horrible experience.

"I am ashamed of myself," he muttered, "but nothing can now undo the
fact. I slid from the presence of this murdered woman as though she had
been the victim of my own rage or cupidity; and, being fortunate enough
to reach the dressing-room before the alarm had spread beyond the
immediate vicinity of the alcove, found and put on the handkerchief,
which made it possible for me to rush down and find Miss Van Arsdale,
who, somebody told me, had fainted. Not till I stood over her in that
remote corner beyond the supper-room did I again think of the gloves.
What I did when I happened to think of them, you already know. I could
have shown no greater cowardice if I had known that the murdered woman's
diamond was hidden inside them. Yet, I did not know this, or even
suspect it. Nor do I understand, now, her reason for placing it there.
Why should Mrs. Fairbrother risk such an invaluable gem to the custody
of one she knew so little? An unconscious custody, too? Was she afraid
of being murdered if she retained this jewel?"

The inspector thought a moment, and then said:

"You mention your dread of some one entering by the one door before you
could escape by the other. Do you refer to the friend you left sitting
on the divan opposite?"

"No, my friend had left that seat. The portiere was sufficiently drawn
for me to detect that. If I had waited a minute longer," he bitterly
added, "I should have found my way open to the regular entrance, and so
escaped all this."

"Mr. Durand, you are not obliged to answer any of my questions; but, if
you wish, you may tell me whether, at this moment of apprehension, you
thought of the danger you ran of being seen from outside by some one of
the many coachmen passing by on the driveway?"

"No,--I did not even think of the window,--I don't know why; but, if
any one passing by did see me, I hope they saw enough to substantiate my
story."

The inspector made no reply. He seemed to be thinking. I heard afterward
that the curtains, looped back in the early evening, had been found
hanging at full length over this window by those who first rushed in
upon the scene of death. Had he hoped to entrap Mr. Durand into some
damaging admission? Or was he merely testing his truth? His expression
afforded no clue to his thoughts, and Mr. Durand, noting this, remarked
with some dignity:

"I do not expect strangers to accept these explanations, which must
sound strange and inadequate i