hardly expect from them."

"Not Mr. Durand," I maintained stoutly.

"Perhaps not; let us hope not." Then, with a quick change of
manner, he bent toward me, with a sidelong look at uncle, and,
pointing to my gloves, remarked: "You wear gloves. Did you feel
the need of two pairs, that you carry another in that pretty bag
hanging from your arm?"

I started, looked down, and then slowly drew up into my hand the
bag he had mentioned. The white finger of a glove was protruding
from the top. Any one could see it; many probably had. What did
it mean? I had brought no extra pair with me.

"This is not mine," I began, faltering into silence as I
perceived my uncle turn and walk a step or two away.

"The article we are looking for," pursued the inspector, "is a
pair of long, white gloves, supposed to have been worn by Mrs.
Fairbrother when she entered the alcove. Do you mind showing me
those, a finger of which I see?"

I dropped the bag into his hand. The room and everything in it
was whirling around me. But when I noted what trouble it was to
his clumsy fingers to open it, my senses returned and, reaching
for the bag, I pulled it open and snatched out the gloves. They
had been hastily rolled up and some of the fingers were showing.

"Let me have them," he said.