Caranby did not reply, but looked steadily at the two men who were walking slowly up the room.  Hale was slender, tall, and dark in color, with a nose like the beak of an eagle.  He was perfectly dressed and had even an elegant appearance.  His age might have been forty, but in the artificial light he looked even younger.  Clancy, on the other hand, wore his clothes with the air of a man unaccustomed to evening dress.  He was light in color, with weak blue eyes and a foolish expression about his slack mouth.  Jennings wondered why a man like Hale should connect himself with such a creature.  The men nodded to Senora Gredos, who took little notice of them, and then repaired to the buffet.  Owing to the position of the detective and Caranby, the new arrivals did not see them.  Nor for the present was the detective anxious to attract their notice.  Indeed, he would have stolen away unperceived, but that he wished to question Hale as to the whereabouts of Mrs. Herne.

“It is a long time since I have seen you,” said Caranby, removing his eyes from the newcomers, and addressing the detective; “you were not an—­er—­an official when we last met.”

“It is three years ago,” said Jennings; “no.  I had money then, but circumstances over which I had no control soon reduced me to the necessity of earning my living.  As all professions were crowded, I thought I would turn my talents of observation and deduction to this business.”

“Do you find it lucrative?”

Jennings smiled and shrugged his shoulders again.  “I do very well,” he said, “but I have not yet made a fortune.”

“Ah!  And Cuthbert told me you wished to marry.”

“I do.  But when my fortune will allow me to marry, I don’t know.”

Caranby, without raising his voice or looking at his companion, supplied the information.  “I can tell you that,” said he, “when you learn who killed Miss Loach.”

“How is that?”

“On the day you lay your hand on the assassin of that poor woman I shall give you five thousand pounds.”

Jennings’ breath was taken away.  “A large sum,” he murmured.

“She was very dear to me at one time,” said Caranby with emotion.  “I would have married her but for the machinations of her sister.”

“Mrs. Octagon?”

“Yes!  She wanted to become my wife.  The story is a long one.”

“Cuthbert told it to me.”

“Quite right,” said Caranby, nodding, “I asked him to.  It seems to me that in my romance may be found the motive for the death of Selina Loach.”

The detective thought over the story.  “I don’t quite see—­”

“Nor do I. All the same—­” Caranby waved his hand and abruptly changed the subject.  “Do you know why I came here to-night?”

“No.  I did not know you ever came to such places.”

“Nor do I. My life is a quiet one now.  I came to see this woman you call Maraquito.”