"I don't care. You will find her gloves as you have her hat; and you will find them with the fingers turned inside out, just as she drew them from her hand. So much I will concede to the warmth of the weather."
"Like these, for instance," broke in a quiet voice.
Startled, for a hand had appeared over my shoulder dangling a pair of gloves before my eyes, I cried out, somewhat too triumphantly I own:
"Yes, yes, just like those! Did you pick them up here? Are they hers?"
"You say that this is the way hers should look."
"And I repeat it."
"Then allow me to pay you my compliments. These were picked up here."
"But where?" I cried. "I thought I had looked this carpet well over."
He smiled, not at me but at the gloves, and the thought crossed me that he felt as if something more than the gloves was being turned inside out. I therefore pursed my mouth, and determined to stand more on my guard.
"It is of no consequence," I assured him; "all such matters will come out at the inquest."