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.

"No. She was quite well on that evening, and did not anticipate death
in any way--least of all in a violent form. Mr.