“Oh,” said the new Lord Caranby with a grim smile, “I intend to settle Mrs. Octagon once and for all.”

“Surely you don’t intend to tell her of the murder.”

“Certainly not.  She would make the matter public at once.  But her knowledge of the real name of Emilia, and her hushing up of the murder of her sister, will be quite enough to bring her to her knees.  I don’t intend that Juliet shall have anything more to do with her mother.  But I’ll say very little.”

After this Cuthbert departed and took a hansom to the “Shrine of the Muses.”  He arrived there at ten o’clock, and was informed by the butler that Miss Saxon was in bed with a headache, and that Mrs. Octagon had given orders that Mr. Mallow was not to be admitted.  Basil was out, and Mr. Octagon likewise.  Cuthbert listened quietly, and then gave the man, whom he knew well, half a sovereign.  “Tell Mrs. Octagon that Lord Caranby wishes to see her.”

“Yes, sir, but I don’t—­”

“I am Lord Caranby.  My uncle died this evening.”

The butler opened his eyes.  “Yes, m’lord,” he said promptly, and admitted Cuthbert into the hall.  “I suppose I needn’t say it is really you, m’lord,” he remarked, when the visitor was seated in the drawing-room, “I am afraid the mistress will be angry.”

“Don’t trouble about that, Somes.  Tell her Lord Caranby is here,” and the butler, bursting to tell the news in the servants’ hall, went away in a great hurry.

Cuthbert remained seated near the table on which stood an electric lamp.  He had the confession in his pocket, and smiled to think how glad Mrs. Octagon would be to read it.  However, he had quite enough evidence to force her into decent behavior.  He did not intend to leave that room till he had Mrs. Octagon’s free consent to the marriage and a promise that she would go abroad for an indefinite period with her hopeful son, Basil.  In this way Cuthbert hoped to get rid of these undesirable relatives and to start his married life in peace.  “Nothing less than exile will settle matters,” he muttered.

Mrs. Octagon, in a gorgeous tea-gown, swept into the room with a frown on her strongly-marked face.  She looked rather like Maraquito, and apparently was in a bad temper.  Mallow could see that she was surprised when she entered, as, thinking Lord Caranby was incapacitated by the accident described by Juliet, she did not know how he came to call at so late an hour.  Moreover, Lord Caranby had never visited her before.  However, she apparently was bent on receiving him in a tragic manner, and swept forward with the mien of a Siddons.  When she came into the room she caught sight of Cuthbert’s face in the blaze of the lamp and stopped short.  “How—­” she said in her deepest tone, and then became prosaic and very angry.  “What is the meaning of this, Mr. Mallow?  I hoped to see—­”

“My uncle.  I know you did.  But he is dead.”