An innocent woman would have resented this question, but Mrs. Octagon ostentatiously seized the opportunity to clear herself, and thereby increased Jennings' suspicions. "Certainly," she said in an open manner and with a rather theatrical air, "I went to beg my son's life from this fair siren."
"What on earth do you mean?"
"Basil," said Mrs. Octagon, in her deep, rich voice, "is too fond of this fair stranger—Spanish, is she not?"
"She says she is," said the cautious Jennings.
Mrs. Octagon shot a glance of suspicion at him, but at once resumed her engaging manner. "The foolish boy loves her," she went on, clasping her hands and becoming poetical, "his heart is captured by her starry eyes and he would wed her for her loveliness. But I can't have that sort of thing," she added, becoming prosaic, "so I went and told her I would denounce her gambling salon to the police if she did not surrender my son. She has done so, and I am happy. Ah, Mr. Jennings, had you a mother's heart," she laid her hand on her own, "you would know to what lengths it will lead a woman!"
"I am glad your son is safe," said Jennings, with apparent cordiality, though he wondered how much of this was true. "Maraquito is not a good wife for him. Besides, she is a cripple."
"Yes," said Mrs. Octagon tragically, "she is a cripple."
Something in the tone of her voice made Jennings look up and created a new suspicion in his heart. However, he said no more, having learned as much as was possible from this tricky woman. "I must go now," he said, "I have examined the house."
Mrs. Octagon led the way upstairs. "And have you any clue?"
"None! None! I wish you could assist me."