clue to the
assassin, although she was in full possession of the facts. "It's
about this new case I wish to speak," said Jennings. "By the way,
Peggy, you know that woman Maraquito I have talked of?"

"Yes. The gambling-house. What of her?"

"Well, she seems to be implicated in the matter."

"In what way?"

Jennings related the episode of the photograph, and the incident of the
same perfume being used by Mrs. Herne and Maraquito. Peggy nodded.

"I don't see how the photograph connects her with the case," she said
at length, "but the same perfume certainly is strange. All the same,
the scent maybe fashionable. Hikui! Hikui! I never heard of it."

"It is a Japanese perfume, and Maraquito got it from some foreign
admirer. It is strange, as you say."

"Have you seen Mrs. Herne?"

"I saw her at the inquest. She gave evidence. But I had no
conversation with her myself."

"Why don't you look her up? You mentioned you had her address."

"I haven't it now," said Jennings gloomily. "I called at the Hampstead
house, and learned that Mrs. Herne had received such a shock from the
death of her friend, Miss Loach, that she had gone abroad and would not
return for an indefinite time. So I can do nothing in that quarter
just now. It is for this reason that I have come here to ask about
Maraquito."

"From Papa Le Beau," said Peggy, wrinkling her pretty brows. "What can
he know of this woman?"

"She was a dancer until she had an accident. Le Beau may have had her
through his hands."

"Maraquito, Maraquito," murmured Peggy, and shook her head. "No, I do
not remember her. How old is she?"

"About thirty, I think; a fine, handsome woman like a tropical flower
for coloring."

"Spanish. The name is Spanish."

"I think that is all the Spanish about her. She talks English without
the least accent. Hush! here is papa."

It was indeed the little Professor, who rushed into the room and threw
himself, blowing and panting, on the dingy sofa. He was small and dry,
with black eyes and a wrinkled face. He wore a blonde wig which did
not match his yellow complexion, and was neatly dressed in black, with
an old-fashioned swallow-tail coat of blue. He carried a small fiddle
and spoke volubly without regarding the presence of Miles.

"Oh, these cochons of English, my dear," he exclaimed to Peggy, "so
steef--so wood-steef in the limbs. Wis 'em I kin do noozzn', no, not a
leetle bit. Zey would make ze angils s