"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."