"'With my dear love,' it reads." Cuthbert laid down the portrait and nodded.

"Yes! That is the inscription," he said in low tones, and his eyes sought the carpet.
"You wrote that to a servant." "What servant ?" "The new parlor-maid engaged by Miss Loach on the day of her death--Susan Grant." "I remember the name.

I saw it in the papers." "Do you know the girl well ?" asked Jennings.
"I don't know her at all." "Come now.

A man doesn't give a portrait with such an inscription to any unknown girl, nor to one he is not in love with." "Jennings," cried Mallow indignantly, "how can you think--" his voice died away and he clenched his hands.
"What am I to think then ?" demanded the detective.
"What you like." "That you love this Susan Grant ?" "I tell you I never set eyes on her," said Cuthbert violently.
"Then how does she come into possession of your portrait ?" asked the other.

Then seeing that Mallow refused to speak, he laid a persuasive hand on his shoulder.