“Good heavens!” cried Mallow, pressing her to his heart, “thank God you are safe!  How did Maraquito come here?”

“I don’t know—­I don’t know,” sobbed Juliet, completely unstrung; “he asked me to see him, and she arrived disguised as an old woman.  Oh, where is the doctor!”

“He has just arrived, miss.  Here he comes,” said an excited waiter.

While the doctor examined Caranby’s injuries, Cuthbert, very pale, led Juliet out of the room, and taking her into an adjoining apartment, made her drink a glass of port wine.  “An old woman,” he repeated, “it must have been the disguised Maraquito then who was killed.”

“Killed!  She is not killed.  She came here and—­”

Juliet began to tell the story over again, for she was badly frightened.  Mallow interrupted her gently.

“Maraquito is dead,” he said, “she was run over by a motor-car a quarter of an hour ago.”

“Was that her cry we heard?”

“I don’t know,” replied Cuthbert gloomily.  “I was coming round the corner of the street and saw a woman flying along the pavement.  A car was tearing towards me.  I had just time to see the woman as she passed and note that she was old.  She caught a glimpse of my face, and with a cry ran into the centre of the street.  I never thought she was Maraquito, and could not understand why she acted as she did.  I cried out in alarm, and ran forward to drag her back from before the approaching motor.  But it was too late, the car went over her and she shrieked when crushed under the wheels.  The impediment made the car swerve and it ran into a lamp-post.  The occupants were thrown out.  I fancy someone else is hurt also.  Maraquito is dead.  I heard a policeman say so.  I then saw a waiter gesticulating at the door of the hotel, and fancied something was wrong; I ran along and up the stairs.  But I never expected to find you here, Juliet, much less to witness the death of that wretched woman.”

“I am sorry,” faltered Juliet, as she sat with his arms round her, “I don’t know why she wanted to throw vitriol at me.  She failed to hurt me, and I think she has killed Lord Caranby, and—­”

“I must see to my uncle,” said Mallow, rising, “stay here, Juliet.”

“No! no,” she said, clinging to him, “let me go home.  Get a cab.  I dare not stop.  That terrible woman—­”

“She will never hurt you again.  She is dead.”

“I wish to go home—­I wish to go home.”

Mallow saw that the poor girl was quite ill with fright; and small wonder, considering the catastrophe of the last half hour.  To have vitriol thrown is bad enough, but when the act leads to two deaths—­for Maraquito was already dead, and it seemed probable that Lord Caranby would follow—­it is enough to shake the nerves of the strongest.  Mallow took Juliet down and placed her in a cab.  Then he promised to see her that same evening, and to tell her of Lord Caranby’s progress.  When the