“I did not.” 

 “And so took the gloves without suspicion?” 

 “Entirely so.” 

 “And carried them away?” 

 “Unfortunately, yes.” 

 “Without thinking that she might want them the next minute?” 

 “I doubt if I was thinking seriously of her at all. My thoughts were on my own disappointment.” 

 “Did you carry these gloves out in your hand?” 

 “No, in my pocket.” 

 “I see. And you met—” 

 “No one. The sound I heard must have come from the rear hall.” 

 “And there was nobody on the steps?” 

 “No. A gentleman was standing at their foot—Mr. Grey, the Englishman—but his face was turned another way, and he looked as if he had been in that same position for several minutes.” 

 “Did this gentleman—Mr. Grey—see you?” 

 “I can not say, but I doubt it. He appeared to be in a sort of dream. There were other people about, but nobody with whom I was acquainted.” 

 “Very good. Now for the second visit you acknowledge having paid this unfortunate lady.” 

 The inspector’s voice was hard. I clung a little more tightly to my uncle, and Mr. Durand, after one agonizing glance my way, drew himself up as if quite conscious that he had entered upon the most serious part of the struggle. 

 “I had forgotten the gloves in my hurried departure; but presently I remembered them, and grew very uneasy. I did not like carrying this woman’s property about with me. I had engaged myself, an hour before, to Miss Van Arsdale, and was very anxious to rejoin her. The gloves worried 

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