"Are you quite certain," inquired Don Juan, when I had told him about it in answer to his question. "Are you certain the handkerchief you found was like this?"
"As certain as I stand here," I answered; "if there is any doubt about it I can get the other, for it is only at the hotel."
"Very well," replied the old gentleman with an air of satisfaction, making a note in a book, "that settles that matter. Now for the next. Have you ever seen that silver cigarette box before?"
I took up the article he referred to, which was standing by the handkerchief on the table, and examined it; it might, or might not, have been that case from which I took a cigarette in the old lady's room on the occasion of my first visit. I told them so.
"You cannot swear to it?" asked the old Don.
"No," I answered, "I cannot swear to it; it may be the case, and it may not."
"Now, Inspector," he said, turning to the police officer, "kindly show
Mr. Anstruther that."
He pointed to a bundle lying on the table, the last of the articles, and the inspector took it up, and slowly unfolded it. It was a lady's quilted white silk dressing-gown, and the whole of the bosom of it was deeply stained with what was evidently dried blood.
I turned in triumph to the police officer.
"That is the dressing-gown worn by the old lady the last time I saw her lying bleeding on her bed in the basement of 190 Monmouth Street. I told you of it at the time, and you would not believe it."