"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