“He will be when Lord Caranby dies,” said Jennings, hardly knowing what to say, “and fiction isn’t truth.  Besides, Mr. Mallow is engaged.”

“I know, sir—­to Miss Saxon.  Well,” poor Susan sighed, “she is a sweet young lady.  I suppose he loves her.”

“Devotedly.  He will be married soon.”

“And she’s got Miss Loach’s money too,” sighed Susan again, “what a lucky young lady.  Handsome looks in a husband and gold galore.  A poor servant like me has to look on and keep her heart up with the Church Service.  But I tell you what, sir,” she added, drying her eyes and apparently becoming resigned, “if I ain’t a lady, Senora Gredos is, and she won’t let Mr. Mallow marry Miss Saxon.”

“But Mr. Mallow is not in love with Senora Gredos.”

“Perhaps not, sir, but she’s in love with him.  Yes.  You may look and look, Mr. Jennings, but lame as she is and weak in the back and unable to move from that couch, she loves him.  She had that photograph in her room and kissed it, as it I saw with my own eyes.  I took it the last thing before I went, as I loved Mr. Mallow too, and I was not going to let that Spanish lady kiss him even in a picture.”

“Upon my word,” murmured Jennings, taken aback by this vehemence, “it is very strange all this.”

“Oh, yes, you gentlemen don’t think a poor girl has a heart.  I couldn’t help falling in love, though he never looked my way.  But that Miss Saxon is a sweet, kind, young lady put upon by her mother, I wouldn’t give him up even to her.  But I can see there’s no chance for me,” wept Susan, “seeing the way he has gone out, banging the door in a temper, so I’ll give him up.  And I’ll go now.  My heart’s broken.”

But Jennings made her sit down again.  “Not yet, my girl,” he said firmly, “if you wish to do Mr. Mallow a good turn—­”

“Oh, I’ll do that,” she interrupted with sparkling eyes, “after all, he can’t help giving his heart elsewhere.  It’s just my foolishness to think otherwise.  But how can I help him, sir?”

“He wants to find out who killed Miss Loach.”

“I can’t help him there, sir.  I don’t know who killed her.  Mrs. Herne and Mr. Clancy and Mr. Hale were all gone, and when the bell rang she was alone, dead in her chair with them cards on her lap.  Oh,” Susan’s voice became shrill and hysterical, “what a horrible sight!”

“Yes, yes,” said Jennings soothingly, “we’ll come to that shortly, my girl.  But about this photograph.  Was it in Senora Gredos’ dressing-room long?”

“For about three months, sir.  I saw it one morning when I took up her breakfast and fell in love with the handsome face.  Then Gibber told me the gentleman came to the house sometimes, and I went up the stairs against orders after eight to watch.  I saw him and found him more good-looking than the photograph.  Often did I watch him and envy Senora Gredos the picture with them loving words.  Sir,” said Susan, sitting up stiffly, “if Mr. Mallow is engaged to Miss Saxon and doesn’t love Senora Gredos, why did he write those words?”