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But then the scent may have made me think that." Jennings looked up sharply. "The scent? What do you mean?" "Senora Gredos," explained Susan quietly, "used a very nice scent a Japanese scent called Hikui. She used no other, and I never met any lady who did, save Mrs. Herne." "Oh, so Mrs. Herne used it." "She did, sir.
But I tell you what, sir," she added, drying her eyes and apparently becoming resigned, "if I ain't a lady, Senora Gredos is, and she won't let Mr. Mallow marry Miss Saxon." "But Mr. Mallow is not in love with Senora Gredos." "Perhaps not, sir, but she's in love with him. Yes. You may look and look, Mr.
Sir," said Susan, sitting up stiffly, "if Mr. Mallow is engaged to Miss Saxon and doesn't love Senora Gredos, why did he write those words?" "He did not write them for her," said Jennings doubtfully, "at least I don't think so. It is impossible to say how the photograph came into the possession of that lady." "Will you ask him, sir?" "Yes, when you are gone.
"It was a gay house, I know; but there was nothing wrong that I ever saw, save that I don't hold with cards being played on Sunday." "And on every other night of the week," muttered Jennings. "Did you ever hear Senora Gredos called Maraquito?" "Sometimes the gentlemen who came to play cards called her by that name. But she told her maid, who was my friend, that they were old friends of hers.
We must get to the bottom of this affair which is getting more complicated every day. Did you give that photograph to Senora Gredos?" "To Maraquito. No, I didn't. I gave it to Juliet." "You are certain?" "Positive! I can't make out how it came into Maraquito's house." Jennings pondered. "Perhaps Basil may have given it to her.
From there one could see, far away, the Guadarrama range, like a curtain of blue mountains and snowy crests; on clear days, the Escorial; Aravaca, the Casa de Campo, and the Sierra de Gredos, which ran out on the left hand like a promontory. Nearby one saw a pine grove, close to the Rubio Institute, and a valley containing market-gardens, and the ranges of the Moncloa shooting school.
It seems to me that this case is a bigger one than I imagine. I wonder what I had better do?" It was not easy to say. However, by the time Jennings reached his home he had chambers in Duke Street, St. James' he decided to see Maraquito. For this purpose he arrayed himself in accurate evening dress. Senora Gredos thought he was a mere idler, a man-about-town.
A piece of orange peel." The woman started. "Who told you that?" "I heard it indirectly from a professor of dancing. You were a dancer, I believe?" "Scarcely that," said Senora Gredos, nervously playing with her fan; "I was learning. It was Le Beau who told you?" "Indirectly," responded Caranby. "I should like to know," said Maraquito deliberately, "who has taken the trouble to tell you this.
"Professor," he said, when somewhat better, "I have come to ask you about a lady. A friend of mine has fallen in love with her, and he thought you might know of her." "Eh, wha-a-at, mon cher? I understands nozzin'. Ze lady, quel nom?" "Maraquito Gredos." "Espagnole," murmured Le Beau, shaking his wig. "Non. I do not know ze name. Dancers of Spain.
"Never had any idea of doing so," rejoined Jennings coolly. "I wished to learn the truth about Mrs. Herne." "Mrs. Herne!" "Or Maraquito Gredos or Bathsheba Saul. She has a variety of names, my dear fellow. Which one do you prefer?" he asked, turning to the discovered woman. Maraquito looked like the goddess of war. Her eyes flashed and her face was red with anger.
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