“Ah, now you wish to know too much,” said Mrs. Herne, laughing and moving towards the center of the room.  “I refuse to tell you that.  But if you are friendly with Miss Saxon, tell her to give up Mr. Mallow.  Otherwise—­”

“Otherwise,” echoed Jennings, curious to know why she paused.

“She will lose what is dearest to her.”

“Humph!  I wonder what that can be.  Had you not better threaten Miss Saxon personally, Mrs. Herne?”

“I have no need to, Maraquito will do that.  With my niece as an enemy, Miss Saxon has no chance of gaining the prize she desires.”

“But you reckon without the feelings of Mr. Mallow.  He loves—­”

“He does not—­he does not!” cried Mrs. Herne, pressing one hand to her heart and speaking fiercely; “he loves Maraquito.  And is she not worthy to be loved?  Is she—­go—­go.”  Mrs. Herne waved her hand.  “I have told you everything you asked, and more.  Should you require further information about Maraquito’s love, I refer you to herself.”

“Oh, I am not interested enough in the matter to ask her,” said the detective, and bowing to the lady who had sunk on the sofa, took his departure.  A strange idea occurred to him, suggested by the agitation of Mrs. Herne.

When he met Drudge, who was partaking of a glass of gin, he gave him instructions to watch the Hampstead house and follow Mrs. Herne when she came out.  Then having posted his spy—­ for Drudge was nothing else—­Jennings hurried back to town.  That same evening he sent a wire to Cuthbert to the address given by the servant, asking him to come up to town next morning.

At eleven Jennings presented himself and found Cuthbert waiting for him, rather surprised and agitated.  “Why did you wire me in so peremptory a manner?” asked Mallow; “have you discovered anything?”

“Yes!  I am sorry to break your holiday.  By the way, you have been at Brighton.  Did you stop at the Metropolitan?”

“Yes.  I and Uncle Caranby have been there for a few days.”

“Did you see Mrs. Herne there?”

“No.  Why do you ask?”

“For a reason I’ll tell you later.”  Jennings glanced round the room and his eyes became fixed on a trophy of arms.  “You are fond of these sort of things?” he demanded.

“Yes, in a way.  Yonder are war-spears, revolvers, swords, and—­”

“I see—­I see.  Here is an empty space.  What was here?”

“By Jove, I never noticed that before.  I forget!”

“Perhaps this will supply the gap,” said Jennings, and held out the knife.  “Do you recognize this?”

“Certainly.  There are three notches in the handle.  It is my knife.  Did you take it off the wall?”

CHAPTER XVI

JULIET’S STORY

Instead of answering, Jennings looked at Mallow.  “It was the merest chance I glanced at the wall and saw that one of the arms which form that trophy was missing.  It was also a chance that I suggested the blank space might be filled up with this knife.  Are you sure it is your property?”