"It is Harry who is hypnotized," cried Tristram. Rosalie fixed her gaze on her lover's face.
"Raise your right hand," said the count. Harry obeyed. His stare was glassy, his lower lip stupidly dropped.
"Do you know this glove?" asked the count, raising a lemon-colored kid.
"I do," came the answer, mechanical, monotonous.
"Try it on."
Harry drew the glove on his right hand, his eyes never leaving those of the count.
"Button it tightly," said the Spaniard. "Do you remember where you wore this glove last?"
"I do."
"Can you see the side door opening from the passageway?"
"I can."