t she is," he said
with marked coldness. "But I don't see--"

"You will in a minute," said Jennings briskly. "Pardon me, but are
you in love with another woman?"

Mallow grew red. "What the devil do you mean by coming here to ask me
such a question?" he demanded.

"Gently, Mallow, I am your friend, and you may need one."

"What do you mean. Do you accuse me of--"

"I accuse you of nothing," said Jennings quickly, "but I ask you, why
did you give this photograph, with an inscription, to the servant of
the murdered woman."

"I recognize my photograph, but the servant--"

"Susan Grant. The picture was found in her possession. She refuses to
speak," here the detective spoke lower, "in case you get into trouble
with the police."

CHAPTER VII

THE DETECTIVE

The two men looked at one another, Jennings searchingly, and Cuthbert
with a look of mingled amazement and indignation. They were rather like
in looks, both being tall, slim and fair-haired. But Mallow wore a
mustache, whereas the detective, possibly for the sake of disguising
himself on occasions, was clean-shaven. But although Jennings'
profession was scarcely that of a gentleman, he looked well-bred, and
was dressed with the same quiet taste and refinement as characterized
Mallow. The public-school stamp was on both, and they might have been
a couple of young men about town discussing sport rather than an
officer of the law and a man who (it seemed from Jennings' hints) was
suspected of complicity in a crime.

"Do you mean this for a jest?" said Cuthbert at length.

"I never jest on matters connected with my profession, Mallow. It is
too serious a one."

"Naturally. It so often involves the issues of life and death."

"In this case I hope it does not," said Jennings, significantly.

Cuthbert, who was recovering his composure, sat down with a shrug. "I
assure you, you have found a mare's nest this time. Whatever my follies
may have been, I am not a criminal."

"I never thought you were," rejoined the other, also taking a seat,
"but you may have become involved with people who are criminals."

"I dare say half of those one meets in society are worthy of jail, did
one know what is done under the rose," returned Cuthbert; "by the way,
how did you come so opportunely?"

"I knew you had gone out of town, as I came a few days ago to see you
about this matter, and inquired. Your servant said you were in
Devonshire--"

"I went to s