“Did Mrs. Herne seem offended when you examined her face?”

“She gave a kind of start—­”

“At the sight of you,” said Jennings quickly.

“La, no, sir.  She never saw me before.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” muttered the detective.  “Did you also recognize Mr. Clancy and Mr. Hale as having visited the Soho house?”

“No, sir.  I never set eyes on them before.”

“But as parlor-maid, you must have opened the door to—­”

“Just a moment, sir,” said Susan quickly.  “I opened the door in the day when few people came.  After eight the page, Gibber, took my place.  And I hardly ever went upstairs, as Senora Gredos told me to keep below.  One evening I did come up and saw—­” here her eyes rested on Cuthbert with a look which made him turn crimson.  “I wish I had never come up on that night.”

“See here, my girl,” said Mallow irritably, “do you mean to say—­”

“Hold on, Mallow,” interposed Jennings, “let me ask a question.”  He turned to Susan, now weeping again with downcast eyes.  “Mr. Mallow’s face made an impression on you?”

“Yes, sir.  But then I knew every line of it before.”

“How was that?”

Susan looked up surprised.  “The photograph in Senora Gredos’ dressing-room.  I often looked at it, and when I left I could not bear to leave it behind.  It was stealing, I know,” cried Miss Grant tearfully, “and I have been brought up respectably, but I couldn’t help myself.”

By this time Cuthbert was the color of an autumn sunset.  He was a modest young man, and these barefaced confessions made him wince.  He was about to interpose irritably when Jennings turned on him with a leading question.  “Why did you give that photograph to—­”

“Confound it!” cried Mallow, jumping up, “I did no such thing.  I knew Maraquito only as the keeper of the gambling house.  There was nothing between—­”

“Don’t, sir,” said Susan, rising in her turn with a flush of jealousy.  “I saw her kissing the photograph.”

“Then she must be crazy,” cried Mallow:  “I never gave her any occasion to behave so foolishly.  For months I have been engaged, and—­” he here became aware that he was acting foolishly in talking like this to a love-sick servant, and turned on his heel abruptly.  “I’ll go in the next room,” said he, “call me when you wish for my presence, Jennings.  I can’t possibly stay and listen to this rubbish,” and going out, he banged the door, thereby bringing a fresh burst of tears from Susan Grant.  Every word he said pierced her heart.

“Now I’ve made him cross,” she wailed, “and I would lay down my life for him—­that I would.”

“See here, my girl,” said Jennings, soothingly and fully prepared to make use of the girl’s infatuation, “it is absurd your being in love with a gentleman of Mr. Mallow’s position.”

Miss Grant tossed her head.  “I’ve read Bow-Bells and the Family Herald, sir,” she said positively, “and many a time have I read of a governess, which is no more than a servant, marrying an earl.  And that Mr. Mallow isn’t, sir.”