“However, we never reached that. Towards the end of the first act something white and noiseless slipped down and fell at my feet. For the moment I thought they were the pearls gone wrong. Then I saw that it was a glove—a lady’s glove. Intuition whispered that it was Stephanie’s before I touched it. I picked it up and quietly got out. Down among the fingers was a scrap of paper—the corner torn off a programme. On it were pencilled words to this effect:
“‘Something quite unexpected. Can do nothing to-night. Go back at once and wait. May return early. Frightfully worried.—S.’”
“You kept the paper, of course?”
“Yes. It is in my desk in the next room. Do you care to see it?”
“Please.”
Straithwaite left the room and Stephanie flung herself into a charming attitude of entreaty.
“Mr Carrados, you will get them back for us, won’t you? It would not really matter, only I seem to have signed something and now Markhams threaten to bring an action against us for culpable negligence in leaving them in an empty flat.”
“You see,” explained Straithwaite, coming back in time to catch the drift of his wife’s words, “except to a personal friend like yourself, it is quite impossible to submit these clues. The first one alone would raise embarrassing inquiries; the other is beyond explanation. Consequently I have been obliged to concoct an imaginary burglary in our absence and to drop the necklace case among the rhododendrons in the garden at the back, for the police to find.”
“Deeper and deeper,” commented Carrados.
“Why, yes. Stephanie and I are finding that out, aren’t we, dear? However, here is the first note; also the glove. Of course I returned immediately. It was Stephanie’s strategy and I was under her orders. In something less than half-an-hour I heard a motor car stop outside. Then the bell here rang.
“I think I have said that I was alone. I went to the door and found a man who might have been anything standing there. He merely said: ‘Mr Straithwaite?’ and on my nodding handed me a letter. I tore it open in the hall and read it. Then I went into my room and read it again. This is it:
”’Dear T.,—Absolutely ghastly. We simply must put off to-night. Will explain that later. Now what do you think? Bellitzer is here in the stalls and young K. D. has asked him to join us at supper at the Savoy. It appears that the creature is Something and I suppose the D.‘s want to borrow off him. I can’t get out of it and I am literally quaking. Don’t you see, he will spot something? Send me the M. string at once and I will change somehow before supper. I am scribbling this in the dark. I have got the Willoughby’s man to take it. Don’t, don’t fail.—S.’”
“It is ridiculous, preposterous,” snapped Stephanie. “I never wrote a word of it—or the other. There was I, sitting the whole evening. And Teddy—oh, it is maddening!”
“I took it into my room and looked at it closely,” continued the unruffled Straithwaite. “Even if I had any reason to doubt, the internal evidence was convincing, but how could I doubt? It read like a continuation of the previous message. The writing was reasonably like Stephanie’s under the circumstances, the envelope had obviously been obtained from the box-office of the theatre and the paper itself was a sheet of the programme. A corner was torn off; I put against it the previous scrap and they exactly fitted.” The gentleman shrugged his shoulders, stretched his legs with deliberation and walked across the room to look out of the window. “I made them up into a neat little parcel and handed it over,” he concluded.
Carrados put down the two pieces of paper which he had been minutely examining with his finger-tips and still holding the glove addressed his small audience collectively.
“The first and most obvious point is that whoever carried out the scheme had more than a vague knowledge of your affairs, not only in general but also relating to this—well, loan, Mrs Straithwaite.”
“Just what I have insisted,” agreed Straithwaite. “You hear that, Stephanie?”
“But who is there?” pleaded Stephanie, with weary intonation. “Absolutely no one in the wide world. Not a soul.”
“So one is liable to think offhand. Let us go further, however, merely accounting for those who are in a position to have information. There are the officials of the insurance company who suspect something; there is Bellitzer, who perhaps knows a little more. There is the lady in Surrey from whom the pearls were borrowed, a Mr Tantroy who seems to have been consulted, and, finally, your own servants. All these people have friends, or underlings, or observers. Suppose Mr Bellitzer’s confidential clerk happens to be the sweetheart of your maid?”
“They would still know very little.”
“The arc of a circle may be very little, but, given that, it is possible to construct the entire figure. Now your servants, Mrs Straithwaite? We are accusing no one, of course.”
“There is the cook, Mullins. She displayed alarming influenza on Tuesday morning, and although it was most frightfully inconvenient I packed her off home without a moment’s delay. I have a horror of the influ. Then Fraser, the parlourmaid. She does my hair—I haven’t really got a maid, you know.”
“Peter,” prompted Straithwaite.
“Oh yes, Beta. She’s a daily girl and helps in the kitchen. I have no doubt she is capable of any villainy.”
“And all were out on Tuesday evening?”
“Yes. Mullins gone home. Beta left early as there was no dinner, and I told Fraser to take the evening after she had dressed me so that Teddy could make up and get out without being seen.”
Carrados turned to his other witness.
“The papers and the glove have been with you ever since?”
“Yes, in my desk.”
“Locked?”
“Yes.”
“And this glove, Mrs Straithwaite? There is no doubt that it is yours?”
“I suppose not,” she replied. “I never thought. I know that when I came to leave the theatre one had vanished and Teddy had it here.”
“That was the first time you missed it?”
“Yes.”
“But it might have gone earlier in the evening—mislaid or lost or stolen?”
“I remember taking them off in the box. I sat in the corner farthest from the stage—the front row, of course—and I placed them on the support.”
“Where anyone in the next box could abstract one without much difficulty at a favourable moment.”
“That is quite likely. But we didn’t see anyone in the next box.”
“I have half an idea that I caught sight of someone hanging back,” volunteered Straithwaite.
“Thank you,” said Carrados, turning towards him almost gratefully. “That is most important—that you think you saw someone hanging back. Now the other glove, Mrs Straithwaite; what became of that?”
“An odd glove is not very much good, is