"I am Patrolman Chandler," said he.
"What can we do for each other?"
"Not much, perhaps." The policeman drew an envelope from his pocket and showed a lemon-colored glove inside. "Will that help you any?"
"Perhaps. It has a story?"
"A short one. That glove's been in my pocket ever since I was taken to the hospital when the girl fell on me. Never thought of it; hardly knew it was there. Had broken bones to think of, you know."
"I read of your bravery at the fire."
"Pshaw! Well, here's the history of that article. I know Floyd; have known him ever since I took that route. Things look blue for the boy, but I never heard harm of him before, and says I to myself, yesterday when I found the glove, perhaps Mr. Shagarach can turn this to good account, and perhaps he can't. It's worth trying, and if it saves Floyd's neck, why, it's no more'n I'd like to have him do for me if our positions were just right about."
"That's the golden rule, stated in the vernacular. Where did you find this?"
"On the stairs in the Arnold house."
"After the fire?"