“Do you believe the assassin rang the bell?”

Miles shrugged his shoulders and sipped his coffee.  “It is impossible to say.  I will wait until I have more facts before me before I venture an opinion.  It is only in detective novels that the heaven-born Vidocq can guess the truth on a few stray clues.  But what were you going to tell me?”

“Will you keep what I say to yourself?”

“Yes,” said Jennings, readily enough, “so long as it doesn’t mean the escape of the person who is guilty.”

“I don’t ask you to betray the confidence placed in you by the authorities to that extent,” said Mallow, “just wait a moment.”

He leaned his chin on his hand and thought.  If he wished to gain the hand of Juliet, it was necessary he should clear up the mystery of the death.  Unaided, he could not do so, but with the assistance of his old schoolfellow—­following his lead in fact—­he might get at the truth.  Then, when the name of the assassin of her sister was known, the reason of Mrs. Octagon’s strange behavior might be learned, and, moreover, the discovery might remove her objection.  On the other hand, Cuthbert could not help feeling uneasy, lest Mrs. Octagon had some secret connected with the death which made her refuse her consent to the match, and which, if he explained to Jennings what he knew, might become known in a quarter which she might not approve of.  However, Mallow was certain that, in spite of Mrs. Octagon’s hint, his uncle had nothing to do with the matter, and he had already warned her—­ although she refused to listen—­that he intended to trace the assassin.  Under these circumstances, and also because Jennings was his friend and more likely to aid him, than get anyone he knew and respected into trouble, the young man made up his mind to tell everything.

“The fact is, I am engaged to Juliet Saxon,” he began, hesitatingly.

“I know that.  She is the daughter of that absurd Mrs. Octagon, with the meek husband and the fine opinion of herself.”

“Yes.  But Juliet is the niece of Miss Loach.”

“What!” Jennings sprang from his chair with a look of surprise; “do you mean to tell me that Mrs. Octagon is Miss Loach’s sister.”

“I do.  They quarrelled many years ago, and have not been friendly for years.  Mrs. Octagon would never go and see her sister, but she did not forbid her children being friendly.  As you may guess, Mrs. Octagon is much distressed about the murder, but the strange thing is that she declares this death renders it impossible for me to marry her daughter.”

Jennings looked searchingly at his friend.  “That is strange.  Does she give no reason?”

“No.  But knowing my uncle knew her when she was a girl, I thought I would ask him what he thought.  He told me that he had once been engaged to Miss Loach, and—­”

“Well, go on,” said Miles, seeing Cuthbert hesitating.

“There was another lady in the case.”