“But I tell you it’s ridiculous.  I don’t know the girl—­and a servant, too.  Pshaw!”

“Well, then, I must get her to see you, and possibly some explanation may be made.  I took possession of the photograph—­”

“Why?  On what grounds should my photograph interest you, Jennings?”

“On the grounds that you are a friend of mine, and that I knew your face the moment I saw it.  I naturally asked the girl how it came into her possession, as I know your tastes don’t lie in the way of pretty parlor-maids, however attractive.  It was her reply which made me take the portrait and come to ask you for an explanation.”

“What reply did she make?” demanded Cuthbert, exasperated by the false position he was placed in.

“She said that she would explain nothing in case you should get into trouble with the police.  Can you explain that?”

“No,” said Mallow, perplexed.  “I really cannot be responsible for the vagaries of a parlor-maid.  I don’t know the name Susan Grant, and from your description of her appearance, I never set eyes on her.  I am quite sure your explanation is the correct one.  Juliet crave it to her aunt, and for some ridiculous reason this girl stole it.”

“But her remark about the police.”

Mallow made a gesture of helplessness, and leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece.  “I can’t guess what she means.  Well, what will you do now, Jennings?”

“First, I shall get the girl to come here and see you.  Then I shall ask Miss Saxon why she gave the photograph to Miss Loach.  You were not a favorite with the old lady, I gather.”

“On the contrary, she liked me much more than I did her.”

“You see.  She liked you so much that she insisted on having your photograph.  I must ask Miss Saxon when she gave it.  Will you let me bring this girl to see you to-morrow?”

“Certainly.  But it’s all very unpleasant.”

The detective rose to go.  “Most matters connected with a crime are, my dear fellow,” said he calmly.  “I only hope there will not be any more unpleasantness.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t say what I mean—­yet.”

“You are mysterious, Jennings.”

“I am perplexed.  I don’t seemed to advance.  However, I intend to follow up the clue of your photograph, though if the explanation I suggest is the true one, there’s nothing more to be said.  But the girl, Susan Grant, has not the look of a thief.”

“That means, I gave her the photograph,” said Cuthbert haughtily.

“Not necessarily,” rejoined Jennings, putting on his overcoat.  “But I will not theorize any more.  Wait till I confront the girl with you in a few days.  Then we may force her to speak.”

Cuthbert shrugged his shoulders.  “As you please.  But I really am at a loss to think what she will say.”

“So am I,” said Jennings, as they walked to the door.  “That is why I am anxious to see her and you together.  And, after all, I may have found only a mare’s nest.”