She was arrayed in a blue silk dress of a somewhat vivid hue, but softened with black lace.  She had a brooch of diamonds at her throat, a diamond necklace round it, bracelets set with the same gems and many costly rings.  Such a mass of jewelry looked rather out of place in the daylight, but the twilight of the room made the glitter less pronounced.  Jennings thought that Mrs. Herne must have Jewish blood in her veins, seeing she was so fond of gems.  Certainly she was very like Maraquito, even to having eyebrows almost meeting over her thin high nose.  But these, as was her hair, were gray, and her skin lacked the rich coloring of the younger woman.  Jennings rapidly took in the resemblance, and commenced the conversation, more convinced than ever that there was some bond of blood between Mrs. Herne and Senora Gredos.  This belief helped him not a little.

“I daresay Mr. Clancy told you why I wished to see you?”

Mrs. Herne nodded in a stately way.  “Yes.  You wish to know if I was in the bedroom of my friend on that evening.  Well, I was.  I went in for a few minutes to take off my cloak and hat, and then I went in again to resume them.”

“Did you see anyone in the room?”

“No.  Had there been anyone I should certainly have seen the person.  But there is no place where anyone could hide.”

“Not even a cupboard?”

“There was a wardrobe, for Miss Loach disliked cupboards, as she thought clothes did not get sufficiently aired in them.  A wardrobe, and of course anyone might have hid under the bed, but I did not look.  And I don’t think,” added Mrs. Herne, examining her rings, “that anyone was about.  Miss Loach was always very suspicious, and searched the house regularly.”

“Did she, then, anticipate anyone hiding—­a burglar, for instance?”

“Yes, I think she did.  Her nature was warped from certain events which happened in her early life, and she suspected everyone.”

“Was she on bad terms with anyone?”

“No.  She never quarrelled.  I am the quarrelsome person,” said the lady, smiling.  “I quarrelled with Mr. Clancy, who is a rude man.  But we have made it up since, as he has apologized.  It was Mr. Clancy who told me of your wish to see me.  Do you want to ask anything else?”

“If you do not mind.”

“On the contrary, I am anxious to afford you all the information in my power.  Nothing would give me more satisfaction than to see the murderer of my dear friend brought to justice.”

She spoke with great feeling, and there was an unmistakable ring of truth about her speech.  Jennings began to think he must be wrong in suspecting her to have anything to do with the death.  All the same, he was on his guard.  It would not do to let Mrs. Herne, clever as she was, pull wool over his eyes.  “Have you any idea who killed Miss Loach?” he asked.