I daresay she threatened exposure, and someone killed her. Perhaps Mrs. Herne herself. No, confound it, she was out of the house. Well, I'll see this man now in jail. I may be able to force him to tell. And I'll call on Lord Caranby to-day, and get permission to search the unfinished house. I am quite sure there is a factory there. I wish Mallow would come and tell me if he has learned anything." Again there was a ring at the door, and this time Jennings, expecting no one else, certainly hoped to see Cuthbert. But, to his surprise, the servant showed in Lord Caranby. The old gentleman was calm and composed as usual, but Jennings thought he looked ill and frail. The dark circles round his eyes were more pronounced than ever, and he leaned heavily on his cane. He was perfectly dressed as usual, and seemed disposed to be friendly. "I am glad to see you, Lord Caranby," said the detective, when the old gentleman was accommodated with the chair, "have you had breakfast?" "Thank you, yes. But I could not eat any," said Caranby, breathing heavily. "Those stairs of yours are trying, Mr. Jennings. I am not so young or so strong as I was." "You don't look the picture of health, my lord." "Can you expect a dying man to?" "Dying--oh, no, you--" "Dying," insisted Caranby, rapping his stick on the ground. "I know that I have not many months to live, and I sha'n't be sorry when the end comes. I have had a hard time. Cuthbert will soon be standing in my shoes. I suffer from an incurable complaint, Mr. Jennings, and my doctor tells me I shall die soon."