Warner and Mr. Green were indeed calling him. Among the letters in the breast-pocket of Gleason's blouse were three signed Rallston. They were reading them with eager interest when the little detective from Denver sauntered in from the rear room.
"This—a—gauntlet, lieutenant, was lying with some other things on top of the bureau. Were you going to pack it in the trunk?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Well, a single right-hand glove won't be of much use to the relatives of the deceased, especially an old worn one like this. Where's the mate?"
"I don't remember seeing one."
"Well, you soldiers don't generally keep one glove without the other. Where was this before you put it with the things?"
"I picked it off the floor near the head of the bed."
"And there wasn't another thereabouts?"
"I saw none."
The detective went back to his work, and the officers with Mr. Green to the letters. When they had read them through to the end, Blake arose.