“How do you account for this umbrella and the gloves?” I heard Davies ask, and Thorold answered: “Let me have a look at them.”
They were silent for some moments.
“He has had some one there, that’s evident,” Sir Charles said. “Who on earth can it have been? This is an expensive umbrella, silk, and gold-mounted, and these gloves, too, are good ones. It’s extraordinary their owner should have forgotten to take them with him.”
“He may be in the house still,” answered Davies. “I hope, for his own sake, he isn’t,” Sir Charles said, in a hard voice. “Let us come and have a look at poor old Taylor. We shall find the keys in his pocket, anyway, and when we have attended to the other matter, we’ll go up and see Vera, and try to bring her to her senses with regard to Paulton. She must do it—hang it—she must! I hate the thought of it, but it’s my only chance of escape from this accursed parasite!”
Voices and footsteps died away. Once more the house was silent as death.
Truly, that deserted house was a house of mystery.