John Walls peered at it.
“No. I can't say that I have. It—it is a lady's glove, inspector.”
“It is a lady's glove,” the inspector assented. “Where do you imagine it was found, Mr. Walls?”
“I'm sure I don't know,” Walls said, staring at him. “It—I think a good many ladies wear gloves like that nowadays, Mr. Furnival. I know Mrs. Walls——”
“This particular glove,” the inspector went on, “I found beside Mr. Bechcombe's writing-table this afternoon.”
“Did you?” Mr. Walls looked amazed. “Well, I don't know how it came there. All Mr. Bechcombe's clients were men that came to-day.”
“Except perhaps the one that came to the private door,” suggested the inspector.
“I don't know anything about that,” Walls said in a puzzled tone. “I never heard anything of a lady coming to-day.”
The inspector folded the glove up and put it away again.
“That will do for the present, Mr. Walls. I should like to see Mr. Thompson if he returns, and now please send Miss Hoyle to me.”