“Wasn’t clever enough, perhaps,” said Hale from the bed in a weak voice, “oh, there you are, Jennings.  Get that fool out of the room and listen to what I have to tell you.  I haven’t much time.  I am going fast.”

Jennings induced Mrs. Pill, as she now insisted on being called, to leave the room.  Then he sat down on the bed beside the dying man.  Atkins remained at the door, and the doctor seated himself by Hale’s head with a glass of brandy.  It might be needed for the revival of Hale, who, having lost much blood, was terribly weak.  But the poor wretch was bent upon confession, and even told his story with pride.

“You had a job to take us, Jennings,” he said with a weak chuckle.  “I don’t know how you found us out though.”

“It’s too long a story to tell.  But, first of all, tell me did Maraquito come here to-night?”

“No.  Are you after her?”

“Yes, I know she isn’t an invalid.”

“Ah, she diddled you there,” said Hale with another chuckle, “a very clever woman is Maraquito.  I wished to marry her, but now I’m done for.  After all, I’m not sorry, since my pals are taken.  But I did think I’d have been able to go to South America and marry Maraquito.  I’ve made plenty of money by this game.  Sometimes we sweated four hundred sovereigns a day.  The factory has been here for five years, Jennings—­”

“I know.  The man Maxwell, who was Susan Grant’s father, made the secret entrance, and you had him killed.”

“No, I didn’t.  Miss Loach did that.  I thought she was a fool at the time.  I told her so.  We could have taken Maxwell as a pal.  He was willing to come.  But she thought death was best.”

“And Maraquito killed Tyke?”

“No.  I did that.  I sent Gibber to fix him up.  Tyke was a drunkard and made a fool of himself in being arrested.  He would have given the show away, so I sent Gibber with a poisoned bottle of whisky.  I knew Tyke couldn’t resist a drink.  He died, and—­”

“Did you kill Miss Loach also?” interrupted Jennings, casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure that the clerk was noting all this.

Hale laughed weakly.

“No!” he said.  “I fancied you would ask that.  I tell you honestly that none of us know who killed her.”

“That’s rubbish.  You do know.”

“I swear I don’t.  Neither does Maraquito.  You haven’t caught her yet and you never will.  I’m not going to split on the pals I have left, Jennings.  You have nabbed some, but there are others, and other factories also.  I won’t tell you about those.”

“Clancy is captured—­he will.”

“Don’t you make any mistake.  Clancy is not the fool he looks.  He has the cleverest head of the lot of us.  But I’d better get on with my confession, though it won’t do you much good.”

“So long as you say who killed Miss Loach—­”

“Miss Loach,” sneered Hale, “why not Emilia Saul?”