was, she threw over her American and dedicated herself to a hermit's
life at Rexton."

"You never saw her again?"

"Never. I started to travel, and came to London only at rare
intervals. I did write to Selina, asking her to see me, but she always
refused, so I became philosophic and took to celibacy also."

"Very strange," murmured Jennings, his thoughts elsewhere, "but this
does not explain Mrs. Octagon's visit to the house."

"I am not so sure of that, if you mean Maraquito's house. Mrs. Octagon
may know, as I do, that Maraquito is the niece of Emilia."

"Are you sure of that?" asked the detective eagerly.

"As sure as I am that she is no Spaniard, nor even a Spanish Jewess, as
she claims to be. She doesn't even know the language. Her name, to
fit a woman, should terminate in a feminine manner. She should be
called Maraquita, not Maraquito. That little grammatical error
doubtless escaped her notice. But as I was saying, Maraquito--we will
still call her so--may have sent for Mrs. Octagon."

"Mrs. Octagon, so far as I have seen, is not the woman to obey such a
call," said Jennings grimly.

"Maraquito may have compelled her to come."

"For what reason?"

"Well, you see, Emilia was said by Isabella Loach--Mrs. Octagon that
is--to have fallen from the plank. But Mrs. Octagon may have pushed
her off."

"May have murdered her in fact."

"Quite so. Isabella loved me, and was, and is, a very violent woman.
It may be that she pushed Emilia off the plank, and Maraquito, through
her dead father, may have learned the truth. This would give her a
hold over Mrs. Octagon."

"But Selina may have killed Emilia. That would explain her hermit
life, inexplicable in any other way."

"No," said Caranby in a shaking voice, "I am sure the woman I loved
would never have behaved in that way. Isabella killed Emilia--if it
was a murder--and then threatened to denounce Selina unless she gave up
the idea of marrying me. And that," added Caranby, as though struck
with a new idea, "may be the cause why Selina never answered my letter,
and always refused to see or marry me. She may have been--no, I am
sure she was--under the thumb of Isabella. Now that Selina is dead,
Isabella is under the thumb of Maraquito."

"This is all theory," said Jennings impatiently.

"We can only theorize in our present state of uncertainty," was the
reply of the nobleman. "But my explanation is a reasonable one."

"I do not deny that.