“Good God! Where—”
“Don’t you know?”
“I do not.”
The inspector eyed him gravely.
“Then I have a bit of news for you. It was hidden in the gloves you took from Mrs. Fairbrother. Miss Van Arsdale was present at their unrolling.”
Do we live, move, breathe at certain moments? It hardly seems so. I know that I was conscious of but one sense, that of seeing; and of but one faculty, that of judgment. Would he flinch, break down, betray guilt, or simply show astonishment? I chose to believe it was the latter feeling only which informed his slowly whitening and disturbed features. Certainly it was all his words expressed, as his glances flew from the stone to the gloves, and back again to the inspector’s face.
“I can not believe it. I can not believe it.” And his hand flew wildly to his forehead.
“Yet it is the truth, Mr. Durand, and one you have now to face. How will you do this? By any further explanations, or by what you may consider a discreet silence?”
“I have nothing to explain,—the facts are as I have stated.”
The inspector regarded him with an earnestness which made my heart sink.