figure. Now your servants, Mrs Straithwaite? We are accusing no one, of course.”
“There is the cook, Mullins. She displayed alarming influenza on Tuesday morning, and although it was most frightfully inconvenient I packed her off home without a moment’s delay. I have a horror of the influ. Then Fraser, the parlourmaid. She does my hair—I haven’t really got a maid, you know.”
“Peter,” prompted Straithwaite.
“Oh yes, Beta. She’s a daily girl and helps in the kitchen. I have no doubt she is capable of any villainy.”
“And all were out on Tuesday evening?”
“Yes. Mullins gone home. Beta left early as there was no dinner, and I told Fraser to take the evening after she had dressed me so that Teddy could make up and get out without being seen.”
Carrados turned to his other witness.
“The papers and the glove have been with you ever since?”
“Yes, in my desk.”
“Locked?”
“Yes.”
“And this glove, Mrs Straithwaite? There is no doubt that it is yours?”
“I suppose not,” she replied. “I never thought. I know that when I came to leave the theatre one had vanished and Teddy had it here.”
“That was the first time you missed it?”
“Yes.”
“But it might have gone earlier in the evening—mislaid or lost or stolen?”
“I remember taking them off in the box. I sat in the corner farthest from the stage—the front row, of course—and I placed them on the support.”
“Where anyone in the next box could abstract one without much difficulty at a favourable moment.”
“That is quite likely. But we didn’t see anyone in the next box.”
“I have half an idea that I caught sight of someone hanging back,” volunteered Straithwaite.
“Thank you,” said Carrados, turning towards him almost gratefully. “That is most important—that you think you saw someone hanging back. Now the other glove, Mrs Straithwaite; what became of that?”
“An odd glove is not very much good, is it?” said Stephanie. “Certainly I wore it coming back. I think I threw it down somewhere in here. Probably it is still about. We are in a frantic muddle and nothing is being done.”
The second glove was found on the floor in a corner. Carrados received it and laid it with the other.
“You use a very faint and characteristic scent, I notice, Mrs Straithwaite,” he observed.
“Yes; it is rather sweet, isn’t it? I don’t know the name because it is in Russian. A friend in the Embassy sent me some bottles from Petersburg.”
“But on Tuesday you supplemented it with something stronger,” he continued, raising the gloves delicately one after the other to his face.
“Oh, eucalyptus; rather,” she admitted. “I simply drenched my handkerchief with it.”
“You have other gloves of the same pattern?”
“Have I? Now let me think! Did you give them to me, Teddy?”
“No,” replied Straithwaite from the other end of the room. He had lounged across to the window and his attitude detached him from the discussion. “Didn’t Whitstable?” he added shortly.
“Of course. Then there are three pairs, Mr Carrados, because I never let Bimbi lose more than that to me at once, poor boy.”
“I think you are rather tiring yourself out, Stephanie,” warned her husband.
Carrados’s attention seemed to leap to the voice; then he turned courteously to his hostess.
“I appreciate that you have had a trying time lately, Mrs Straithwaite,” he said. “Every moment I have been hoping to let you out of the witness-box——”
“Perhaps to-morrow——” began Straithwaite, recrossing the room.
“Impossible; I leave town to-night,” replied Carrados firmly. “You have three pairs of these gloves, Mrs Straithwaite. Here is one. The other two——?”
“One pair I have not worn yet. The other—good gracious, I haven’t been out since Tuesday! I suppose it is in my glove-box.”
“I must see it, please.”
Straithwaite opened his mouth, but as his wife obediently rose to her feet to comply he turned sharply away with the word unspoken.
“These are they,” she said, returning.
“Mr Carrados and I will finish our investigation in my room,” interposed Straithwaite, with quiet assertiveness. “I should advise you to lie down for half-an-hour, Stephanie, if you don’t want to be a nervous wreck to-morrow.”
“You must allow the culprit to endorse that good advice, Mrs Straithwaite,” added Carrados. He had been examining the second pair of gloves as they spoke and he now handed them back again. “They are undoubtedly of the same set,” he admitted, with extinguished interest, “and so our clue runs out.”
“I hope you don’t mind,” apologized Straithwaite, as he led his guest to his own smoking-room. “Stephanie,” he confided, becoming more cordial as two doors separated them from the lady, “is a creature of nerves and indiscretions. She forgets. To-night she will not sleep. To-morrow she will suffer.” Carrados divined the grin. “So shall I!”
“On the contrary, pray accept my regrets,” said the visitor. “Besides,” he continued, “there is nothing more for me to do here, I suppose….”
“It is a mystery,” admitted Straithwaite, with polite agreement. “Will you try a cigarette?”
“Thanks. Can you see if my car is below?” They exchanged cigarettes and stood at the window lighting them.
“There is one point, by the way, that may have some significance.” Carrados had begun to recross the room and stopped to pick up the two fictitious messages. “You will have noticed that this is the outside sheet of a programme. It is not the most suitable for the purpose; the first inner sheet is more convenient to write on, but there the date appears. You see the inference? The programme was obtained before——”
“Perhaps. Well——?” for Carrados had broken off abruptly and was listening.
“You hear someone coming up the steps?”
“It is the general stairway.”
“Mr Straithwaite, I don’t know how far this has gone in other quarters. We may only have
