Struck by his friend's silence,
Mallow looked up suddenly. Whether he read the truth in
Jennings' eyes or the recollection of Jennings' profession
brought the Crooked Lane crime into his mind, it is impossible
to say. But he suddenly grew pale and dropped the knife with
a look of abhorrence.
"Yes," said Jennings, in reply to his mute inquiry, "that is
the knife that was used to stab Miss Loach."
"This knife?" said Mallow, with a gasp, "but how the dickens,"
he used a stronger word, "did my knife come to be used in that
way?"
"I should like you to explain that," said the detective icily.
"Good heavens, Jennings, you don't think--"
"What am I to think," said Jennings coldly, "I swear I never
suspected you, Mallow. To own the truth, I don't suspect you
now, but for your own sake--for your own safety, explain how
that knife came to be in Miss Loach's house."
"I can't say," cried Cuthbert, vehemently, "really I can't. I
swear I never missed it until you drew my attention to the
blank left in the trophy of arms yonder." He flung himself
into a seat, and passed his hand through his hair with a
bewildered air. "Surely, Jennings, you do not think me guilty
of killing that poor wretch?"
Jennings stretched out his hand, which Mallow grasped. "There
is my answer," said the detective, "of course I don't suspect
you. The mere fact that you own the knife is yours shows me
that you are innocent. But the fact that this particular
weapon was used reveals to me the strange behavior of Miss
Saxon--her motive, I mean.
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