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.