Maraquito, seeing her danger, panted with rage, and looked like a trapped animal. "Even if this is true, which I deny," she said in a voice tremulous with rage, "how dare you arrest me, and for what?"
"For setting that boy Gibber to poison the man who called himself Tyke. The lad has left your service—which means he is in hiding."
"I know nothing about this," said Maraquito, suddenly becoming cool. "Do you mean to arrest me now?"
"I have the warrant and a couple of plain-dress detectives below. You can't escape."
"I have no wish to escape," she retorted, moving towards a door which led into an inner room. "I can meet and dispose of this ridiculous charge. The doctor told me that a sudden shock might bring back my strength. And that it has done. I am not Mrs. Herne—I am not Bathsheba Saul. I am Maraquito Gredos, a Spanish lady—"
"Who doesn't know her own language," said Jennings.
"I pass over your insults," said the woman with dignity. "But as you intend to take me away, will you please let me enter my bedroom to change my dress?"
Jennings drew aside and permitted her to pass. "I am not afraid you will escape," he said politely. "If you attempt to leave you will fall into the hands of my men. They watch every door."
Maraquito winced, and with a last look at the astounded Mallow, passed into the room. When she shut the door Mallow looked at Jennings. "I don't know what all this means," he said.
"I have told you," replied Jennings, rather impatiently, "the letter I sent you was to bring you here. The struggle was a feigned one on my side to make Maraquito defend you. I knew she would never let you be worsted if she could help; exactly as I knew you would never consent to play such a trick on her."