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THE GLOVED HAND





THE GLOVED HAND
A DETECTIVE STORY
BY
BURTON E. STEVENSON
Author of “The Holladay Case,” “The Marathon
Mystery,” “The Mystery of the Boule
Cabinet,” etc.
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1920


JUM 28 1922
kis RARY
By exchange
CopyRIGHT, 1912.
By DoDD, MEAD & ComPANY


CHAPter
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
XXII
XXIII
XXIV
XXV
XXVI
XXVII
CONTENTS
THE FALLING STAR .
A STRANGE NEIGHBOUR . . . . . .
THE DRAMA IN THE GARDEN . . . .
ENTER FREDDIE SWAIN
A CALL FOR HELP
THE SCREAM IN THE NIGHT
THE TRAGEDY . . . .
A FRESH ENIGMA . . . . . .
FIRST STEPs . . . . . . . .
THE WHITE PRIEST OF SIVA
Swain's STORY
GUESSES AT THE RIDDLE
FRANCISCO SILVA . . . . . . .
THE FINGER-PRINTs .
THE CHAIN TIGHTENS .
MISS WAUGHAN's STORY . . . . .
THE VERDICT . . . . . . .
BUILDING A THEORY . . . . .
THE Yogi CoNQUERs . . . . .
CHECKMATE! . . . . . . . .
THE VISION IN THE CRYSTAL . . . .
THE SUMMONS . . . . . .
DEADLY PERIL . .
KISMET1 . . . . . . . . . .
THE BLOOD-STAINED GLOVE . . . .
THE MYSTERY CLEARS .
THE END OF THE CASE . . . . . .
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• 3CI
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• 334





THE GLOVED HAND





CHAPTER I
THE FALLING STAR
I was genuinely tired when I got back to the office,
that Wednesday afternoon, for it had been a try-
ing day—the last of the series of trying days
which had marked the progress of the Minturn
case; and my feeling of depression was increased
by the fact that our victory had not been nearly so
complete as I had hoped it would be. Besides,
there was the heat; always, during the past ten
days, there had been the heat, unprecedented for
June, with the thermometer climbing higher and
higher and breaking a new record every day.
As I threw off coat and hat and dropped into the
chair before my desk, I could see the heat-waves
quivering up past the open windows from the
fiery street below. I turned away and closed my
eyes, and tried to evoke a vision of white surf fall-
ing upon the beach, of tall trees swaying in the
breeze, of a brook dropping gently between green
banks.
“Fountains that frisk and sprinkle
The moss they overspill;
Pools that the breezes crinkle,” . . .


2 THE GLOVED HAND
and then I stopped, for the door had opened. I
unclosed my eyes to see the office-boy gazing at
me in astonishment. He was a well-trained boy,
and recovered himself in an instant.
“Your mail, sir,” he said, laid it at my elbow,
and went out.
I turned to the letters with an interest the re-
verse of lively. The words of Henley's ballade
were still running through my head —
“Vale-lily and periwinkle;
Wet stone-crop on the sill;
The look of leaves a-twinkle
With windlets,”
Again I stopped, for again the door opened,
and again the office-boy appeared.
“Mr. Godfrey, sir,” he said, and close upon
the words, Jim Godfrey entered, looking as fresh
and cool and invigorating as the fountains and
brooks and pools I had been thinking of.
“How do you do it, Godfrey?” I asked, as he
sat down.
“Do what?”
“Keep so fit.”
“By getting a good sleep every night. Do
you?”
I groaned as I thought of the inferno I called
my bedroom.


THE GLOVED HAND 3
“I haven't really slept for a week,” I said.
“Well, you're going to sleep to-night. That's
the reason I'm here. I saw you in court this af-
ternoon — one glance was enough.”
“Yes,” I assented; “one glance would be.
But what's the proposition?”
“I’m staying at a little place I've leased for the
summer up on the far edge of the Bronx. I'm
going to take you up with me to-night and I'm go-
ing to keep you there till Monday. That will give
you five nights' sleep and four days' rest. Don't
you think you deserve it?”
“Yes,” I agreed with conviction, “I do; ” and
I cast my mind rapidly over the affairs of the of.
fice. With the Minturn case ended, there was
really no reason why I should not take a few days
off.
“You’ll come, then?” said Godfrey, who had
been following my thoughts. “Don’t be afraid,”
he added, seeing that I still hesitated. “You
won't find it dull.”
I looked at him, for he was smiling slightly and
his eyes were very bright.
“Won't I?’”
“No,” he said, “for I've discovered certain
phenomena in the neighbourhood which I think
will interest you.”
When Godfrey spoke in that tone, he could


4. THE GLOWED HAND
mean only one thing, and my last vestige of hesi-
tation vanished.
“All right,” I said; “I’ll come.”
“Good. I'll call for you at the Marathon
about ten-thirty. That's the earliest I can get
away,” and in another moment he was gone.
So was my fatigue, and I turned with a zest to
my letters and to the arrangements necessary for
a three days' absence. Then I went up to my
rooms, put a few things into a suit-case, got into
fresh clothes, mounted to the Astor roof-garden
for dinner, and a little after ten was back again
at the Marathon. I had Higgins bring my lug-
gage down, and sat down in the entrance-porch
to wait for Godfrey.
Just across the street gleamed the lights of the
police-station where he and I had had more than
one adventure. For Godfrey was the principal
police reporter of the Record; it was to him that
journal owed those brilliant and glowing columns
in which the latest mystery was described and dis-
sected in a way which was a joy alike to the intel-
lect and to the artistic instinct. For the editorial
policy of the Record, for its attitude toward poli-
tics, Wall Street, the trusts, “society,” I had only
aversion and disgust; but whenever the town was
shaken with a great criminal mystery, I never
missed an issue.


6 THE GLOWED HAND
In consequence, he had the entrée at times when
other reporters were rigorously barred.
It was nearly eleven o'clock before Godfrey ar-
rived that evening, but I was neither surprised nor
impatient. I knew how many and unexpected
were the demands upon his time; and I always
found a lively interest in watching the comings
and goings at the station across the way—where,
alas, the entrances far exceeded the exits! But
finally, a car swung in from the Avenue at a speed
that drew my eyes, and I saw that Godfrey was
driving it.
“Jump in,” he said, pushing out his clutch and
pausing at the curb; and as I grabbed my suit-
case and sprang to the seat beside him, he let
the clutch in again and we were off. “No time
to lose,” he added, as he changed into high, and
turned up Seventh Avenue.
At the park, he turned westward to the Circle,
and then northward again out Amsterdam Ave-
nue. There was little traffic, and we were soon
skimming along at a speed which made me watch
the cross-streets fearfully. In a few minutes we
were across the Harlem and running northward
along the uninteresting streets beyond. At this mo-
ment, it occurred to me that Godfrey was behav-
ing singularly as though he were hastening to
keep an appointment; but I judged it best not to dis-


THE GLOVED HAND 7
tract his attention from the street before us, and
restrained the question which rose to my lips.
At last, the built-up portion of the town was
left behind; we passed little houses in little yards,
then meadows and gardens and strips of wood-
land, with a house only here and there. We were
no longer on a paved street, but on a macadam
road — a road apparently little used, for our
lamps, sending long streamers of light ahead of
us, disclosed far empty stretches, without vehicle
of any kind. There was no moon, and the stars
were half-obscured by a haze of cloud, while
along the horizon to the west, I caught the oc-
casional glow of distant lightning.
And then the sky was suddenly blotted out,
and I saw that we were running along an avenue
of lofty trees. The road at the left was bor-
dered by a high stone wall, evidently the boundary
of an important estate. We were soon past this,
and I felt the speed of the car slacken.
“Hold tight!” said Godfrey, turned sharply
through an open gateway, and brought the car to
a stop. Then, snatching out his watch, he leaned
forward and held it in the glare of the side-lamp.
“Five minutes to twelve,” he said. “We can
just make it. Come on, Lester.”
He sprang from the car, and I followed, realis-
ing that this was no time for questions.


8 THE GLOWED HAND
“This way,” he said, and held out a hand to
me, or I should have lost him in the darkness.
We were in a grove of lofty trees, and at the foot
of one of these, Godfrey paused. “Up with
you,” he added; “and don't lose any time,” and
he placed my hand upon the rung of a ladder.
Too amazed to open my lips, I obeyed. The
ladder was a long one, and, as I went up and up,
I could feel Godfrey mounting after me. I am
not expert at climbing ladders, even by daylight,
and my progress was not rapid enough to suit my
companion, for he kept urging me on. But at
last, with a breath of relief, I felt that I had
reached the top.
“What now?” I asked.
“Do you see that big straight limb running out
to your right?”
“Yes,” I said, for my eyes were growing ac-
customed to the darkness.
“Sit down on it, and hold on to the ladder.”
I did so somewhat gingerly, and in a minute
Godfrey was beside me.
“Now,” he said, in a voice low and tense
with excitement, “ look out, straight ahead. And
remember to hold on to the ladder.”
I could see the hazy mist of the open sky, and
from the fitful light along the horizon, I knew
that we were looking toward the west. Below me


THE GLOWED HAND 9
was a mass of confused shadows, which I took for
clumps of shrubbery.
Then I felt Godfrey's hand close upon my arm.
“Look!” he said.
For an instant, I saw nothing; then my eyes
caught what seemed to be a new star in the
heavens; a star bright, sharp, steel blue
“Why, it's moving!” I cried.
He answered with a pressure of the fingers.
The star was indeed moving; not rising, not
drifting with the breeze, but descending, descend-
ing slowly, slowly . . . I watched it with
parted lips, leaning forward, my eyes straining at
that falling light.
“Falling ” is not the word; nor is “drifting.”
It did not fall and it did not drift. It deliberately
descended, in a straight line, at a regular speed,
calmly and evenly, as though animated by some
definite purpose. Lower and lower it sank; then
it seemed to pause, to hover in the air, and the next
instant it burst into a shower of sparks and van-
ished.
And those sparks fell upon the shoulders of two
white-robed figures, standing apparently in space,
their arms rigidly extended, their faces raised
toward the heavens.


CHAPTER II
A STRANGE NEIGHBO UR
MechANICALLY I followed Godfrey down the
ladder, and, guided by the flaring lights, made
my way back to the car. I climbed silently into
my seat, while Godfrey started the motor. Then
we rolled slowly up the driveway, and stopped
before the door of a house standing deep among
the trees.
“Wait for me here a minute,” Godfrey said,
and, when I had got out, handed me my suitcase,
and then drove the car on past the house, no doubt
to its garage.
He was soon back, opened the house-door,
switched on the lights, and waved me in.
“Here we are,” he said. “I’ll show you your
room,” and he led the way up the stairs, open-
ing a door in the hall at the top. “This is it,” he
added, and switched on the lights here also.
“The bath-room is right at the end of the hall.
Wash up, if you need to, and then come down, and
we will have a good-night smoke.”
It was a pleasant room, with the simplest of
furniture. The night-breeze ruffled the curtains at
IO


THE GLOVED HAND I I
the windows, and filled the room with the cool
odour of the woods — how different it was from
the odour of dirty asphalt! But I was in no mood
to linger there — I wanted an explanation of that
strange light and of those two white-robed figures.
So I paused only to open my grip, change into a
lounging-coat, and brush off the dust of the jour-
ney. Then I hastened downstairs.
Godfrey met me at the stair-foot, and led the
way into what was evidently a lounging-room.
A tray containing some cold meat, bread and but.
ter, cheese, and a few other things, stood on a
side-table, and to this Godfrey added two bottles
of Bass.
“No doubt you're hungry after the ride,” he
said. “I know I am,” and he opened the bottles.
“Help yourself,” and he proceeded to make him-
self a sandwich. “You see, I live the simple life
out here. I've got an old couple to look after
the place — Mr. and Mrs. Hargis. Mrs. Hargis
is an excellent cook— but to ask her to stay awake
till midnight would be fiendish cruelty. So she
leaves me a lunch in the ice-box, and goes quietly
off to bed. I'll give you some berries for break-
fast such as you don't often get in New York —
and the cream — wait till you try it! Have a
cigar?”
“No,” I said, sitting down very content with


THE GLOVED HAND 13
. . *-
“Oh, no; standing on a very substantial roof.”
“But what is it all about?” I questioned.
“Why should that light descend every midnight?
What is the light, anyway?”
“That's what I've brought you out here to
find out. You've got four clear days ahead of
you — and I'll be at your disposal from midnight
on, if you happen to need me.”
“But you must have some sort of idea about
it,” I persisted. “At least you know whose roof
those figures were standing on.”
“Yes, I know that. The roof belongs to a man
named Worthington Vaughan. Ever hear of
him?”
I shook my head.
“Neither had I,” said Godfrey, “up to the
time I took this place. Even yet, I don't know
very much. He's the last of an old family, who
made their money in real estate, and are sup-
posed to have kept most of it. He's a widower
with one daughter. His wife died about ten
years ago, and since then he has been a sort of
recluse, and has the reputation of being queer.
He has been abroad a good deal, and it is only
during the last year that he has lived continu-
ously at this place next door, which is called Elm-
hurst. That's about all I've been able to find out.
He certainly lives a retired life, for his place has


I4 THE GLOVED HAND
a twelve-foot wall around it, and no visitors need
apply.”
“How do you know?”
“I tried to make a neighbourly call yesterday, -
and wasn't admitted. Mr. Vaughan was en-
gaged. Getting ready for his regular midnight
hocus-pocus, perhaps l’”
I took a meditative puff or two.
“Is it hocus-pocus, Godfrey?” I asked, at last.
“If it is, it's a mighty artistic piece of work.”
“And if it isn't hocus-pocus, what is it?” God-
frey retorted. “A spiritual manifestation?”
I confess I had no answer ready. Ideas which
seem reasonable enough when put dimly to one-
self, become absurd sometimes when definitely
clothed with words.
“There are just two possibilities,” Godfrey went
on. “Either it's hocus-pocus, or it isn't. If it
is, it is done for some purpose. Two men don't
go out on a roof every night at midnight and
fire off a Roman candle and wave their arms
around, just for the fun of the thing.”
“It wasn't a Roman candle,” I pointed out.
“A Roman candle is visible when it's going up,
and bursts and vanishes at the top of its flight.
That light didn't behave that way at all. It
formed high in the air, remained there stationary


THE GLOVED HAND I5
for a moment, gradually grew brighter, and then
started to descend. It didn't fall, it came down
slowly, and at an even rate of speed. And it
didn't drift away before the breeze, as it would
have done if it had been merely floating in the
air. It descended in a straight line. It gave
me the impression of moving as though a will ac-
tuated it — as though it had a distinct purpose.
There was something uncanny about it!”
Godfrey nodded thoughtful agreement.
“I have felt that,” he said, “and I admit that
the behaviour of the light is extraordinary. But
that doesn't prove it supernatural. I don't be-
lieve in the supernatural. Especially I don't be-
lieve that any two mortals could arrange with the
heavenly powers to make a demonstration like
that every night at midnight for their benefit.
That's too absurdl’”
“It is absurd,” I assented, “and yet it isn't
much more absurd than to suppose that two men
would go out on the roof every night to watch a
Roman candle, as you call it, come down. Un-
less, of course, they're lunatics.”
“No,” said Godfrey, “I don't believe they're
lunatics — at least, not both of them. I have a
sort of theory about it; but it's a pretty thin one,
and I want you to do a little investigating on your


I6 THE GLOVED HAND
own account before I tell you what it is. It's time
we went to bed. Don't get up in the morning till
you're ready to. Probably I'll not see you till
night; I have some work to do that will take me
off early. But Mrs. Hargis will make you com-
fortable, and I'll be back in time to join you in
another look at the Roman candlel ”
He uttered the last words jestingly, but I could
see that the jest was a surface one, and that, at
heart, he was deeply serious. Evidently, the
strange star had impressed him even more than
it had me — though perhaps in a different man-
11Cr.
I found that it had impressed me deeply
enough, for I dreamed about it that night —
dreamed, and woke, only to fall asleep and dream
and wake again. I do not remember that I saw
any more in the dream than I had seen with my
waking eyes, but each time I awoke trembling with
apprehension and bathed in perspiration. As I lay
there the second time, staring up into the dark-
ness and telling myself I was a fool, there came
a sudden rush of wind among the trees outside;
then a vivid flash of lightning and an instant rend-
ing crash of thunder, and then a steady downpour
of rain. I could guess how the gasping city wel-
comed it, and I lay for a long time listening to it,
as it dripped from the leaves and beat against the


THE GLOVED HAND 17
house. A delightful coolness filled the room, an
odour fresh and clean; and when, at last, with
nerves quieted, I fell asleep again, it was not to
awaken until the sun was bright against my cur-
tains.


CHAPTER III
THE DRAMA IN THE GARDEN
I GLANCED at my watch, as soon as I was out
of bed, and saw that it was after ten o'clock. All
the sleep I had lost during the hot nights of the
previous week had been crowded into the last
nine hours; I felt like a new man, and when, half
an hour later, I ran downstairs, it was with such
an appetite for breakfast as I had not known for
a long time.
There was no one in the hall, and I stepped
out through the open door to the porch beyond,
and stood looking about me. The house was built
in the midst of a grove of beautiful old trees,
some distance back from the road, of which I
could catch only a glimpse. It was a small house,
a story and a half in height, evidently designed
only as a summer residence.
“Good morning, sir,” said a voice behind me,
and I turned to find a pleasant-faced, grey-haired
woman standing in the doorway.
“Good morning,” I responded. “I suppose
you are Mrs. Hargis?”
º Yes, sir; and your breakfast's ready.”
18


THE GLOVED HAND I9
“Has Mr. Godfrey gone?”
“Yes, sir; he left about an hour ago. He was
afraid his machine would waken you.” -
“It didn't,” I said, as I followed her
back along the hall. “Nothing short of an
earthquake would have wakened me Ah, this
is fine!”
She had shown me into a pleasant room, where
a little table was set near an open window. It
made quite a picture, with its white cloth and
shining dishes and plate of yellow butter, and
bowl of crimson berries, and — but I didn't
linger to admire it. I don't know when I have
enjoyed breakfast so much. Mrs. Hargis, after
bringing in the eggs and bacon and setting a little
pot of steaming coffee at my elbow, sensibly left
me alone to the enjoyment of it. Ever since that
morning, I have realised that, to start the day
exactly right, a man should breakfast by himself,
amid just such surroundings, leisurely and with-
out distraction. A copy of the morning's Record
was lying on the table, but I did not even open
it. I did not care what had happened in the world
the day before
At last, ineffably content, I stepped out upon
the driveway at the side of the house, and strolled
away among the trees. At the end of a few
minutes, I came to the high stone wall which


2O THE GLOWED HAND
bounded the estate of the mysterious Worthington
Vaughan, and suddenly the wish came to me to see
what lay behind it. Without much difficulty, I
found the tree with the ladder against it, which
we had mounted the night before. It was a long
ladder, even in the daytime, but at last I reached
the top, and settled myself on the limb against
which it rested. Assuring myself that the leaves
hid me from any chance observer, I looked down
into the grounds beyond the wall.
There was not much to see. The grounds were
extensive and had evidently been laid out with
care, but there was an air of neglect about them,
as though the attention they received was careless
and inadequate. The shrubbery was too dense,
grass was invading the walks, here and there a
tree showed a dead limb or a broken one. Near
the house was a wide lawn, designed, perhaps, as
a tennis-court or croquet-ground, with rustic seats
under the trees at the edge.
. About the house itself was a screen of magnifi-
cent elms, which doubtless gave the place its name,
and which shut the house in completely. All I
could see of it was one corner of the roof. This,
however, stood out clear against the sky, and it
was here, evidently, that the mysterious midnight
figures had been stationed. As I looked at it, I
realised the truth of Godfrey's remark that prob-


THE GLOWED HAND 2 I
ably from no other point of vantage but just this
would they be visible.
It did not take me many minutes to exhaust the
interest of this empty prospect, more especially
since my perch was anything but comfortable, and
I was just about to descend, when two white-robed
figures appeared at the edge of the open space
near the house and walked slowly across it. I
settled back into my place with a tightening of in-
terest which made me forget its discomfort, for
that these were the two star-worshippers I did
not doubt.
The distance was so great that their faces were
the merest blurs; but I could see that one leaned
heavily upon the arm of the other, as much, or
so it seemed to me, for moral as for physical sup-
port. I could see, too, that the hair of the feebler
man was white, while that of his companion was
jet black. The younger man's face appeared so
dark that I suspected he wore a beard, and his
figure was erect and vigorous, in the prime of life,
virile and full of power.
He certainly dominated the older man. I
watched them attentively, as they paced back and
forth, and the dependence of the one upon the
other was very manifest. Both heads were bent
as though in earnest talk, and for perhaps half
an hour they walked slowly up and down. Then,


22 THE GLOWED HAND
at a sign of fatigue from the older figure, the
other led him to a garden-bench, where both sat
down.
Worthington Vaughan. Small wonder he was
considered queer if he dressed habitually in a white
robe and worshipped the stars at midnight!
There was something monkish about the habits
which he and his companion wore, and the thought
flashed into my mind that perhaps they were mem-
bers of some religious order, or some Oriental
cult or priesthood. And both of them, I added
to myself, must be a little mad!
As I watched, the discussion gradually grew
more animated, and the younger man, springing
to his feet, paced excitedly up and down, touching
his forehead with his fingers from time to time,
and raising his hands to heaven, as though call-
ing it as a witness to his words. At last the other
made a sign of assent, got to his feet, bent his
head reverently as to a spiritual superior and
walked slowly away toward the house. The
younger man stood gazing after him until he
passed from sight, then resumed his rapid pacing
up and down, evidently deeply moved.
At last from the direction of the house came
the flutter of a white robe. For a moment, I
thought it was the old man returning; then as it
The elder man, I told myself, was no doubt


THE GLOWED HAND 23
emerged fully from among the trees, I saw that
it was a woman — a young woman, I guessed, from
her slimness, and from the mass of dark hair which
framed her face. And then I remembered that
Godfrey had told me that Worthington Vaughan
had a daughter.
The man was at her side in an instant, held out
his hand, and said something, which caused her
to shrink away. She half-turned, as though to
flee, but the other laid his hand upon her arm,
speaking earnestly, and, after a moment, she per-
mitted him to lead her to a seat. He remained
standing before her, sometimes raising his hands
to heaven, sometimes pointing toward the house,
sometimes bending close above her, and from time
to time making that peculiar gesture of touching
his fingers to his forehead, whose meaning I could
not guess. But I could guess at the torrent of
passionate words which poured from his lips, and
at the eager light which was in his eyes!
The woman sat quite still, with bowed head,
listening, but making no sign either of consent or
refusal. Gradually, the man grew more confident,
and at last stooped to take her hand, but she
drew it quickly away, and, raising her head, said
something slowly and with emphasis. He shook
his head savagely, then, after a rapid turn up
and down, seemed to agree, bowed low to


24 THE GLOVED HAND
her, and went rapidly away toward the house.
The woman sat for some time where he had left
her, her face in her hands; then, with a gesture
of weariness and discouragement, crossed the
lawn and disappeared among the trees.
For a long time I sat there motionless, my eyes
on the spot where she had disappeared, trying to
understand. What was the meaning of the scene?
What was it the younger man had urged so pas-
sionately upon her, but at which she had rebelled?
What was it for which he had pled so earnestly?
The obvious answer was that he pled for her love,
that he had urged her to become his wife; but
the answer did not satisfy me. His attitude had
been passionate enough, but it had scarcely been
lover-like. It had more of admonition, of warn-
ing, even of threat, than of entreaty in it. It was
not the attitude of a lover to his mistress, but of
a master to his pupil.
And what had been the answer, wrung from
her finally by his insistence — the answer to which
he had at first violently dissented, and then re-
luctantly agreed?
No doubt, if these people had been garbed in
the clothes of every day, I should have felt at the
outset that all this was none of my business, and
have crept down the ladder and gone away. But
their strange dress gave to the scene an air at


THE GLOWED HAND 25
once unreal and theatrical, and not for an instant
had I felt myself an intruder. It was as though
I were looking at the rehearsal of a drama de-
signed for the public gaze and enacted upon a
stage; or, more properly, a pantomime, dim and
figurative, but most impressive. Might it not,
indeed, be a rehearsal of some sort — private
theatricals— make-believe? But that scene at
midnight — that could not be make-believe! No,
nor was this scene in the garden. It was in ear-
nest — in deadliest earnest; there was about it
something sinister and threatening; and it was the
realisation of this — the realisation that there
was something here not right, something demand-
ing scrutiny — which kept me chained to my un-
comfortable perch, minute after minute.
But nothing further happened, and I realised,
at last, that if I was to escape an agonising cramp
in the leg, I must get down. I put my feet on
the ladder, and then paused for a last look about
the grounds. My eye was caught by a flutter of
white among the trees. Someone was walking
along one of the paths; in a moment, straining
forward, I saw it was the woman, and that she
was approaching the wall.
And then, as she came nearer, I saw that she
was not a woman at all, but a girl—a girl of
eighteen or twenty, to whom the flowing robes


26 THE GLOVED HAND
gave, at a distance, the effect of age. I caught
only a glimpse of her face before it was hidden by
a clump of shrubbery, but that glimpse told me
that it was a face to set the pulses leaping. I
strained still farther forward, waiting until she
should come into sight again. -
\ Along the path she came, with the sunlight
about her, kissing her hair, her lips, her cheeks —
and the next instant her eyes were staring upwards
into mine.
I could not move. I could only stare down
at her. I saw the hot colour sweep across her face;
I saw her hand go to her bosom; I saw her turn
to flee. Then, to my amazement, she stopped, as
though arrested by a sudden thought, turned
toward me again, and raised her eyes deliberately
to mine.
For fully a minute she stood there, her gaze
searching and intent, as though she would read
my soul; then her face hardened with sudden reso-
lution. Again she put her hand to her bosom,
turned hastily toward the wall, and disappeared
behind it.
The next instant, something white came flying
over it, and fell on the grass beneath my tree.
Staring down at it, I saw it was a letter.


CHAPTER IV
ENTER FREDDIE SWAIN
I FELL, rather than climbed, down the ladder,
snatched the white missile from the grass, and saw
that it was, indeed, a sealed and addressed envel-
ope. I had somehow expected that address to
include either Godfrey's name or mine; but it did
neither. The envelope bore these words:
MR. FREDERIC Swain,
IoIo Fifth Avenue,
New York City.
If not at this address,
please try the Calumet Club. .
I sat down on the lowest rung of the ladder,
whistling softly to myself. For Freddie Swain's
address was no longer IoIo Fifth Avenue, nor
was he to be found in the luxurious rooms of the
Calumet Club. In fact, it was enarly a year since
he had entered either place. For some eight
hours of every week-day, he laboured in the law
offices of Royce & Lester; he slept in a little room
on the top floor of the Marathon; three hours of
every evening, Saturdays, Sundays and holidays
27


28 THE GLOWED HAND
excepted, were spent at the law school of the Uni-
versity of New York; and the remaining hours of:
the twenty-four in haunts much less conspicuous and
expensive than the Calumet Club.
For Freddie Swain had taken one of these tobog-
gan slides down the hill of fortune which some-
times happen to the most deserving. His father,
old General Orlando Swain, had, all his life, put
up a pompous front and was supposed to have
inherited a fortune from somewhere; but, when
he died, this edifice was found to be all façade
and no foundation, and Freddie inherited nothing
but debts. He had been expensively educated for
a career as an Ornament of Society, but he found
that career cut short, for Society suddenly ceased
to find him ornamental. I suppose there were too
many marriageable daughters about!
I am bound to say that he took the blow well.
Instead of attempting to cling to the skirts of
Society as a vendor of champagne or an organiser
of fêtes champêtres, he – to use his own words
— decided to cut the whole show.
Our firm had been named as the administrators
of the Swain estate, and when the storm was over
and we were sitting among the ruins, Freddie ex-
pressed the intention of going to work.
“What will you do?” Mr. Royce inquired.
“Ever had any training in making money?”


THE GLOVED HAND 29
“No, only in spending it,” retorted Freddie,
easily. “But I can learn. I was thinking of
studying law. That's a good trade, isn't it?”
“Splendid!” assented Mr. Royce, warmly.
“And there are always so many openings. You
see, nobody studies law — lawyers are as scarce .
as hen's teeth.”
“Just the same, I think I'll have a try at it,”
said Freddie, sturdily. “There's always room at
the top, you know,” he added, with a grin. “I
can go to the night-school at the University, and
I ought to be able to earn enough to live on, as
a clerk or something. I know how to read and
write.”
“That will help, of course,” agreed Mr. Royce.
“But I'm afraid that, right at first, anyway, you
can scarcely hope to live in the style to which you
have been accustomed.” -
Freddie turned on him with fire in his eyes.
“Look here,” he said, “suppose you give me
a job. I'll do my work and earn my wages —
try me and see.” -
There was something in his face that touched
me, and I glanced at Mr. Royce. I saw that his
gruffness was merely a mantle to cloak his real
feelings; and the result was that Freddie Swain
was set to work as a copying-clerk at a salary of
fifteen dollars a week. He applied himself to


3O THE GLOWED HAND
his work with an energy that surprised me, and I
learned that he was taking the night-course at the
University, as he had planned. Finally, one
night, I met him as I was turning in to my rooms
at the Marathon, and found that he had rented
a cubby-hole on the top floor of the building.
After that, I saw him occasionally, and when six
months had passed, was forced to acknowledge
that he was thoroughly in earnest. I happened
to remark to Mr. Royce one day that Swain
seemed to be making good.
“Yes,” my partner agreed; “I didn't think he
had it in him. He had a rude awakening from his
dream of affluence, and it seems to have done him
good.”
But, somehow, I had fancied that it was from
more than a dream of affluence he had been
awakened; and now, as I sat staring at this letter,
I began to understand dimly what the other dream
had been.
The first thing was to get the letter into his
hands, for I was certain that it was a cry for help.
I glanced at my watch and saw that it was nearly
half past twelve. Swain, I knew, would be at
lunch, and was not due at the office until one
o'clock. Slipping the letter into my pocket, I
turned back to the house, and found Mrs. Hargis
standing on the front porch.


THE GLOVED HAND 3 I
“I declare, I thought you was lost, Mr.
Lester,” she said. “I was just going to send
William to look for you. Ain't you 'most
starved?”
“Scarcely starved, Mrs. Hargis,” I said, “but
with a very creditable appetite, when you consider
that I ate breakfast only two hours ago.”
“Well, come right in,” she said. “Your
lunch is ready.”
“I suppose there's a telephone somewhere
about?” I asked, as I followed her through the
hall.
“Yes, sir, in here,” and she opened the door
into a little room fitted up as a study. “It's here
Mr. Godfrey works sometimes.”
“Thank you,” I said, “I’ve got to call up the
office. I won't be but a minute.”
I found Godfrey's number stamped on the cover
of the telephone book, and then called the office.
As I had guessed, Swain was not yet back from
lunch, and I left word for him to call me as soon
as he came in. Then I made my way to the
dining-room, where Mrs. Hargis was awaiting
Ine.
“How does one get out here from New York,
Mrs. Hargis?” I asked, as I sat down. “That
is, if one doesn't happen to own a motor car?”
“Why, very easily, sir. Take the Third Ave-
y


32 THE GLOWED HAND
nue elevated to the end of the line, and then the
trolley. It runs along Dryden Road, just two
blocks over.”
“Where does one get off?”
“At Prospect Street, sir.”
“And what is this place called?”
“This is the old Bennett place, sir.”
“Thank you. And let me tell you, Mrs. Har-
gis,” I added, “that I have never tasted a better
salad.”
Her kindly old face flushed with pleasure.
“It's nice of you to say that, sir,” she said.
“We have our own garden, and William takes
a great pride in it.”
“I must go and see it,” I said. “I’ve always
fancied I'd like to potter around in a garden. I
must see if Mr. Godfrey won't let me in on this.”
“He spends an hour in it every morning.
Sometimes he can hardly tear hisself away. I
certainly do like Mr. Godfrey.”
“So do I,” I agreed heartily. “He’s a splen-
did fellow — one of the nicest, squarest men I
ever met — and a friend worth having.”
“He’s all of that, sir,” she agreed, and stood
for a moment, clasping and unclasping her hands
nervously, as though there was something else
she wished to say. But she evidently thought bet-
ter of it. “There's the bell, sir,” she added.


34 THE GLOWED HAND
I could see a break in the wall, about midway
of its length, and, walking past, discovered that
this was where the gates were set — heavy gates
of wrought iron, very tall, and surmounted by
sharp spikes. The whole length of the wall was,
I judged, considerably over a city block, but there
was no other opening in it.
At the farther end, it was bounded by a cross-
road, and, turning along this, I found that the
wall extended nearly the same distance in this di-
rection. There was an opening about midway—
a small opening, closed by a heavy, iron-banded
door — the servants' entrance, I told myself.
The grounds of a row of houses facing the road
beyond ran up to the wall at the back, and I could
not follow it without attracting notice, but I could
see that there was no break in it. I was almost
certain that the wall which closed the estate on
Godfrey's side was also unbroken. There were,
then, only the two entrances.
I walked back again to the front, and paused
for a glance through the gates. But there was
nothing to be seen. The driveway parted and
curved away out of sight in either direction, and
a dense mass of shrubbery opposite the gate shut
off any view of the grounds. Even of the house,
there was nothing to be seen except the chimneys
and one gable. Evidently, Mr. Vaughan was


THE GLOVED HAND 35
fond of privacy, and had spared no pains to se-
cure it.
Opposite the Vaughan place, a strip of woodland
ran back from the road. It was dense with un-
dergrowth, and, I reflected, would form an ad-
mirable hiding-place. The road itself seemed
little travelled, and I judged that the main artery
of traffic was the road along which the trolley ran,
two blocks away.
I returned to my starting point, and assured
myself that the wall on that side was indeed with-
out a break. Some vines had started up it here
and there, but, for the most part, it loomed grey
and bleak, crowned along its whole length by that
threatening line of broken glass. I judged it to
be twelve feet high, so that, even without the glass,
it would be impossible for anyone to get over it
without assistance. As I stood there looking at
it, resenting the threat of that broken glass, and
pondering the infirmity of character which such a
threat revealed, it suddenly struck me that the upper
part of the wall differed slightly from the lower
part. It was a little lighter in colour, a little newer
in appearance; and, examining the wall more
closely, I discovered that originally it had been
only eight or nine feet high, and that the upper
part had been added at a later date — and last of
all, of course, the broken glass!


36 THE GLOWED HAND
As I turned back, at last, toward the house, I
saw someone coming up the drive. In a moment,
I recognised Swain, and quickened my steps.
“You made good time,” I said.
“Yes, sir; I was fortunate in catching an ex-
press and not having to wait for the trolley.”
“We'd better go into the house,” I added. “I
have a message for you — a confidential mes-
sage.”
He glanced at me quickly, but followed silently,
as I led the way into Godfrey's study and care-
fully closed the door.
“Sit down,” I said, and I sat down myself and
looked at him.
I had always thought Swain a handsome, thor-
oughbred-looking fellow; and I saw that, in the
past few months, he had grown more thorough-
bred-looking than ever. His face was thinner than
when he had first gone to work for us, there was
a new line between his eyebrows, and the set of
his lips told of battles fought and won. A year
ago, it had seemed natural to call him Freddie,
but no one would think of doing so now. His
father's creditors had not attempted to take from
him his wardrobe — a costly and extensive one
— so that he was dressed as carefully, if not quite
as fashionably, as ever, in a way that suggested a
young millionaire, rather than a fifteen-dollar-a-


THE GLOVED HAND 37
week clerk. At this moment, his face was
clouded, and he drummed the arm of his chair
with nervous fingers. Then he shifted uneasily
under my gaze, which was, perhaps, more earnest
than I realised.
“You said you had a message for me, sir,” he
reminded me.
“Yes,” I said. “Have you ever been out
this way before?”
“Yes, I have been out this way a number of
times.”
“You know this place, then?”
“I have heard it mentioned, but I have never
been here before.”
“Do you know whose place that is next door
to us?”
“Yes,” and his voice sank to a lower key. “It
belongs to Worthington Vaughan.”
“And you know him?”
“At one time, I knew him quite well, sir,” and
his voice was still lower.
“No doubt,” I went on, more and more in-
terested, “you also knew his very fascinating
daughter.”
A wave of colour crimsoned his face.
“Why are you asking me these questions, Mr.
Lester?” he demanded.
“Because,” I said, “the message I have is


38 THE GLOVED HAND
from that young lady, and is for a man named
Frederic Swain.”
He was on his feet, staring at me, and all the
blood was gone from his cheeks.
“A message!” he cried. “From her!
From Marjorie! What is it, Mr. Lester? For
God's sake . . .”
“Here it is,” I said, and handed him the letter.
He seized it, took one look at the address, then
turned away to the window and ripped the envel-
ope open. He unfolded the sheet of paper it
contained, and as his eyes ran along it, his face
grew whiter still. At last he raised his eyes and
stared at me with the look of a man who felt
the world tottering about him.


CHAPTER V
A CALL FOR HELP
“FOR heaven's sake, Swain,” I said, “sit down
and pull yourself together.”
But he did not seem to hear me. Instead he
read the letter through again, then he turned
toward me.
“How did you get this, Mr. Lester?” he
asked.
“I found it lying under the trees. It had been
thrown over the wall.”
“But how did you know it was thrown over by
Miss Vaughan?”
“That was an easy guess,” I said, sparring
feebly. “Who else would attempt to conduct a
surreptitious correspondence with a handsome
young man?”
But he did not smile; the look of intensity in
his eyes deepened. 47
“Come, Mr. Lester,” he protested, “don’t
play with me. I have a right to know the truth.”
“What right?” I queried.
He paused an instant, as though nerving him-
self to speak, as though asking himself how much
39


40 THE GLOVED HAND
he should tell me. Then he came toward me im-
pulsively.
“Miss Vaughan and I are engaged to be mar-
ried,” he said. “Some persons may tell you that
the engagement has been broken off; more than
once, I have offered to release her, but she re-
fuses to be released. We love each other.”
The word “love '' is a difficult one for us
Anglo-Saxons to pronounce; the voice in which
Swain uttered it brought me to my feet, with out-
stretched hand.
“If there's anything I can do for you, my boy,”
I said, “tell me.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lester,” and he returned my
clasp. “You have done a great deal already in
giving me this letter so promptly. The only other
thing you can do is to permit me to stay here until
to-night.”
“Until to-night?”
“Miss Vaughan asks me to meet her to-night.”
“In her father's grounds?”
“Yes.”
“Unknown to him?”
“Yes.”
“He is not friendly to you?”
“No.”
I had a little struggle with myself.
“See here, Swain,” I said, “sit down and let


THE GLOWED HAND 4 I
us talk this thing over calmly. Before I promise
anything, I should like to know more of the story.
From the glimpse I caught of Miss Vaughan, I
could see that she is very beautiful, and she also
seemed to me to be very young.”
“She is nineteen,” said Swain.
“Her father is wealthy, I suppose?”
“Very wealthy.”
“And her mother is dead?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” I began, and hesitated, fearing to
wound him. -
“I know what you are thinking,” Swain burst
in, “and I do not blame you. You are thinking
that she is a young, beautiful and wealthy girl,
while I am a poverty-stricken nonentity, without
any profession, and able to earn just enough to live
on — perhaps I couldn't do even that, if I had
to buy my clothes! You are thinking that her
father is right to separate us, and that she ought
to be protected from me. Isn't that it?”
“Yes,” I admitted, “ something like that.”
“And I answer, Mr. Lester, by saying that all
that is true, that I am not worthy of her, and that
nobody knows it better than. I do. There are
thousands of men who could offer her far more
than I can, and who would be eager to offer it.
But when I asked her to marry me, I thought my-


42 THE GLOVED HAND
self the son of a wealthy man. When I found
myself a pauper, I wrote at once to release her.
She replied that when she wished her release, she
would ask for it; that it wasn't my money she was
in love with. Then I came out here and had a
talk with her father. He was kind enough, but
pointed out that the affair could not go further
until I had established myself. I agreed, of
course; I agreed, too, when he suggested that it
would only be fair to her to leave her free — not
to see her or write to her, or try to influence her
in any way. I wanted to be fair to her. Since
then, I have not seen her, nor heard from her.
But her father's feelings have changed toward
me.”
“In what way?”
“I thought he might be interested to know
what I was doing, and two or three months ago, I
called and asked to see him. Instead of seeing
me, he sent word by a black-faced fellow in a white
robe that neither he nor his daughter wished to
see me again.”
His face was red with the remembered humili-
ation.
“I wrote to Miss Vaughan once, after that,”
he added, “but my letter was not answered.”
“Evidently she didn't get your letter.”
“Why do you think so?”


THE GLOVED HAND 43
“If she had got it, she would have known that
you were no longer at IoIo Fifth Avenue. Her
father, no doubt, kept it from her.”
He flushed still more deeply, and started to
say something, but I held him silent.
“He was justified in keeping it,” I said. “You
had promised not to write to her. And I don't
see that you have given me any reason why I
should assist you against him.”
“I haven't,” Swain admitted more calmly,
“and under ordinary circumstances, my self-re-
spect, would compel me to keep away. I am not
a fortune-hunter. But I can't keep away; I can't
stand on my dignity. When she calls for aid, I
must go to her, not for my own sake but for hers,
because she needs to be protected from her father
far more than from me.”
“What do you mean by that?” I demanded.
“Mr. Lester,” he said, leaning forward in his
chair and speaking in a lowered voice and with
great earnestness, “her father is mad — I am sure
of it. No one but a madman would live and dress
as he does; no one but a madman would devote his
whole time to the study of the supernatural; no
one but a madman would believe in the super-
natural as he does.”
But I shook my head.
“I’m afraid that won't do, Swain. A good


44 THE GLOWED HAND
many fairly sane people believe in the super-
natural and devote themselves to its study — there
is William James, for instance.”
“But William James doesn't dress in flowing
robes, and worship the sun, and live with a Hindu
mystic.”
“No,” I smiled, “he doesn’t do that,” and I
thought again of the mysterious light and of the
two white-clad figures. “Does he live with a
Hindu mystic?”
“Yes,” said Swain, bitterly. “An adept, or
whatever they call it. He's the fellow who kicked
me out.”
“Does he speak English?”
“Better than I do. He seems a finely-educated
man.”
“Is he a lunatic, too?”
Swain hesitated.
“I don't know,” he said, finally. “I only saw
him once, and I was certainly impressed — I
wasn't one, two, three with him. I suppose mys-
ticism comes more or less natural to a Hindu; but
I'm convinced that Mr. Vaughan has softening of
the brain.”
“How old is he?”
“About sixty.”
“Has he always been queer?”
“He has always been interested in telepathy and


THE GLOWED HAND 45
mental suggestion, and all that sort of thing. But
before his wife's death, he was fairly normal. It
was her death that started him on this supernat-
ural business. He hasn't thought of anything
else since.”
“Are there any relatives who could be asked to
interfere?”
“None that I know of.”
I thought over what he had told me.
“Well,” I said at last, “I can see no harm in
your meeting Miss Vaughan and finding out what
the condition of affairs really is. If her father
is really mad, he may be a good deal worse
now than he was when you saw him last. It
would, of course, be possible to have his sanity
tested — but his daughter would scarcely wish to
do that.” -
“No, of course not,” Swain agreed.
“Her letter tells you nothing?”
“Nothing except that she is in great trouble,
and wishes to see me at once.”
“You are to go to the house?”
“No; there is an arbour in one corner of the
grounds. She says that she will be there at eleven-
thirty every night for three nights. After that,
she says it will be no use for me to come — that
it will be too late.”
“What does she mean by “too late'?”


46 THE GLOVED HAND
“I have no idea,” he answered, and turned to
another anxious perusal of the letter.
I turned the situation over in my mind. Evi-
dently Miss Vaughan believed that she had grave
cause for alarm, and yet it was quite possible she
might be mistaken. She was being urged to con-
sent to something against her will, but perhaps it
was for her own good. In any event, I had seen
no indication that her consent was being sought by
violence. There must be no interference on our
part until we were surer of our ground.
“Well, Swain,” I said, at last, “I will help
you on one condition.”
“What is that?”
“You will meet Miss Waughan to-night and hear
her story, but you will take no action until you
and I have talked the matter over. She, herself,
says that she has three days,” I went on, as he
started to protest, “so there is no necessity for
leaping in the dark. And I would point out to
you that she is not yet of age, but is still under her
father's control.”
“She is nineteen,” he protested.
“In this state, the legal age for women, as for
men, is twenty-one. The law requires a very seri-
ous reason for interfering between a child and its
father. Moreover,” I added, “she must not be
compromised. If you persuade her to accompany


THE GLOVED HAND 47
you to-night, where would you take her? In no
case, will I be a party to an elopement — I will do
all I can to prevent it.”
He took a short turn up and down the room,
his hands clenched behind him.
“Mr. Lester,” he said, at last, stopping before
me, “I want you to believe that I have not even
thought of an elopement — that would be too
base, too unfair to her. But I see that you are
right. She must not be compromised.”
“And you promise to ask my advice?”
“Suppose I make such a promise, what then?”
“If you make such a promise, and I agree with
you as to the necessity for Miss Vaughan to leave
her father, I think I can arrange for her to stay
with Mr. and Mrs. Royce for a time. There she
will be safe. Should legal proceedings become
necessary, our firm will help you. I want to help
you, Swain,” I added, warmly, “but I must be con-
vinced that you deserve help. That's reasonable,
isn't it?”
“Yes,” he agreed, and held out his hand.
“And I promise.”
“Good. And now for the arrangements.”
Two twelve-foot ladders were necessary, one
for either side of the wall; but, beyond a short
step-ladder, the place possessed none except the
long one by which Godfrey and I had mounted


48 THE GLOWED HAND
into the tree. Swain suggested that this might
do for one, but I felt that it would better stay
where it was, and sent Hargis over to Yonkers to
buy two new ones, instructing him to bring them
back with him.
Then Swain and I reconnoitred the wall, and
chose for the crossing a spot where the glass es-
carpment seemed a little less formidable than else-
where. -
“You can step from one ladder to the other,”
I pointed out, “without touching the top of the
wall. A mere touch would be dangerous in the
dark.”
He nodded his agreement, and finally we went
back to the house. Getting there, we found sud-
denly that we had nothing more to say. Swain
was soon deep in his own thoughts; and, I must
confess, that, after the first excitement, I began
to find the affair a little wearying. Another man's
love-affair is usually wearying; and, besides that,
the glimpse which I had caught of Marjorie
Vaughan made me think that she was worthy of a
bigger fish than Swain would ever be. He was
right in saying that there were thousands of men
who had more to give her, and who would be
eager to give.
I examined Swain, as he sat there staring at


THE GLOWED HAND 49
nothing, with eyes not wholly friendly. He was
handsome enough, but in a stereotyped way. And
he was only an insignificant clerk, with small pros-
pect of ever being anything much better, for he
had started the battle of life too late. Honest,
of course, honourable, clean-hearted, but common-
place, with a depth of soul easily fathomed. I
know now that I was unjust to Swain, but, at the
moment, my scrutiny of him left me strangely de-
pressed. -
A rattle of wheels on the drive brought us both
out of our thoughts. It was Hargis returning with
the ladders. I had him hang them up against the
shed where he kept his gardening implements, for
I did not wish him to suspect the invasion we
had planned; then, just to kill time and get away
from Swain, I spent an hour with Hargis in his
garden; and finally came the summons to dinner.
An hour later, as we sat on the front porch smok-
ing, and still finding little or nothing to say, Mrs.
Hargis came out to bid us good-night. -
“Mr. Swain can use the bedroom next to yours,
Mr. Lester,” she said.
“Perhaps he won't stay all night,” I said. “If
he does, I'll show him the way to it. And thank
you very much, Mrs. Hargis.” ,
“Is there anything else I can do, sir?”


50 THE GLOVED HAND
“No, thank you.”
“Mr. Godfrey will be here a little before mid-
night — at least, that's his usual time.” -
“We'll wait up for him,” I said. “Good
night, Mrs. Hargis.”
“Good night, sir,” and she went back into the
house.
I have never passed through a longer or more
trying hour than the next one was, and I could
tell by the way Swain twitched about in his chair
that he felt the tedium as much as I. Once or
twice I tried to start a conversation, but it soon
trickled dry; and we ended by smoking away
moodily and staring out into the darkness.
At last Swain sprang to his feet.
“I can't stand this any longer,” he said. “I’m
going over the wall.”
I struck a match and looked at my watch.
“It isn't eleven o'clock yet,” I warned him.
“I don't care. Perhaps she'll be ahead of time.
Anyway, I might as well wait there as here.”
“Come on, then,” I agreed, for I felt myself
that another such hour would be unendurable.
Together we made our way back to the shed and
took down the ladders. A moment later, we were
at the wall. Swain placed his ladder against it,
and mounted quickly to the top. As he paused
there, I handed him up the other one. He caught


THE GLOWED HAND 5 I
it from my hands, lifted it over the wall, and
lowered it carefully on the other side. As he did
so, I heard him give a muffled exclamation of
mingled pain and annoyance, and knew that he
had cut himself.
“Not bad, is it?” I asked.
“No; only a scratch on the wrist,” he answered
shortly, and the next instant he had swung himself
over the wall and disappeared.


CHAPTER VI
The scream IN THE NIGHT
FoR some moments, I stood staring up into the
darkness, half-expecting that shadowy figure to re-
appear, descend the ladder, and rejoin me. Then
I shook myself together. The fact that our plot
was really moving, that Swain was in the enemy's
country, so to speak, gave the affair a finality
which it had lacked before. It was too late now
to hesitate or turn back; we must press forward.
I felt as though, after a long period of uncertainty,
war had been declared and the advance definitely
begun. So it was with a certain sense of relief
that I turned away, walked slowly back to the
house, and sat down again upon the porch to
wait.
Now waiting is seldom a pleasant or an easy
thing, and I found it that night most unpleasant
and uneasy. For, before long, doubts began to
crowd upon me — doubts of the wisdom of the
course I had subscribed to. It would have been
wiser, I told myself, if it had been I, and not
Swain, who had gone to the rendezvous; wiser
still, perhaps, to have sought an interview openly,
52


THE GLOWED HAND 53
and to have made sure of the facts before seeming
to encourage what might easily prove to be a girl's
more or less romantic illusions. A midnight in-
terview savoured too much of melodrama to ap-
peal to a middle-aged lawyer like myself, how-
ever great its appeal might be to youthful lovers.
At any rate, I would be certain that the need was
very great before I consented to meddle further!
Somewhat comforted by this resolution and
by the thought that no real harm had as yet been
done, I struck a match and looked at my watch.
It was half-past eleven. Well, whatever the story
was, Swain was hearing it now, and I should hear
it before long. And then I caught the hum of an
approaching car, and was momentarily blinded by
the glare of acetylene lamps. -
“Hello, Lester,” called Godfrey's voice, “I’ll
be back in a minute,” and he ran the car on toward
the rear of the house.
I stood up with a gasp of thankfulness. Here
was someone to confide in and advise with. The
stretch of lonely waiting was at an end; it had
been a trying evening!
I think the warmth of my greeting surprised
Godfrey, for he looked at me curiously.
“Sit down, Godfrey,” I said. “I’ve got
something to tell you.”
“What, discoveries already?” he laughed, but


54 THE GLOVED HAND
he drew a chair close to mine and sat down.
“Well, what are they?”
I began at the beginning and related the day's
adventures. He listened without comment, but I
could see how his interest grew.
“So young Swain is over in those grounds now,”
he said thoughtfully, when I had finished.
“Yes; he's been there three-quarters of an
hour.”
“Why do you suppose Miss Vaughan named
so late an hour?”
“I don't know. Perhaps because she was
afraid of being discovered earlier than that — or
perhaps merely because she's just a romantic girl.”
Godfrey sat with his head bent in thought for
a moment.
“I have it!” hes aid. “At eleven-thirty every
night her father and the adept go up to the roof,
to remain there till midnight. That is the one
time of the whole day when she is absolutely sure
to be alone. Come along, Lester!”
He was on his feet now, and his voice was
quivering with excitement.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Up"the ladder. It's nearly twelve. If the
star falls as usual, we'll know that everything is
all right. If it doesn't . . .”
He did not finish, but hurried away among the


THE GLOWED HAND 55
trees. In a moment we were at the ladder; in
another moment we were high among the leaves,
straining our eyes through the darkness.
“I’m going to look at my watch,” said God-
frey, in a low voice. “Lean back and screen
me.”
I heard the flash of the match and saw a little
glare of light against the nearest leaves. Then
Godfrey's voice spoke again.
“It's three minutes of twelve,” he said.
There was a tension in his voice which sent a
shiver through me, though I understood but dimly
what it was he feared. The stars were shining
brightly, and once I fancied that I saw the strange
star appear among them; but when I closed my
eyes for an instant and looked again, it was gone.
Slow minute followed minute, and the hand with
which I clutched the ladder began to tremble.
The sight of that mysterious light had shaken me
the night before, but not half so deeply as its ab-
sence shook me now. At last the suspense grew
unendurable.
“It must be long past midnight,” I whispered.
“It is,” agreed Godfrey gravely; “we may as
well go down.”
He paused an instant longer to stare out into
the darkness, then descended quickly. I followed,
and found him waiting, a dark shadow. He put
*


56 THE GLOWED HAND
his hand on my arm, and stood a moment, as
though in indecision. For myself, I felt as though
an intolerable burden had been laid upon my
shoulders.
“Well,” I asked, at last, “what now?”
“We must see if Swain has returned,” he an-
swered. “If he has, all right. If he hasn't,
we'll have to go and look for him.”
“What is it you fear, Godfrey?” I demanded.
“Do you think Swain's in danger?”
“I don't know what I fear; but there's some-
thing wrong over there. This is the first night
for a week that that light hasn't appeared.”
“Still,” I pointed out, “that may have noth-
ing to do with Swain.”
“No; but it's a coincidence that he should be in
the grounds — and I'm always afraid of coinci-
dences. Let us see if he is back,” and he turned
toward the house.
But I held his arm.
“If he's back,” I said, “he’ll have taken the
ladders down from the wall.”
“That's true,” and together we made our way
forward among the trees. Then we reached the
wall, and there was the dim white line of the lad-
der leaning against it. Without a word, Godfrey
mounted it, stood an instant at the top, and then
came down again.


THE GLOVED HAND 57
“The other ladder is still there,” he said, and
took off his cap and rubbed his head perplexedly.
I could not see his face, but I could guess how
tense it was. I had been with him in many try-
ing situations, but only once before had I seen
him use that gesturel
“It won't do to alarm the house,” he said, at
last. “Do you know where he was to meet Miss
Vaughan?”
“At an arbour in one corner of the grounds,” I
answered.
“Then we'll start from there and take a quiet
look for him. Wait here for me a minute.”
He melted into the darkness, and I stood hold-
ing on to the ladder as though in danger of fall-
ing, and staring at the top of the wall, where I
had last seen Swain. An hour and a half had
passed since then.
A touch on the arm brought me around with
a Start.
“Here, put this pistol in your pocket,” said
Godfrey's voice, and I felt the weapon pressed
into my hand. “And here's an electric torch.
Do you feel the button?”
“Yes,” I said, and pressed it. A ray of light
shot toward the wall, but I released the button
instantly.
“You’d better keep it in your hand,” he added,


58 THE GLOVED HAND
“ready for action. No telling what we'll run
across. And now come ahead.”
He put his foot on the ladder, but I stopped
him.
“Look here, Godfrey,” I said, “do you realise
that what we're about to do is pretty serious?
Swain might have a legal excuse, since the daughter
of the house invited him to a meeting; but if we
go over the wall, we're trespassers pure and simple.
Anybody who runs across us in the darkness has
the right to shoot us down without asking any ques-
tions — and we'd have no legal right to shoot
back! ”
I could hear Godfrey chuckling, and I felt my
cheeks redden.
“You remind me of Tartarin,” he said; “the
adventurer-Tartarin urging you on, the lawyer-Tar-
tarin holding you back. My advice is to shake
the lawyer, Lester. He's out of his element here
to-night. But if he's too strong for you, why,
stay here,” and he started up the ladder.
Burning with vexation, I started after him, but
suddenly he stopped.
“Listen!” he whispered.
I heard something rattle against the other side
of the wall; then a dark figure appeared on the
coping.
I felt Godfrey press me back, and descended


THE GLOVED HAND 59
cautiously. A moment later, something slid down
the wall, and I knew that the person at the top had
lifted the other ladder over. Then the figure
descended, and then a distorted face stared into
the circle of Godfrey's torch.
For a breath, I did not recognise it; then I saw
that it was Swain's.
I shall never forget the shock it gave me, with
its starting eyes and working mouth and smear of
blood across the forehead. Godfrey, I knew, was
also startled, for the light flashed out for an in-
stant, and then flashed on again.
“What is it, Swain?” I cried, and seized him
by the arm; but he shook me off roughly.
“Stand back!” he cried, hoarsely. “Who is
it? What do you want?”
“It's Lester,” I said, and Godfrey flashed his
torch into my face, then back to Swain's.
“But you're not alone.”
“No; this is Mr. Godfrey.”
“Mr. Godfrey?”
“Whose house we're staying at,” I explained.
“Ah!” said Swain, and put one hand to his
head and leaned heavily against the ladder.
“I think we'd better go to the house,” God-
frey suggested, soothingly. “We all need a
bracer. Then we can talk. Don't you think so,
Mr. Swain?”


6o THE GLOVED HAND
Swain nodded vacantly, but I could see that he
had not understood. His face was still working
and he seemed to be in pain.
“I want to wash,” he said, thickly. “I cut my
wrist on that damned glass, and I'm blood all over,
and my head's wrong, somehow.” His voice
trailed off into an unintelligible mumble, but he
held one hand up into the circle of light, and I
saw that his cuff was soaked with blood and his
hand streaked with it.
“Come along, then,” said Godfrey perempto-
rily. “You're right—that cut must be attended
to,” and he started toward the house.
“Wait!” Swain called after him, with unex-
pected vigour. “We must take down the ladders.
We mustn't leave them here.”
“Why not?”
“If they're found, they'll suspect— they'll
know .” He stopped, stammering, and
again his voice trailed away into a mumble, as
though beyond his control.
Godfrey looked at him for a moment, and I
could guess at the surprise and suspicion in his
eyes. I myself was ill at ease, for there was
something in Swain's face — a sort of vacant hor-
ror and dumb shrinking — that filled me with a
vague repulsion. And then to see his jaw work-


THE GLOVED HAND 6I
ing, as he tried to form articulate words and could
not, sent a shiver over my scalp.
“Very well,” Godfrey agreed, at last. “We'll
take the ladders, since you think it so impor-
tant. You take that one, Lester, and I'll take
this.” -
I stooped to raise the ladder to my shoulder,
when suddenly, cutting the darkness like a knife,
came a scream so piercing, so vibrant with fear,
that I stood there crouching, every muscle rigid.
Again the scream came, more poignant, more ter-
rible, wrung from a woman's throat by the last
extremity of horror; and then a silence sickening
and awful. What was happening in that silence?
I stood erect, gaping, suffocated, rising as from
a long submersion. Godfrey's finger had slipped
from the button of his torch, and we were in dark-
ness; but suddenly a dim figure hurled itself past
us, up the ladder.
With a low cry, Godfrey snatched at it, but his
hand clutched only the empty air. The next in-
stant, the figure poised itself on the coping of the
wall and then plunged forward out of sight. I
heard the crash of breaking branches, a scramble,
a patter of feet, and all was still.
“It's Swain!” said Godfrey, hoarsely; “and
that's a twelve-foot drop! Why, the man's mad!
*


62 THE GLOVED HAND
Hand me that ladder, Lester!” he added, for he
was already at the top of the wall.
I lifted it, as I had done once before that night,
and saw Godfrey slide it over the wall.
“Come onl’’ he said. “We must save him if
we can l’” and he, too, disappeared.
The next instant, I was scrambling desperately
after him. The lawyer-Tartarin had vanished!


CHAPTER VII
THE TRAGEDY
THE wall was masked on the other side by a
dense growth of shrubbery, and struggling through
this, I found myself on the gravelled path where
I had seen Marjorie Vaughan. Before me, along
this path, sped a shadow which I knew to be God-
frey, and I followed at top speed. At the end
of a moment, I caught a flash of light among the
trees, and knew that we were nearing the house;
but I saw no sign of Swain.
We came to the stretch of open lawn, crossed
it, and, guided by the light, found ourselves at the
end of a short avenue of trees. At the other end,
a stream of light poured from an open door, and
against that light a running figure was silhouetted.
Even as I saw it, it bounded through the open
door and vanished.
“It's Swain!” gasped Godfrey; and then we,
too, were at that open door.
For an instant, I thought the room was empty.
Then, from behind the table in the centre, a de-
moniac, blood-stained figure rose into view, hold-
ing in its arms a white-robed woman. With a
sort of nervous shock, I saw that the man was
63


64 THE GLOVED HAND
Swain, and the woman Marjorie Vaughan. A
thrill of fear ran through me as I saw how her
head fell backwards against his shoulder, how her
arms hung limp.
Without so much as a glance in our direction, he
laid her gently on a couch, fell to his knees be-
side it, and began to chafe her wrists.
It was Godfrey who mastered himself first, and
who stepped forward to Swain's side.
“Is she dead?” he asked.
Swain shook his head impatiently, without look-
ing up.
“How is she hurt?” Godfrey persisted, bend-
ing closer above the unconscious girl.
Swain shot him one red glance.
“She's not hurt!” he said, hoarsely. “She
has fainted— that's all. Go away.”
But Godfrey did not go away. After one burn-
ing look at Swain's lowering face, he bent again
above the still figure on the couch, and touched his
fingers to the temples. What he saw or felt
seemed to reassure him, for his voice was more com-
posed when he spoke again.
“I think you're right, Swain,” he said. “But
we'd better call someone.”
“Call away!” snarled Swain.
“You mean there's no one here? Surely, her
father . . .”


THE GLOVED HAND 65
He stopped, for at the words Swain had burst
into a hoarse laugh.
“Her father!” he cried. “Oh, yes; he's here!
Call him He's over there ! ”
He made a wild gesture toward a high-backed
easy-chair beside the table, his eyes gleaming with
an almost fiendish excitement; then the gleam
faded, and he turned back to the girl.
Godfrey cast one astonished glance at him and
strode to the chair. I saw his face quiver with
sudden horror, I saw him catch at the table for
support, and for an instant he stood staring down.
Then he turned stiffly toward me and motioned me
to approach.
In the chair a man sat huddled forward — a
grey-haired man, clad in a white robe. His hands
were gripping the chair-arms as though in agony.
His head hung down almost upon his knees. .
Silently Godfrey reached down and raised the
head. And a cry of horror burst from both of
uS.
The face was purple with congested blood, the
tongue swollen and horribly protruding, the eyes
suffused and starting from their sockets. And
then, at a motion from Godfrey's finger, I saw that
about the neck a cord was tightly knotted. The
man had been strangled.
Godfrey, after a breathless moment in which


66 THE GLOWED HAND
he made sure that the man was quite dead, let
the head fall forward again. It turned me sick
to see how low it sagged, how limp it hung. And
I saw that the collar of the white robe was spotted
with blood.
I do not know what was in Godfrey's mind,
but, by a common impulse, we turned and looked
at Swain. He was still on his knees beside the
couch. Apparently he had forgotten our pres-
C11CC.
“It's plain enough,” said Godfrey, his voice
thick with emotion. “She came in and found the
body. No wonder she screamed like that! But
where are the servants? Where is everybody?”
The same thought was in my own mind. The
utter silence of the house, the fact that no one
came, added, somehow, to the horror of the mo-
ment. Those wild screams must have echoed from
cellar to garret — and yet no one came !
Godfrey made a rapid scrutiny of the room,
which was evidently the library, with a double door
opening upon the grounds and another opposite
opening into the hall. On the wall beside the
inner door, he found an electric button, and he
pushed it for some moments, but there was no
response. If it rang a bell, the bell was so far
away that we could not hear it.
A heavy curtain hung across the doorway.


THE GLOWED HAND 67
Godfrey pulled it aside and peered into the hall
beyond. The hall was dark and silent. With
face decidedly grim, he took his torch from one
pocket and his pistol from another.
“Come along, Lester,” he said. “We’ve got
to look into this. Have your torch ready— and
your pistol. God knows what further horrors this
house contains ! ”
He pulled back the curtain, so that the hall was
lighted to some extent from the open doorway, and
then passed through, I after him. The hall was
a broad one, running right through the centre of
the house from front to rear. Godfrey proceeded
cautiously and yet rapidly the whole length of it,
flashing his torch into every room. They were
all luxuriously furnished, but were empty of hu-
man occupants. From the kitchen, which closed
the hall at the rear, a flight of stone steps led
down into the basement, and Godfrey descended
these with a steadiness I could not but admire.
We found ourselves in a square, stone-flagged
room, evidently used as a laundry. Two doors
opened out of it, but both were secured with heavy
padlocks.
“Store-rooms or wine-cellars, perhaps,” God-
frey ventured, mounted the stairs again to the kit-
chen, and returned to the room whence we had
started.


68 THE GLOWED HAND
Everything there was as we had left it. The
dead man sat huddled forward in his chair; Swain
was still on his knees beside the couch; the girl
had not stirred. Godfrey went to the side of the
couch, and, disregarding Swain's fierce glance,
again placed his fingers lightly on the girl's left
temple. Then he came back to me.
“If she doesn't revive pretty soon,” he said,
“we’ll have to try heroic measures. But there
must be somebody in the house. Let's look up-
stairs.”
He led the way up the broad stairs, which rose
midway of the hall, sending a long ray of light
ahead of him. I followed in no very happy frame
of mind, for I confess that this midnight explora-
tion of an unknown house, with a murdered man
for its only occupant, was getting on my nerves.
But Godfrey proceeded calmly and systematically.
The hall above corresponded to that below, with
two doors on each side, opening into bedroom
suites. The first was probably that of the mas-
ter of the house. It consisted of bedroom, bath
and dressing-room, but there was no one there.
The next was evidently Miss Vaughan's. It also
had a bath and a daintily-furnished boudoir; but
these, too, were empty.
Then, as we opened the door across the hall, a
strange odour saluted us — an odour suggestive


THE GLOWED HAND 69
somehow of the East — which, in the first moment,
caught the breath from the throat, and in the sec-
ond seemed to muffle and retard the beating of the
heart.
A flash of Godfrey's torch showed that we were
in a little entry, closed at the farther end by a
heavy drapery. Godfrey strode forward and
swept the drapery aside. The rush of perfume
was overpowering, and through the opening came
a soft glow of light.
It was a moment before I got my breath; then
a mist seemed to fall from before my eyes and
a strange sense of exaltation and well-being stole
through me. I saw Godfrey standing motionless,
transfixed, with one hand holding back the drap-
ery, and his torch hanging unused in the other, and
I crept forward and peered over his shoulder at
the strangest scene I have ever gazed upon.
Just in front of us, poised in the air some three
feet from the floor, hung a sphere of crystal, glow-
ing with a soft radiance which seemed to wax and
wane, to quiver almost to darkness and then to
burn more clearly. It was like a dreamer's pulse,
fluttering, pausing, leaping, in accord with his vi-
sion. And as I gazed at the sphere, I fancied I
could see within it strange, elusive shapes, which
changed and merged and faded from moment to
moment, and yet grew always clearer and more


7o ſHE GLOWED HAND
suggestive. I bent forward, straining my eyes to
see them better, to fathom their meaning . .
Godfrey, turning to speak to me, saw my at-
titude and shook me roughly by the arm.
“Don’t do that, Lester!” he growled in my
ear. “Take your eyes off that crystall ”
I tried to move my eyes, but could not, until
Godfrey pulled me around to face him. I stood
blinking at him stupidly.
“I was nearly gone, myself, before I realised
the danger,” he said. “A sphere like that can
hypnotise a man more quickly than anything else
on earth, especially when his resistance is lessened,
as it is by this heavy perfume.”
“It was rather pleasant,” I said. “I should
like to try it some time.”
“Well, you can't try it now. You've got some-
thing else to do. Besides, it has two victims al-
ready.”
“Two victims?”
“Look carefully, but keep your eyes off the
sphere,” he said, and swung me around toward
the room again.
The room was shrouded in impenetrable dark-
ness, except for the faint and quivering radiance
which the sphere emitted, and as I plunged my
eyes into its depths in an effort to see what lay
there, it seemed to me that I had never seen black-


THE GLOVED HAND 71
ness so black. As I stared into it, with straining
eyes, a vague form grew dimly visible beside the
glowing sphere; and then I recoiled a little, for
suddenly it took shape and I saw it was a man.
I had a queer fancy, as I stood there, that it
was really a picture into which I was gazing —
one of Rembrandt's — for, gradually, one detail
after another emerged from the darkness, vague
shadows took on shape and meaning, but farther
back there was always more shadow, and farther
back still more .
The man was sitting cross-legged on a low divan,
his hands crossed in front of him and hanging
limply between his knees. His clothing I could
see but vaguely, for it was merged into the dark-
ness about him, but his hands stood out white
against it. He was staring straight at the crystal,
with unwavering and unwinking gaze, and sat as
motionless as though carved in stone. The glow
from the sphere picked out his profile with a line
of light — I could see the high forehead, the
strong, curved nose, the full lips shaded by a faint
moustache, and the long chin, only partially con-
cealed by a close-clipped beard. It was a won-
derful and compelling face, especially as I then
saw it, and I gazed at it for a long moment.
“It's the adept, I suppose,” said Godfrey, no
longer taking care to lower his voice.


72 THE GLOWED HAND
It sounded unnaturally loud in the absolute still,
ness of the room, and I looked at the adept
quickly, but he had not moved.
“Can't he hear you?” I asked.
“No — he couldn't hear a clap of thunder.
That is, unless he's faking.” -
I looked again at the impassive figure.
“He’s not faking,” I said.
“I don't know,” and Godfrey shook his head
sceptically. “It looks like the real thing — but
these fellows are mighty clever. Do you see the
other victim? There's no fake about it!”
“I see no one else,” I said, after a vain scrutiny.
“Look carefully on the other side of the sphere.
Don't you see something there?”
My eyes were smarting under the strain, and
for a moment longer I saw nothing; then a strange,
grey shape detached itself from the blackness. It
was an ugly and repulsive shape, slender below,
but swelling hideously at the top, and as I stared
at it, it seemed to me that it returned my stare
with malignant eyes screened by a pair of white-
rimmed glasses. Then, with a sensation of diz-
ziness, I saw that the shape was swaying gently
back and forth, in a sort of rhythm. And then,
quite suddenly, I saw what it was, and a chill of
horror quivered up my back.
It was a cobra.


THE GLOWED HAND 73
To and fro it swung, to and fro, its staring eyes
fixed upon the sphere, its spectacled hood hideously
distended.
The very soul within me trembled as I gazed
at those unwinking eyes. What did they see in
the sphere? What was passing in that inscrut-
able brain? Could it, too, reconstruct the past,
read the mysteries of the future
Some awful power, greater than my will, seemed
stretching its tentacles from the darkness: I felt
them dragging at me, certain, remorseless, grow-
ing stronger and stronger . . .
With something very like a shriek of terror, I
tore myself away, out of the entry, into the hall,
to the stairs, and down them into the lighted room
below.
And as I stood there, gasping for breath, God-
frey followed me, and I saw that his face, too,
was livid.


CHAPTER VIII
A FRESH ENIGMA
GoDFREY met my eyes with a little deprecating
smile, put his torch in one pocket, took a handker-
chief from another, and mopped his forehead.
“Rather nerve-racking, wasn't it, Lester?” he
remarked, and then his gaze wandered to the
couch, and he stepped toward it quickly.
I saw that a change had come in Miss
Vaughan's condition. Her eyes were still closed,
but her body no longer lay inert and lifeless, for
from moment to moment it was shaken by a se-
vere nervous tremor. Godfrey's face was very
grave as he looked at her.
“Stop stroking her wrists, Swain,” he said;
“that does no good,” and when Swain, without
answering or seeming to hear, kept on stroking
them, Godfrey drew the hands away, took Swain
by the arm, and half-lifted him to his feet. “Lis-
ten to me,” he said, more sternly, and shook him
a little, for Swain's eyes were duli and vacant.
“I want you to sit quietly in a chair for a while,
till you get your senses back. Miss Vaughan is
seriously ill and must not be disturbed in any way.
74


THE GLOVED HAND 75
I'm going to get a doctor and a nurse at once;
they'll do what needs to be done. Until then, she
must be left alone. Understand?”
Swain nodded vaguely, and permitted Godfrey
to lead him to a chair near the outer door, where
he sat down. As his hand fell across the arm
of the chair, I could see that a little blood was
still oozing from the wound on the wrist. Godfrey
saw it, too, and picked up the hand and looked
at it. Then he laid it gently down again and
glanced at his watch. I followed his example,
and saw that it was half-past one.
“Have you nerve enough to stay here half an
hour by yourself, Lester?” he asked.
“By myself?” I echoed, and glanced at the
dead man and at the quivering girl.
“I’ve got to run over to my place to get a few
things and do some telephoning,” he explained.
“We must get a doctor up here at once; and then
there's the police — I'll try to get Simmonds. Will
you stay?”
“Yes,” I said, “ of course. But please get
back as soon as you can.”
“I will,” he promised, and, after a last look
around the room, stepped out upon the walk.
I went to the door and looked after him until
the sound of his footsteps died away. Then, feel-
ing very lonely, I turned back into the room.


THE GLOVED HAND 77
might have accounted for it, but his incoherence
had antedated that — unless, indeed, he knew of
the murder before he left the grounds. That
thought gave me a sudden shock, and I put it away
from me, not daring to pursue it farther.
As to the house, its deserted condition seemed
sinister and threatening. It was absurd to sup-
pose that an establishment such as this could be
carried on without servants, or with less than three
or four. But where were they? And then I re-
membered that Godfrey and I had not completed
our exploration of the house. We had stopped
at the gruesome room where the adept and his ser-
pent gazed unwinking into the crystal sphere.
There was at least one suite on the same floor
we had not looked into, and no doubt there were
other rooms on the attic floor above. But that any
one could have slept on undisturbed by those
piercing screams and by our own comings and
goings seemed unbelievable. Perhaps there were
separate quarters in the grounds somewhere —
And then, without conscious will of my own,
I felt my body stiffen and my fingers grip my
pipe convulsively. A slow tremor seemed to
start from the end of my spine, travel up it, and
pass off across my scalp. There was someone in
the room behind me; someone with gleaming eyes
fixed upon me; and I sat there rigidly, straining my


78 THE GLOVED HAND
ears, expecting I knew not what — a blow upon
the head, a cord about the neck. -
A rapid step came up the walk and Godfrey
appeared suddenly out of the darkness.
“Well, Lester,” he began; but I sprang to my
feet and faced the room, for I could have sworn
that I had heard behind me the rustle of a silken
dress. But there was no one there except Swain
and Miss Vaughan and the dead man — and none
of them had moved.
“What is it?” Godfrey asked, stepping past me
into the room.
“There was someone there, Godfrey,” I said.
“I’m sure of it — I felt someone — I felt his eyes
on me — and then, as you spoke, I heard the rustle
of a dress.”
“Of a dress?”
“Or of a robe,” and my thoughts were on the
bearded man upstairs.
Godfrey glanced at me, crossed the room, and
looked out into the hall. Then he turned back
to me. -
“Well, whoever it was,” he said, and I could
see that he thought my ears had deceived me, “he
has made good his escape. There'll be a doctor
and a nurse here in a few minutes, and I got Sim-
monds and told him to bring Goldberger along.
He can't get here for an hour anyway. And I've


8O THE GLOWED HAND
longingly as I screwed on the cap and slipped it
into my pocket; and there was more colour in his
face and a brighter light in his eyes. -
“Now, come along,” I said, “and get that cut
fixed up.”
He rose obediently and followed me out into
the hall. Godfrey had preceded us, found the
light-switch after a brief search, and turned it on.
“There's a switch in the bath-room, too, no
doubt,” he said. “Bring him down again, as soon
as you get him fixed up. You'll find some cotton
and gauze in one of the pockets of the coat.”
Swain followed me up the stair and into the
bath-room. He seemed to understand what I in-
tended doing, for he divested himself of coat and
shirt and was soon washing arms and face vigor-
ously. Then he dried himself, and stood patiently
while I washed and bandaged the cut on the wrist.
It was not a deep one, and had about stopped
bleeding. -
“Feel better?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, and without waiting for me to
tell him, slipped into the clean shirt which Godfrey
had brought, attached the collar and tied the tie,
all this quite composedly and without hesitation or
clumsiness. Yet I felt, in some indefinable way,
that something was seriously wrong with him. His
eyes were vacant and his face flabby, as though


THE GLOWED HAND 8 I
the muscles were relaxed. It gave me the feel-
ing that his intelligence was relaxed, too!
He picked up his own coat, but I stopped him.
“Don’t put that on,” I said, speaking to him
as I would have spoken to a child. “The sleeve
is blood-stained and there's a long tear down the
side. Take this one,” and I held out the light
lounging-coat Godfrey had brought with him.
Swain laid down his own garment without a
word and put on the other one. I rolled the soiled
garments into a bundle, took them under my arm,
turned out the lights, and led the way downstairs.
A murmur of voices from the library told me
that someone had arrived, and when I reached the
door, I saw that it was the doctor and the nurse.
The former was just rising from a rapid examina-
tion of the quivering figure on the couch.
“We must get her to bed at once,” he said,
turning to Godfrey. “Her bedroom's upstairs, I
suppose?”
“Yes,” said Godfrey; “shall I show you the
way?”
The doctor nodded and, lifting the girl carefully
in his arms, followed Godfrey out into the hall.
The nurse picked up a medicine-case from the floor
and followed after.
I had expected Swain to rush forward to the
couch, to make a scene, perhaps, and had kept my


82 THE GLOWED HAND
hand upon his arm; but to my astonishment he did
not so much as glance in that direction. He stood
patiently beside me, with his eyes on the floor, and
when my restraining hand fell away, he walked
slowly to the chair in which he had been sitting,
and dropped into it, relaxing limply as with
fatigue.
Godfrey was back in a moment. .
“That doctor was the nearest one I could find,”
he said. “He seems to be all right. But if Miss
Vaughan isn't better in the morning, I'll get a
specialist out.”
“Godfrey,” I said, in a low tone, “there's some-
thing the matter with Swain,” and I motioned to
where he sat, flaccid and limp, apparently half-
asleep. “He is suffering from shock, or some-
thing of that sort. It's something more, anyway,
than over-wrought nerves. He seems to be only
half-conscious.” -
“I noticed it,” said Godfrey, with a little nod.
“We'll have the doctor look at him when he comes
down,” and he sank wearily into a chair. “This
has been a pretty strenuous night, Lester.”
“Yes; and it isn't over yet. I wonder what
the man with the snake is doing?”
“Still staring into the crystal, no doubt. Do
you want to go and see?”
“No,” I said decidedly, “I don’t. Godfrey,


THE GLOWED HAND 83
I added, “doesn't the absence of servants seem
strange to you?”
“Very strange. But, I dare say, we'll find them
around somewhere — though they seem to be
sound sleepers! We didn't look through the
whole house, you know. I'm not going to, either;
I'm going to let the police do that. They ought
to be here pretty soon. I told Simmonds to bring
two or three men with him.”
I glanced at the huddled body of the murdered
man. With all the night's excitements and sur-
prises, we had not even touched upon that mystery.
Not a single gleam of light had been shed upon
it, and yet it was the centre about which all these
other strange occurrences revolved. Whose hand
was it had thrown that cord about the throat and
drawn it tight? What motive lay behind? Fear-
some and compelling must the motive be to drive
a man to such a crime ! Would Simmonds be able
to divine that motive, to build the case up bit by
bit until the murderer was found? Would God-
frey?
I turned my head to look at him. He was lying
back in his chair, his eyes closed, apparently lost in
thought, and for long minutes there was no move-
ment in the room.
At last the doctor returned, looking more cheer-
ful than when he had left the room. He had


84 THE GLOVED HAND
given Miss Vaughan an opiate and she was sleep-
ing calmly; the nervous trembling had subsided and
he hoped that when she waked she would be much
better. The danger was that brain fever might
develop; she had evidently suffered a very severe
shock.
“Yes,” said Godfrey, “she discovered her
father strangled in the chair yonder.”
“I saw the body when I came in,” the doctor
remarked, imperturbably. “So it's her father,
is it?”
{{ Yes.”
“And strangled, you say?”
Godfrey answered with a gesture, and the doc-
tor walked over to the body, glanced at the neck,
then disengaged one of the tightly clenched hands
from the chair-arm, raised it and let it fall. I
could not but envy his admirable self-control.
“How long has he been dead?” Godfrey asked.
“Not more than two or three hours,” the doc-
tor answered. “The muscles are just beginning
to stiffen. It looks like murder,” he added, and
touched the cord about the neck.
“It is murder.”
“You’ve notified the police?”
“They will be here soon.”
I saw the doctor glance at Godfrey and then at


THE GLOWED HAND 85
me, plainly puzzled as to our footing in the house;
but if there was a question in his mind, he kept
it from his lips and turned back again to the
huddled body.
“Any clue to the murderer?” he asked, at last.
“We have found none.”
And then the doctor stooped suddenly and
picked up something from the floor beside the
chair.
“Perhaps this is a clue,” he said, quietly, and
held to the light an object which, as I sprang to my
feet, I saw to be a blood-stained handkerchief.
He spread it out under our eyes, handling it
gingerly, for it was still damp, and we saw it was
a small handkerchief – a woman's handkerchief
— of delicate texture. It was fairly soaked with
blood, and yet in a peculiar manner, for two of
the corners were much crumpled but quite un-
stained.
The doctor raised his eyes to Godfrey's.
“What do you make of it?” he asked.
“A clue, certainly,” said Godfrey; “but scarcely
to the murderer.”
The doctor looked at it again for a moment,
and then nodded. “I’d better put it back where
I found it, I guess,” he said, and dropped it beside
the chair.


86 THE GLOVED HAND
And then, suddenly, I remembered Swain. I
turned to find him still drooping forward in his
chair, apparently half-asleep.
“Doctor,” I said, “there is someone else here
who is suffering from shock,” and I motioned
toward the limp figure. “Or perhaps it's some-
thing worse than that.”
The doctor stepped quickly to the chair and
looked down at its occupant. Then he put his
hand under Swain's chin, raised his head and gazed
intently into his eyes. Swain returned the gaze,
but plainly in only a half-conscious way.
“It looks like a case of concussion,” said the
doctor, after a moment. “The left pupil is en-
larged,” and he ran his hand rapidly over the
right side of Swain's head. “I thought so,” he
added. “There's a considerable swelling. We
must get him to bed.” Then he noticed the ban-
daged wrist. “What's the matter here?” he
asked, touching it with his finger.
“He cut himself on a piece of glass,” Godfrey
explained. “You’d better take him over to my
place, where he can be quiet.”
“I’ve got my car outside,” said the doctor, and
together he and I raised Swain from the chair and
led him to it.
He went docilely and without objection, and ten
minutes later, was safely in bed, already dozing


THE GLOVED HAND 87
off under the influence of the opiate the doctor
had given him. “He'll be all right in the morn-
ing,” the latter assured me. “But he must have
got quite a blow over the head.”
“I don't know what happened to him,” I an-
swered. “You'll come back with me, won't
you?”
“Yes; I may be useful,” and he turned the car
back the way we had come. “Besides,” he added,
frankly, “I’m curious to learn what happened in
that house to-night.”
He had certainly shown himself equal to emer-
gencies, I reflected; and I liked his voice and his
manner, which was cool and capable.
“My name is Lester,” I said. “I’m a lawyer
staying with Mr. Godfrey. We heard Miss
Vaughan scream and ran over to the house, but
we don't know any more than you do.”
“My name is Hinman, and I'm just a country
doctor,” said my companion; “but if I can be of
any help, I hope you'll call upon me. Hello!” he
added, as we turned through the gate into the
grounds of Elmhurst, and he threw on the brake
sharply, for a uniformed figure had stepped out
into the glare of our lamps and held up his hand.
The police had arrived.


CHAPTER IX
FIRST STEPS
We found a little group of men gathered about the
chair in which sat the huddled body. Two of them
I already knew. One was Detective-sergeant Sim-
monds, and the other Coroner Goldberger, both
of whom I had met in previous cases. Simmonds
was a stolid, unimaginative, but industrious and
efficient officer, with whom Godfrey had long ago
concluded an alliance offensive and defensive. In
other words, Godfrey threw what glory he could
to Simmonds, and Simmonds such stories as he
could to Godfrey, and so the arrangement was to
their mutual advantage.
Goldberger was a more astute man than the
detective, in that he possessed a strain of Semitic
imagination, a quick wit, and a fair degree of in-
sight. He was in his glory in a case like this.
This was shown now by his gleaming eyes and the
trembling hand which pulled nervously at his short,
black moustache. Goldberger's moustache was a
good index to his mental state — the more ragged
it grew, the more baffling he found the case in
hand!
88


THE GLOVED HAND 89
Both he and Simmonds glanced up at our en-
trance and nodded briefly. Then their eyes went
back to that huddled figure.
There were three other men present whom I did
not know, but I judged them to be the plain-clothes-
men whom Simmonds had brought along at God-
frey's suggestion. They stood a little to one side
until their superiors had completed the examina-
tion.
“I didn't stop to pick up my physician,” Gold-
berger was saying. “But the cause of death is
plain enough.”
“Doctor Hinman here is a physician,” I said,
bringing him forward. “If he can be of any
service. .”
Goldberger glanced at him, and was plainly
favorably impressed by Hinman's dark, eager face,
and air of intelligence and self-control.
“I shall be very glad of Dr. Hinman's help,”
said Goldberger, shaking hands with him.
“Have you examined the body, sir?”
“Only very casually,” answered Hinman.
“But it is evident that the cause of death was
strangulation.”
“How long has he been dead?”
Hinman lifted the stiff hand again and ran his
fingers along the muscles of the arm.
“About four hours, I should say.”


90 THE GLOWED HAND
Goldberger glanced at his watch.
“That would put his death at a little before
midnight. The murderer must have come in from
the grounds, crept up behind his victim, thrown the
cord about his neck and drawn it tight before his
presence was suspected. The victim would hardly
have remained seated in the chair if he had known
his danger. After the cord was round his throat,
he had no chance—he could not even cry out.
There's one thing I don't understand, though,” he
added, after a moment. “Where did that blood
come from?” and he pointed to the dark spots
on the collar of the white robe.
Hinman looked up with a little exclamation.
“I forgot,” he said. “Did you find the hand-
kerchief? No, I see you didn't,” and he pointed
to where it lay on the floor. “I noticed it when I
first looked at the body.”
Without a word, Goldberger bent and picked
up the blood-stained handkerchief. Then he and
Simmonds examined it minutely. Finally the cor-
oner looked at Godfrey, and his eyes were very
bright.
“There can be only one inference,” he said.
“The dead man is not bleeding — the cord did
not cut the flesh. The blood, then, must have
come from the murderer. He must have been in-


THE GLOVED HAND 9 I
jured in some way — bleeding profusely. Look
at this handkerchief – it is fairly soaked.”
I am sure that, at that instant, the same thought
was in Godfrey's mind which flashed through
mine, for our eyes met, and there was a shadow in
his which I knew my own reflected. Then I
glanced at Hinman. He was looking at the hand-
kerchief thoughtfully, his lips tightly closed. I
could guess what he was thinking, but he said
nothing.
Goldberger laid the handkerchief on the table,
at last, and turned back to the body. He bent
close above it, examining the blood spots, and when
he stood erect again there was in his face a strange
excitement.
“Lend me your glass, Simmonds,” he said, and
when Simmonds handed him a small pocket mag-
nifying-glass, he unfolded it and bent above the
stains again, scrutinising each in turn. At last
he closed the glass with an emphatic little snap.
“This case isn't going to be so difficult, after all,”
he said. “Those spots are finger-prints.”
With an exclamation of astonishment, Sim-
monds took the glass and examined the stains;
then he handed it to Godfrey, who finally passed
it on to me. Looking through it, I saw that
Goldberger was right. The stains had been made


92 THE GLOVED HAND
by human fingers. Most of them were mere
smudges, but here and there was one on which
faint lines could be dimly traced.
“They seem to be pretty vague,” I remarked,
passing the glass on to Hinman.
“They're plenty clear enough for our pur-
pose,” said Goldberger; “besides they will come
out much clearer in photographs. It's lucky this
stuff is so smooth and closely-woven,” he added,
fingering a corner of the robe, “ or we wouldn't
have got even those. It's as hard and fine as
silk.”
“How do you suppose those marks came there,
Mr. Goldberger?” Godfrey asked, and there was
in his tone a polite scepticism which evidently an-
noyed the coroner.
“Why, there's only one way they could come
there,” Goldberger answered impatiently. “They
were put there by the murderer's fingers as he
drew the cord tight. Do you see anything im-
probable in that?”
“Only that it seems too good to be true,” God-
frey answered, quietly, and Goldberger, after look-
ing at him a moment, turned away with a shrug
of the shoulders.
“See if you can get the cord loose, Simmonds,”
he said.
The cord was in the form of a running noose,


THE GLOWED HAND 93
which had been knotted to hold it in place after
being drawn tight. Although it had not cut the
flesh of the neck, it had sunk deeply into it, and
Simmonds worked at the knot for some moments
without result. I suspect his fingers were not quite
as steady as they might have been; but it was evi-
dently an intricate knot.
“That's a new one on me,” he said, at last.
“I can't get it loose.”
Godfrey bent close above it and looked at it.
“It is a peculiar knot,” he agreed. “If you'll
permit a suggestion, Mr. Goldberger, you'll cut
the cord and leave the knot as it is. It may help -
us to find the man who made it.”
“You’re right,” agreed Goldberger, promptly.
“Cut the cord, Simmonds.”
Simmonds got out his pocket-knife, opened it
and slipped the blade under the cord, cut it, and
pulled it out of the ridge of flesh. He looked at
it a moment, and then handed it to Goldberger.
The latter examined it carefully.
“It’s stained with blood, too,” he remarked,
and passed it on to Godfrey.
“It looks like curtain-cord,” Godfrey said, and
made a little tour of the room. “Ah! ” he added,
after a moment, from the door opening into the
grounds. “See here!”
He was holding up the end of the cord by which


94 THE GLOVED HAND
the curtains covering the upper part of the double
doors were controlled.
“You were right, Mr. Coroner,” he said, “in
thinking that the murderer entered by this door,
for he stopped here and cut off a piece of this
cord before going on into the room.”
“Then he must also have stopped to make it
into a noose,” remarked Goldberger. “If he did
that, he was certainly a cool customer. It's a
wonder his victim didn't hear the noise he made.”
“Making a knot isn't a noisy operation,” God-
frey pointed out; “besides, the back of the chair
was toward the door. And then, of course, it's
possible his victim did hear him.”
“But then he would have jumped from the
chair,” objected Simmonds.
“Not necessarily. Suppose you were sitting
there, and heard a noise, and looked around and
saw me standing here, you wouldn't jump from
the chair, would you?”
“No; I'd have no reason to jump from you.”
“Perhaps Vaughan thought he had no reason
to jump from the man he saw — if he saw anyone.
I'm inclined to think, however, that he didn't sus-
pect anyone else was in the room until he felt
the cord about his throat.”
“And, of course,” said Goldberger, taking the
cord again and looking at it, “it was while the


THE GLOVED HAND 95
murderer was making it into a noose with his
blood-stained fingers that he stained it in that
way. Don't you agree, Mr. Godfrey?”
“That is a possible explanation,” Godfrey con-
ceded.
“But why did he make this second knot?” in-
quired the coroner; “the knot which holds the
noose tight and prevents it from slipping?”
“If he hadn't knotted it like that he would
have had to stand there holding it until his victim
was dead. As it was, he didn't have to wait.”
I shivered a little at the thought of the scoundrel
calmly tying the knot to secure his noose, and then
leaving his victim to twitch his life out.
“It's no little trick to tie a knot like that,”
Godfrey added, thoughtfully. “I should like to
study it.”
“All right,” agreed Goldberger; “you can
have it whenever you want it,” and he got a heavy
manila envelope out of his pocket and placed the
cord carefully inside. “Now we must get that
robe off. We can't run any risk of having those
finger-prints smeared.”
It was a difficult job and a revolting one, for
the body had stiffened into its huddled posture,
but at last the robe was removed and the body
itself lying at full length on its back on the couch.
Seen thus, with the light full on it, the face was


96 THE GLOVED HAND
horrible, and Goldberger laid his handkerchief
over the swollen and distorted features, while, at
a sign from him, Simmonds pulled down the por-
tière from the inner door and placed it over the
body. Then the coroner picked up the robe and
held it out at arms' length.
“What kind of a freak dress is this, anyway?”
he asked.
“It's a robe,” said Godfrey. “Mr. Vaughan
was a mystic.”
“A what?”
“A mystic — a believer in Hinduism or some
other Oriental religion.”
“Did he dress this way all the time?”
“I believe so. It is probably the dress of his
order.”
Goldberger rolled the robe up carefully, and
said nothing more; but I could see from his ex-
pression that he had ceased to wonder why
Vaughan had come to a strange and violent end.
Surely anything might happen to a mystic! Then
he placed the blood-stained handkerchief in an-
other envelope, and finally put his hand in his
pocket and brought out half a dozen cigars.
“Now,” he said, “let’s sit down and rest
awhile. Simmonds tells me it was you who called
him, Mr. Godfrey. How did you happen to dis-
cover the crime?”


THE GLOWED HAND 97
The question was asked carelessly, but I could
feel the alert mind behind it. I knew that God-
frey felt it, too, from the way in which he told
the story, for he told it carefully, and yet with
an air of keeping nothing back.
Of the mysterious light he said nothing, but,
starting with my finding of the letter and sum-
moning Swain to receive it, told of the arrange-
ments for the rendezvous, dwelling upon it lightly,
as a love-affair which could have no connection
with the tragedy. He passed on to his own ar-
rival from the city, to Swain's return from the
rendezvous, and finally to the screams which had
reached us, and to the discovery we had made
when we burst into the house.
“I summoned Dr. Hinman immediately,” he
added, “for Miss Vaughan seemed to be in a
serious condition; then I called Simmonds, and
suggested that he stop for you, Mr. Coroner, for
I knew that the case would interest you. Dr.
Hinman arrived perhaps half an hour ahead of
you, and had Miss Vaughan put to bed at once.
And I guess you know the rest,” he concluded.
We had all listened intently. I was pretty
sure that Simmonds would make no inferences
which Godfrey wished to avoid; but I feared the
more penetrating mind of the coroner. His first
question proved that I was right to do so.


98 THE GLOVED HAND
“Where is this man Swain?” he asked.
“He was suffering from the shock,” said God-
frey, “and Lester and Dr. Hinman took him over
to my place and put him to bed. That's where
they were when you got here.”
“He seemed to be suffering from a slight con-
cussion,” Hinman explained. “There was a
swelling on one side of his head, as though some
one had struck him, and the pupils of his eyes
were unsymmetrical. He had also a cut on the
wrist,” he added, after an instant's hesitation.
“Ah! ” commented Goldberger, with a glance
at Godfrey. “Had it been bleeding?”
“He cut himself when crossing the wall,” God-
frey explained; “a mere scratch, but I believe it
did bleed a good deal.”
“Ah!” said Goldberger again; and then he
turned to the doctor. “Did I understand you
to say that he went to sleep?”
“He certainly did. I gave him a good strong
opiate to make sure of it.”
“Do you think he'll sleep till morning?”
“He'll sleep nine or ten hours, at least.”
“Then that’s all right,” said Goldberger, and
settled back in his chair again. “But didn't any-
body live in this house except that old man and his
daughter? Aren't there any servants?”
“There must be some somewhere about,” an-


THE GLOVED HAND 99
swered Godfrey, to whom the question was ad-
dressed; “but Lester and I looked through the
lower floor and part of the upper one and didn't
find any. There's a bell there by the door, but
nobody answered when I rang. We didn't have
time to go all over the house. We did find one
thing, though,” he added, as if by an afterthought.
“What was that?”
“There's an adept in one of the rooms up-
stairs.”
Goldberger sat up and stared at him.
“An adept?” he repeated. “What's that?”
“An expert in mysticism. I judge that
Vaughan was his pupil.”
“Do you mean he's a Hindu’’’ asked the cor-
oner, as though that would explain everything.
But Godfrey was having his revenge.
“I don't know whether he's a Hindu or not,”
he said, airily. “I didn't get a very good look
at him.”
“What was he doing?” Goldberger demanded.
“He was just sitting there.”
Again Goldberger stared at him, this time sus-
piciously.
“But, good heavens, man!” he cried. “That
was three or four hours ago! You don't suppose
he's sitting there yet!”
“Yes,” said Godfrey drily, “I think he is.”


IOO THE GLOVED HAND
Goldberger's face flushed, and he sprang to his
feet impatiently.
“Show me the room,” he commanded.
“Glad to,” said Godfrey laconically, and led
the way out into the hall.
The whole crowd tailed along after him. As
I rose to follow, I saw that the outside world was
turning grey with the approaching dawn.
The nurse, hearing our footsteps on the stairs,
looked out in alarm, and held up a warning finger.
Godfrey paused for a word with her.
“How is she?” he asked.
“Sleeping quietly,” said the nurse; “but please
don't make any more noise than you can help.”
“We won't,” Godfrey promised, and crossed
the hall to the door leading into the little entry.
Then he paused and looked around at Goldberger.
“Better go slow here,” he cautioned. “The
adept has a pet cobra.”
“A snake?”
“The deadliest snake in the world.”
Goldberger drew back a little, as did all the
others.
“I don't think it will bite us, though,” added
Godfrey, cheerfully, “if we don't crowd it. It's
sitting there, too,” and he opened the outer door,
passed through, and held back the curtain at the
farther end.


THE GLOWED HAND IOI
I was just behind Goldberger and Simmonds,
and I heard their gasp of amazement, as they saw
what lay beyond.
The scene had not changed in the slightest de-
tail. The crystal sphere still softly glowed, with
intangible shadows flitting across its surface; the
adept still sat cross-legged staring into its depths;
opposite him, the cobra, its hood distended,
swayed slowly to and fro.
But as we stood there staring, a single deli-
cate ray of sunlight coming through a pin-hole in
the curtained window, struck the sphere and
seemed to extinguish it. The glow within it
flickered and fluttered and finally vanished, and it
hung there dull and grey. An instant later, the
motionless figure raised its arms high in air, with
a motion somehow familiar; then it got slowly to
its feet, crossed to the window, drew back the cur-
tain and flung wide the shutter.
The sun was just peeping over the trees to the
east, and for a second its light blinded me. Then
I saw the adept bowing low before it, his arms
still extended. Once, twice, thrice he bowed, as
before a deity, while we stood there staring.
Then he turned slowly toward us.
“Enter, friends,” he said calmly. “The peace
of the Holy One be on you, and his love within
your hearts l’’


CHAPTER X
THE WHITE PRIEST OF SIWA
THE adept was an impressive figure, as he
stood there with the sun behind him, throwing a
yellow nimbus around his head. The robe he
wore was of a rich purple, and gave an added ef-
fect of height and dignity to a figure already tall.
His hair was dark and crinkled like wind-swept
water, his complexion dark, but with an under-
blush of red in the cheeks. His lips were scarlet
and his eyes coal-black and of an arresting bril-
liance. The whole effect he gave was of trans-
cendent energy and magnetism, nor did he show
the slightest fatigue from his long vigil.
His eyes swept our faces, as we stood crowded
there in the doorway. He did not seem surprised.
If there was any expression in his face except
courteous inquiry, it was one of carefully sup-
pressed amusement.
“Enter, friends,” he repeated. “What is it
you desire?”
His voice was rich and deep, and he spoke with
a peculiar intonation, but without accent. It was
something of a shock to hear the ordinary words
IO2


THE GLOWED HAND IO3
of English speech coming from his lips, for they
seemed formed to utter prophecies in unknown
tongues.
Goldberger took one step into the room, and
then stopped abruptly. Following his eyes, I saw
that the cobra had also awakened from its trance,
and was regarding us steadily and hissing
slightly. The adept smiled as he saw us shrink
back.
“Do not fear,” he said. “Come, Toto,” and
stepping across the room, he lifted the cobra in
one hand and held it a moment close to him, gently
stroking the distended hood. The snake curled
itself about his arm and seemed to cuddle to him,
but it kept its eyes fixed on us. I could not but
smile at the incongruity of its name. Toto was
well enough for a French poodle, but for a cobra !
After a moment, the adept lifted the lid of a
round basket which stood on the floor near the
divan, dropped the snake gently into it, and fas-
tened down the lid. Then he clapped his hands
softly, and an instant later the curtains at the rear
of the room parted and a strange figure appeared
between them.
It was the figure of a man, not over five feet
tall and very thin. He was almost as dark as a
full-blooded negro, and the white burnoose which
was thrown about his shoulders and covered him


IO4. THE GLOVED HAND
to just below the hips, made him look even darker.
His legs were bare and seemed to be nothing but
skin and bone. The flat-nosed face, with its full
lips and prominent eyes, reminded me of an idol
I had seen pictured somewhere.
The newcomer bowed low before the adept,
and, at a sign from him, picked up Toto's basket
and disappeared with it through the curtains. He
had not even glanced in our direction. The adept
turned back to us.
“Now, friends,” he said, “will you not
enter?”
Goldberger led the way into the room and
stopped to look about it. The walls were hung
with black velvet, so arranged that windows and
doors could be covered also, and the room was
absolutely devoid of furniture, save for a low, cir-
cular divan in the centre of which stood the crystal
sphere, supported, as I saw now, by a slender
pedestal.
“I have a few questions to ask you,” began
Goldberger at last, in a voice deferential despite
himself.
“Proceed, sir,” said the adept, courteously.
“Do you know that Mr. Vaughan is dead?”
The adept made a little deprecating gesture.
“Not dead,” he protested. “A man does not
die. His soul rejoins the Over-soul, that is all.


THE GLOWED HAND IO5
Yes, I know that at midnight the soul of my pupil
passed over.”
“How did you learn that?” Goldberger de-
manded.
“I saw it in the sphere,” replied the adept
calmly.
“Where were you at the time?”
“I was gazing at the sphere.”
“Do you mean,” asked Goldberger incredu-
lously, “that you sat for five hours and more star-
ing at that thing?”
“My vigil began at sundown,” said the adept,
with a slight smile. “Last night was the White
Night of Siva. It must be spent in meditation by
all who follow him.”
Goldberger worried his moustache with nerv-
ous fingers, as he stared at the adept, plainly at
a loss how to proceed.
“Perhaps,” ventured Godfrey, softly, “your
crystal could give us some further information
which we very much desire.”
The adept turned his dark eyes on the speaker,
and it seemed to me that they glittered more
coldly, as though they recognised an adversary.
“What information, sir?” he asked.
“Information as to the manner of Mr.
Vaughan's passing — can you tell us anything of
that? 25


Ioé THE GLOWED HAND
The adept shook his head.
“I only saw the soul as it passed over. I
knew, however, that it had been torn from the .
body by violence.”
“How did you know that?” broke in Gold-
berger.
“Because of its colour,” answered the adept;
and then, when he saw our benumbed expressions,
he explained. “Souls which pass in peace are
white; souls which the body has driven forth by
its own hands are black; souls which are torn from
the body by an alien hand are red. My pupil's
soul was red.”
I could see that Goldberger did not know
whether to snort with derision or to be impressed.
He ended by smiling feebly. As for me, I ad-
mit I was impressed.
“When an alien hand, as you put it, is used,”
said the coroner, “we call it murder in this coun-
try, and the law tries to get hold of the alien
and to send his soul after his victim's. That's
what we are trying to do now. We are officers
of the law.”
The adept bowed.
“Any assistance I can give you,” he said, softly,
“I shall be glad to give; though to do murder,
as you call it, is not always to do wrong.”
“Our law doesn't make such nice distinctions,”


THE GLOVED HAND Io'7
said Goldberger, drily. “May I ask your pro-
fession?”
“I am a White Priest of Siva,” said the adept,
touching his forehead lightly with the fingers of
his left hand, as in reverence.
“Who is Siva P”
“The Holy One, the Over-soul, from whom we
come and to whom we all return.”
Again Goldberger worried his moustache.
“Well,” he said, at last, “until the mystery is
cleared up, I must ask you not to leave this house.”
“I have no wish to leave it, sir.”
“And the other fellow — the fellow who took
away the snake — where was he last night?”
“He slept in a small room opening into this
one.”
“May I look into it?”
“Certainly,” and the adept swept aside the
curtains.
The room into which we looked was not more
than ten feet square, and empty of furniture, ex-
cept for a mat in the middle of the floor and three
or four baskets set against the wall. On the mat
was squatted the attendant, his legs crossed with
feet uppermost, and his hands held palm to palm
before him. On the floor in front of him were
what looked to me like a strip of cloth, a bone and
a tooth. He did not raise his eyes at our en-


IO8 THE GLOVED HAND
trance, but sat calmly contemplating these relics.
Goldberger's moustache lost a few more hairs
as he stood staring down at this strange fig-
ure.
“What are those things? His grandmother's
remains?” he asked, at last.
“Those are the attributes of Kali,” said the
adept gravely, as one rebuking blasphemy.
“Very interesting, no doubt,” commented the
coroner drily. “Would it disturb the gentleman
too much to ask him a few questions?”
“He speaks no English, but I shall be glad to
translate for you.”
The coroner thought this over for a moment,
and then shook his head.
“No,” he said; “I’ll wait for the court inter-
preter. You might tell him, though, that there
will be officers of the law on duty below, and that
he is not to leave the house.”
“I will caution him,” answered the adept, and
let the curtain fall, as we passed out.
“I suppose there are some other servants some-
where about the place?” asked Goldberger.
“There are three — they sleep on the floor
above.”
“Are they Hindus, too?” -
“Oh, no,” and the adept smiled. “Two of
them are German and the other is Irish.”


THE GLOVED HAND Io9
The coroner reddened a little, for the words
somehow conveyed a subtle rebuke.
“That is all for to-day,” he said; “unless Mr.
Simmonds has some questions?” and he looked
at his companion.
But Simmonds, to whom all these inquiries had
plainly been successive steps into the darkness,
shook his head. .
“Then we will bid you good-morning,” added
Goldberger, still a little on his dignity. “And
many thanks for your courtesy.”
The adept responded with a low bow and with
a smile decidedly ironical. I, at least, felt that
we had got the worst of the encounter.
Goldberger, without a word, led the way up
the stair that mounted to the attic story, and there
soon succeeded in routing out the three servants.
The Germans proved to be a man and wife, well
past middle age, the former the gardener and the
latter the cook. Erin was represented by a red-
haired girl who was the housemaid. All of them
were horrified when told their master had been
murdered, but none of them could shed any light
on the tragedy. They had all been in bed long
before midnight, and had not been disturbed by
any of the noises of the night.
This could be the more readily understood
when, as a little investigation showed, we found


THE GLOWED HAND III
“Absolutely none,” I assured him.
“I could put him under guard, of course,” said
Goldberger, pensively, “for I'm sure he'll prove
to be a very important witness; but if you
will be personally responsible for him, Mr.
Lester. . . .”
“I will,” I agreed, and Goldberger nodded.
“Have him here at ten o'clock, then,” he
said.
“Dr. Hinman would better see him again to-
day,” I suggested.
“I’ll call about four o'clock this afternoon,”
the doctor promised; and, leaving Goldberger to
complete his arrangements and Simmonds to post
his men, Godfrey and I stepped out upon the
lawn.
It was after five o'clock and the sun was already
high. It scarcely seemed possible that, only six
hours before, Swain had crossed the wall for the
first time !
“We'd better go out as we came,” Godfrey
said, and turned across the lawn. He walked
with head down and face puckered with thought.
“Can you make anything of it?” I asked, but
he only shook his head.
We soon reached the ladder, and Godfrey
paused to look about him. The shrubbery was
broken in one place, as though some heavy body


II 2 THE GLOVED HAND
had fallen on it, and this was evidently the mark
of Swain's wild jump from the wall.
At last, Godfrey motioned me to precede him,
and, when I was over, reached one ladder down
to me and descended to my side. We replaced
the ladders against the shed, and then walked on
toward the house. As we turned the corner, we
found Mrs. Hargis standing on the front porch.
“Well, you are out early l’” she said.
“Yes,” laughed Godfrey; “fact is, we haven't
been to bed yet. Will you have something to eat,
Lester, before you turn in P’’
A glass of milk was all I wanted; and five
minutes later I mounted to my room. I glanced
in for a moment at Swain, who seemed to be sleep-
ing peacefully; and then darkened my room as
well as I could and tumbled into bed. I must
have dropped asleep the moment my head touched
the pillow, for I remember nothing more until I
opened my eyes to find Godfrey standing over
II1C.


CHAPTER XI
swa IN’s STORY
“I HATE to wake you, Lester,” Godfrey said,
smiling, “but it's nearly four o'clock. Dr. Hin-
man will be here before long, and if you're going
to hear Swain's story, you'll have to be getting
up.”
I sat up in bed at once, all trace of sleepiness
vanished.
“How is he?” I asked.
“He seems to be all right. He's been up for
some time. I haven't said anything to him about
last night — I wanted the doctor to see him first;
besides, I thought you ought to be present.”
“I’ll be down right away,” I said, and twenty
minutes later, I found Godfrey and Swain sitting
together on the front porch. As Swain returned
my greeting, I was relieved to see that his eyes
were no longer fixed and staring, but seemed quite
normal.
“Mrs. Hargis has your breakfast ready,” said
Godfrey, “and I think I'll join you. Will you
come, Mr. Swain?”
“No, thank you,” Swain replied. “I had my
II3


II.4. THE GLOWED HAND
breakfast only about an hour ago. I'll just sit
here, if you don't mind.”
“All right,” said Godfrey, “we won't be
long,” and together we went back to the dining-
IOOm.
Mrs. Hargis was there, and greeted us as
though stopping out till dawn and breakfasting at
four o'clock in the afternoon were the most or-
dinary things in the world. A copy of the Record
was lying, as usual, on the table, and a black head-
line caught my eye:
WORTHINGTON VAUGHAN
MURDERED
Rich RECLUSE STRANGLED To
DEATH AT His HoME IN
THE BRONx
I glanced at Godfrey in surprise.
“Yes,” he said, reddening a little, “I was just
in time to 'phone the story in for the last edition.
I called the doctor first, though, Lester — you
must give me credit for that! And it was a beau-
tiful scoop!”
“What time did you get up?” I asked.
“About noon. I sent down the full story for


THE GLOVED HAND II 5
to-morrow morning's paper just before I called
you.”
“Any developments?”
“None that I know of. Of course, I haven't
heard Swain's story yet.”
“Godfrey,” I said, “it seems to me that this
thing is going to look bad for Swain — I think
Goldberger suspects him already. A good deal
depends upon his story.”
“Yes, it does,” Godfrey agreed.
We finished the meal in silence. It was not
a long one, for I, at least, was anxious to get back
to Swain. As we rejoined him on the porch, Dr.
Hinman's car came up the drive. He got out
and shook hands with us. As he greeted Swain,
I saw him glance anxiously into his eyes — and
saw also that the glance reassured him.
“You’re feeling better to-day,” he said, sitting
down by Swain's side.
“Yes,” said Swain quietly, “I’m feeling all
right again.”
“How is Miss Vaughan, doctor?” I asked.
Swain jerked round toward the doctor.
“Is Miss Vaughan ill?” he demanded.
“She had a shock last night,” answered the
doctor, slowly; “but she's getting along nicely.
She'll have to be kept quiet for a few days.”
I was looking at Swain curiously. He was rub-


I 16 THE GLOVED HAND
bing his head perplexedly, as though trying to
bring some confused memory to the surface of his
mind.
“I seem to remember,” he said, “that Miss
Vaughan fainted, and that I picked her up.”
Then he stopped and stared at us. “Is her father
dead?”
“Yes,” I said, and he fell to rubbing his head
again.
I glanced at Hinman, and he nodded slightly.
I took it for assurance that Swain might be ques-
tioned. Godfrey, who had gone indoors to get
some cigars, came back with a handful. All of
us, including Swain, lighted up.
“Now, Swain,” I began, “I want you to tell
us all that you remember of last night's happen-
ings. Both Mr. Godfrey and Dr. Hinman are in
my confidence and you may speak freely before
them. I want them to hear your story, because I
want their advice.”
There was a pucker of perplexity on Swain's
face.
“I’ve been trying, ever since I woke up this
morning, to straighten out my remembrance of
last night,” he began, slowly; “but I haven't suc-
ceeded very well. At least, everything seems to
stop right in the middle.”
“Go ahead,” I said, “and tell us what you do


THE GLOWED HAND I 17
remember. Maybe it will grow clearer as you
recall it, or maybe we can fill in the gaps. Begin
at the moment you went over the wall. We know
everything that happened up to that time. You
remember that clearly, don't you?” -
“Oh, yes,” said Swain. “I remember all
that,” and he settled back in his chair. “Well,
after I went down the ladder, I found myself in
a clump of shrubbery, and beyond that was a path.
I knew that the arbour where I was to meet Miss
Vaughan was in the corner of the grounds at the
back next to Mr. Godfrey's place, so I turned back
along the wall, leaving the path, which curved
away from it. It was very dark under the trees,
and I had to go slowly for fear of running into
one of them. But I finally found the arbour. I
struck a match to assure myself that it was empty,
and then sat down to wait. Once or twice I
fancied I heard some one moving outside, but it
was only the wind among the trees, I guess, for
it was fully half an hour before Miss Vaughan
came.”
I could see how his hand was trembling on the
arm of his chair, and he paused a moment to col.
lect himself.
“What Miss Vaughan told me,” he went on,
at last, and I saw that of the details of the meeting
he did not intend to speak, “convinced me that


I 18 THE GLOWED HAND
her father was quite mad — much worse than I
had suspected. I knew, of course, that he was a
student of the supernatural, but since the coming
of this yogi. .”
“This what?” Hinman interrupted.
“A yogi,” Swain answered, turning toward
him, “is, as nearly as I can make out, a sort of
high priest of Hinduism. He knows all its
secrets, and is supposed to be able to do all sorts
of supernatural things. This fellow who lived
with Mr. Vaughan is a yogi. Mr. Vaughan was
his disciple.”
“Where did the yogi come from?” Godfrey
asked.
“I don't know. I don't think Miss Vaughan
knows. He arrived, with his attendant, about six
months ago; and since then things have gone from
bad to worse. There has been crystal-gazing and
star-worship and necromancy of all sorts. I con-
fess I didn't understand very much of it,” he added.
“It was all so wild and weird; but it ended not
only in Mr. Vaughan's becoming a convert to
whatever religion it is the yogi practises, but in a
determination that his daughter should become
a priestess of the cult. It was from that she
wished me to help her to escape.”
He stopped and again rubbed his head slowly.
“As I tell it,” he went on, at last, “it sounds


THE GLOWED HAND II9
absurd and unbelievable; but as she told it, there
in the darkness, with those strange rustlings
round us, it sent the chills up and down my spine.
Perhaps those Orientals do know more about the
supernatural than we give them credit for; at any
rate, I know that Miss Vaughan had been im-
pressed with the yogi’s power. It fascinated and
at the same time horrified her. She said he had
a hideous snake, a cobra, which he petted as she
would pet a kitten. .”
His voice broke off again, and he wiped the
perspiration from his forehead. I myself felt de-
cidedly nervous. Godfrey threw away his cigar,
which had broken in his fingers.
“At any rate,” Swain went on, “I was so upset
by what she told me that I could think of nothing
to do except to beg her to come away with me at
once. I remembered my promise to you, Mr.
Lester, but I was sure you would approve. I told
her about you — that it was into your hands the
letter had fallen. She said she had seen you look-
ing at her from a tree and had known at a glance
that she could trust you. You didn't tell me you
were in a tree,” he added.
“Yes,” I said, awkwardly. “I was just taking
a little look over the landscape. Rather foolish of
me, wasn't it?”
“Well, it was mighty fortunate, anyway. She


I2O THE GLOWED HAND
had written the letter, but she had no idea how
she was going to get it to me.”
“You mean she couldn't go out when she
wanted to?” demanded Godfrey.
“I gathered from what she told me,” said
Swain, his face flushing with anger, “that she has
been practically a prisoner ever since the yogi ar-
rived. Besides, even if she had succeeded in mail-
ing the letter, it wouldn't have reached me until
too late.”
“In what way too late?”
“Her father seems to have had a sudden turn
for the worse yesterday; he became almost violent
in insisting that she consent to his plan. He told
her that the life of his own soul as well as of
hers depended upon it. He threatened — I don't
know what. The yogi talked to her afterwards.
He, of course, believed, or pretended to believe,
as her father did; moreover, he told her that her
father would certainly suffer a serious mental shock
if she refused, perhaps a fatal one. In despair,
she finally agreed, on the condition that she be
given three days in which to prepare herself. If
she did not hear from me in that time, she had
made up her mind to consent.”
Swain stopped again, and I lay back in my chair,
wondering if such things were possible in this
twentieth century, here within the boundaries of


THE GLOVED HAND I2 I
Greater New York! My brain reeled at the ab-
surdity of it!
“Waughan was undoubtedly suffering from
mania,” said Dr. Hinman, in a low voice. “The
symptoms, as Mr. Swain describes them, are un-
mistakable.”
“It was that argument I used,” said Swain.
“I told her that, since he was clearly mad, she
must, in self-defence, place herself beyond his
reach. But she refused to leave him. Then, I
argued, in kindness to him she must have him
committed to some institution where he would be
taken care of, and where he might, in time, re-
gain his sanity. I told her that it would be crimi-
nal folly to permit him to remain longer under the
influence of the yogi. She had to agree with me;
and she finally consented to sign an affidavit to the
facts as I have told them, and a petition asking
that a commission be appointed to examine her
father. You were to have drawn up the papers
to-day, Mr. Lester, and I was to have taken them
to her for signature to-night.”
“That would have settled the matter,” said
Godfrey, thoughtfully. “It's too bad it wasn't
settled in that way. What else happened, Mr.
Swain?”
“Miss Vaughan had grown very nervous, with
all this discussion, and at last she sprang to her


I22 THE GLOWED HAND
feet and said she must go, or her father would
discover her absence. We rose to leave the
arbour, and at that instant, a white-robed figure
sprang to her side, seized her and tore her away
from me. I was too startled for an instant to
resist; then, as I started toward them, Marjorie
pushed me back.
“‘Go! Go!’ she cried. ‘It is my father!'
“But he stopped me. In a voice shaking and
husky with rage, he warned me that if I entered
the place again, my life would be forfeit. I can't
repeat the horrible things he said. I could see
his eyes gleaming like a wild beast's. He cursed
me. I had never been cursed before,” and Swain
smiled thinly, “and I confess it wasn't pleasant.
Then he led his daughter away.
“I stood staring after them. I didn't know
what to do. I felt like a madman myself. I sat
down and tried to collect my thoughts. I saw
that some new plan must be made — that there
was no hope of meeting Marjorie again. I was
sick with fear for her; I thought of following to
the house and compelling her to come with me
at once. And then, suddenly, I saw two eyes
gleaming at me. They were not human eyes —
they were too close together — and they were
swaying gently back and forth in the air, about a
foot from the ground. I gazed at them, fasci-


THE GLOVED HAND I23
.*ated, and then I heard a soft, low whistle, fol-
lowed by a faint hissing, as the eyes fell for-
ward.
“In a flash, I knew what it was — the cobra; I
knew why it was there — Vaughan had said my
life was forfeit. I sprang up with a shriek,
dashed along the seat to the door and out into
the darkness. I struck my head against some-
thing — a tree, I suppose; but I kept on, and
reached the wall and got over it somehow — it
is all confused, after that. I seem to remember
hearing Marjorie scream, and finding her lying
beside her father, who was dead — but I can't put
things together,” and he rubbed his head help-
lessly.
“I’ll put them together for you,” said God-
frey. “When you ran into the tree, you suffered
a partial concussion. It's lucky it wasn't total, or
Toto would have got you!”
“Toto? "
“That, I believe, is the cobra's name,” ex-
plained Godfrey, with a smile; “unless, of course,
there are two of them.” And he told Swain in
detail of the events which had followed.
Swain listened with staring eyes. I did not
blame him. Indeed, I felt that my own eyes were
staring a little, though I already knew the story.
But Godfrey, with a gift of narration born of long


I24. THE GLOVED HAND
newspaper experience, told it in a way that made
its horror salient and left one gasping.
“There is one question I want to ask you,
Swain,” he said, in conclusion, “and I want you
to think carefully before you answer it. During
your altercation with Mr. Waughan, did you at
any time touch him?”
“Touch him? No, of course not,” and Swain
shook his head decidedly.
“You are sure of that?” asked Godfrey ear-
nestly.
“Perfectly sure,” said Swain, looking at him
in astonishment. “I was never within three feet
of him.”
Godfrey sprang to his feet with a gesture of
relief.
“I seem to need a cocktail,” he said, in another
tone. “Isn't that the prescription for all of us,
doctor?”
“Yes,” assented Hinman, smiling, “and, after
that, complete change of subject!”


CHAPTER XII
GUESSES AT THE RIDDLE
We tried to follow Dr. Hinman's prescription, but
not with any great success, for it is difficult to talk
about one thing and think about another. So the
doctor took himself off, before long, and Swain
announced that he himself would have to return
to the city. He had come out without so much as
a tooth-brush, he pointed out; his trousers were
in a lamentable condition, and, while Godfrey's
coat was welcome, it was far from a perfect fit.
“Which reminds me,” he added, “that I don't
know what has become of my own coat and shirt.”
I looked at Godfrey quickly.
“No, I forgot them,” he said. “They're over
in the library at Elmhurst,” he added to Swain.
“You can get them to-morrow.”
“I shall have to be there to-morrow, then?”
“Yes, at the inquest; I've promised to produce
you there,” I said. .
“At what time?”
“You’d better be there by ten.”
“Very well; that's all the more reason for get-
ting back to my base of supplies. If I went on
125


126 THE GLOVED HAND
the stand looking like this, the jury would probably
think I was the murderer!” he added, laughing.
My answering smile was decidedly thin. God-
frey did not even try to force one.
“Wait a few minutes,” he suggested, “and I'll
take you down in my car. I'll try to get back
early, Lester,” he added, apologetically. “I’m
far from an ideal host—but you'll find some
books on my desk that may interest you — I got
them up to-day. Take a look at them after din-
ner.”
He went back to bring out his car, and Swain sat
down again beside me.
“Mr. Lester,” he said, in a low voice, “I hope
you haven't forgotten your promise.”
“What promise?”
“To put Miss Vaughan in a safe place and to
look after her interests.”
“No,” I said, “I haven't forgotten. I am
going to ask to see her after the inquest to-mor-
row. If she wishes us to represent her, we will.”
“And to protect her,” he added, quickly.
“She hasn't even a mad father now!”
“She's safe enough for the present,” I pointed
out. “Dr. Hinman has employed another nurse,
so that one is with her all the time.”
“I won't be satisfied,” said Swain, “till you get
her out of that house and away from those damned


THE GLOVED HAND 127
Hindus. One nurse, or even two, wouldn't stop
them.”
“Stop them from what?”
“I don't know,” and he twisted his fingers
helplessly.
“Well, the police will stop them. There are
three or four men on duty there, with orders to let
no one in or out.”
His face brightened.
“Ah, that's better,” he said. “I didn't know
that. How long will they be there?”
“Till after the inquest, anyway.”
“And you will see Miss Vaughan after the in-
quest?”
& 4 Yes.”
“And urge her to go to Mr. and Mrs. Royce?”
“Yes — but I don't think she'll need much urg-
ing. I'll get a note from Mrs. Royce. I'll tele-
phone to Mr. Royce now, and you can stop and
get the note as you come up in the morning.”
Godfrey's car glided up the drive and stopped
at the porch. Swain held out his hand and clasped
mine warmly. -
“Thank you, Mr. Lester,” he said; and a
moment later the car turned into the highway and
passed from sight.
Then I went in, got Mr. Royce on the 'phone,
and give him a brief outline of the incidents of


I28 THE GLOVED HAND
the night before. He listened with an exclama-
tion of astonishment from time to time, and as-
sented heartily when I suggested that Miss
Vaughan might be placed in Mrs. Royce's care
temporarily.
“She's a beautiful girl,” I concluded, “and
very young. I agree with Swain that she mustn't
be left alone in that house.”
“Certainly she mustn't,” said my partner.
“I’ll have Mrs. Royce write the note, and get a
room ready for her.”
“Of course,” I said, “it’s possible she won't
come — though I believe she'll be glad to. Or
there may be a family lawyer who will want to
look after her. Only she didn't appear to know
of any when she was talking to Swain.”
“Well, bring her along if you can,” said
Mr. Royce. “We'll be glad to have her. And
take your time about coming back, if you're needed
up there. We're getting along all right.”
I thanked him, and hung up; and presently Mrs.
Hargis came to summon me to dinner. That meal
over, I went in to Godfrey's desk to see what the
books were he had suggested that I look at.
There was quite a pile of them, and I saw that they
all related to mysticism or to the religions of India.
There was Sir Monier Williams's “Brahmanism


THE GLOVED HAND I29
and Hinduism,” Hopkins's “The Religions of
India,” a work on crystallomancy, Mr. Lloyd
Tuckey's standard work on “Hypnotism and Sug-
gestion,” and some half dozen others whose titles
I have forgotten. And as I looked at them, I
began to understand one reason for Godfrey's
success as a solver of mysteries — no detail of a
subject ever escaped him.
I lit my pipe, sat down, and was soon deep in
the lore of the East. I must confess that I did not
make much of it. In that maze of superstition,
the most I could do was to pick up a thread here
and there. The yogi had referred to the White
Night of Siva, and I soon found out that Siva is
one of the gods of Hinduism — one of a great tril-
ogy: Brahma the creator, Vishnu the preserver,
and Siva the destroyer. He had also spoken of
the attributes of Kali, and, after a little further
search, I discovered that Kali was Siva's wife —
a most unprepossessing and fiendish female.
But when I passed on to Hinduism itself, and
tried to understand its tenets and its sects, I soon
found myself out of my depth. They were so
jumbled, so multitudinous, and so diverse that I
could get no clear idea of them. I read of the
Vedas, the Upanishads, the Brähmanas; of meta-
physical abstractions too tenuous to grasp; of


130 THE GLOVED HAND
karna or action, of maya or illusion, and I know
not what “tangled jumble of ghosts and demons,
demi-gods, and deified saints, household gods, vil-
lage gods, tribal gods, universal gods, with their
countless shrines and temples and din of discordant
rites.” At last, in despair, I gave it up, and turned
to the book on crystallomancy. -
Here, at least, was something comprehensible, if
not altogether believable, and I read with interest
of the antiquity of crystal-gazing as a means of
inducing hallucination for the purpose of seeking
information not to be gained by any normal means.
I read of its use in China, in Assyria, in Egypt.
in Arabia, in India, in Greece and Rome; of how
its practitioners in the Middle Ages were looked
upon as heretics and burnt at the stake or broken
on the wheel; of the famous Dr. Dee, and so down
to the present time. The scryers or seers some-
times used mirrors, sometimes vessels filled with
water, but usually a polished stone, and beryl was
especially esteemed.
The effect of gazing at these intently for a time
was to abstract the mind from normal sensory im-
pressions, and to induce a state of partial hypnosis
during which the scryer claimed he could perceive
in the crystal dream-pictures of great vividness,
scenes at a distance, occurrences of the past, and of
the future.


THE GLOVED HAND 131
I was still deep in this, when I heard a step
outside, the door opened, and Godfrey came in.
He smiled when he saw what I was doing.
“How have you been getting along?” he
asked.
“Not very well,” and I threw the book back
on the table. “The crystal-gazing isn't so bad —
one can understand that; but the jumble of ab-
stractions which the Hindus call religion is too
much for me. I didn't know it was so late,” I
added, and looked at my watch; but it was not
yet eleven o'clock.
“I’m earlier than usual,” said Godfrey. “I
cut loose as soon as I could, because I thought we'd
better talk things over. I saw Simmonds in town
to-night.”
“Ah,” I said; “and what did he tell you?”
“Nothing I didn't know already. The police
have discovered nothing new — or, if they have,
they're keeping it dark until to-morrow. Sim-
monds did, however, regale me with his theory
of the case. He says the murder was done either
by one of the Hindus or by young Swain.”
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I’m inclined to agree with Simmonds,” said
Godfrey, grimly. “With the emphasis on the
Hindus,” he added, seeing the look on my face.
“I don't believe Swain had anv hand in it.”


132 THE GLOVED HAND
“Neither do I,” I agreed, heartily. “In fact,
such a theory is too absurd to discuss.”
“Just the same,” said Godfrey, slowly, “I’m
glad he didn't touch Vaughan. If he had hap-
pened to seize him by the neck, while they were
struggling together, in other words, if those
finger-prints Goldberger found had happened to
be Swain's — things would have looked bad for
him. I'm hoping they'll turn out to belong to
one of the Hindus — but, as I said to Goldberger,
I'm afraid that's too good to be true.”
“Which one of the Hindus?” I asked.
“Oh, the Thug, of course.”
I sat bolt upright.
“The Thug?” I echoed.
“Didn't you get that far?” and Godfrey picked
up one of the books and ran rapidly through the
pages. “You remember we found him squatting
on the floor with a rag and a tooth and a bone in
front of him?”
{{ Yes.”
“And do you remember how the yogi described
them, when Goldberger asked him about them?”
“Very distinctly — he called them the at-
tributes of Kali.”
“Now listen to this: ‘The Thugs are a religious
fraternity, committing murders in honor of Kali,
the wife of Siva, who, they believe, assists them


THE GLOVED HAND I33
and protects them. Legend asserts that she pre-
sented her worshippers with three things, the hem
of her lower garment to use as a noose, a rib to
use as a knife, and a tooth to use as a pick-axe
in burying the victims.’” He glanced at me, and
then went on: “‘But the knife was little used,
for the religious character of an assassination came
to depend more and more upon its bloodless char-
acter, and for this a noose was used, with which
the victim was strangled. The aversion to blood-
shed became in time so great that many sects of
Thuggee consider it defiling to touch human
blood!’” He closed the book and threw it on
the table. “Don’t you think that proves the
case?” -
“Yes,” I said, thoughtfully. “And the yogi
— is he also a Thug?” w
“Oh, no; a White Priest of Siva could never
be a Thug. The worship of Siva and of Kali
are the very opposites of each other. The Saivas
are ascetics. That is,” he added, in another tone,
“if the fellow is really a Saiva and not just a plain
fraud.”
“All these fellows are frauds, more or less,
aren't they?” I questioned.
“No,” was Godfrey's unexpected answer; “the
real yogin are no doubt sincere; but a real yogi
wouldn't waste his time on a soft-brained old man,


I34 THE GLOWED HAND
and fire sky-rockets off at midnight to impress him.
My own opinion is that this fellow is a fakir –
a juggler, a sleight-of-hand man — and, of course,
a crook.”
“Well?” I asked, as Godfrey stopped and
failed to continue.
“Well, that's as far as I've got. Oh, yes —
there's Toto. A cobra is one of a fakir's stock
properties.”
“But, Godfrey,” I protested, “he is no igno-
rant roadside juggler. He's a cultivated man —
an unusual man.”
“Certainly he is — most unusual. But that
doesn't disprove my guess; it only makes the prob-
lem harder. Even a roadside juggler doesn't do
his tricks for nothing — what reward is it this
fellow's working for? It must be a big one, or
it wouldn't tempt him.”
“I suppose Waughan paid him well,” I ven-
tured.
“Yes; but did you look at him, Lester?
You've called him unusual, but that word doesn't
begin to express him. He's extraordinary. No
doubt Vaughan did pay him well, but it would take
something more than that to persuade such a man
to spend six months in a place like that. And I
think I can guess at the stake he's playing for.”
“You mean Miss Vaughan?” -


THE GLOVED HAND I35.
“Just that,” and Godfrey leaned back in his
chair.
I contemplated this theory for some moments in
silence. It was, at least, a theory and an inter-
esting one — but it rested on air. There was no
sort of foundation for it that I could see, and at
last I said so.
“I know it's pretty thin,” Godfrey admitted,
“but it's the best I’ve been able to do — there's
so little to build a theory out of. But I'm going
to see if I can't prove one part of it true to-night.”
“Which part?”
“About his being a fakir. Here's my theory:
that hocus-pocus on the roof at midnight was for
the purpose of impressing Vaughan. No doubt
he believed it a real spiritual manifestation,
whereas it was only a clever bit of jugglery. Now
that Vaughan is dead, that particular bit of
jugglery will cease until there is some new victim
to impress. In fact, it has ceased already. There
was no star last night.”
“But you know why,” I pointed out. “The
yogi spent the night in contemplation. We can
bear witness to that.”
“We can't bear witness to when he started in,”
said Godfrey, drily. “We didn't see him till
after half-past twelve. However, accepting his
explanation, there would be no reason for omitting


THE GLOWED HAND I37
for a moment motionless, and then began slowly
to descend, steadily, deliberately, as of set pur-
pose. Lower and lower it sank, in a straight line,
hovered for an instant, and burst into a million
sparks.
In the flare of light, a white-robed figure stood,
gazing upwards, its arms strained toward the sky.
As we went silently down the ladder, a moment
later, it seemed to me that I could hear Godfrey's
theory crashing about his ears.


CHAPTER XIII
FRANCISCO SILVA
It was not quite ten o'clock when Godfrey and
I turned in at the gates of Elmhurst, next morning,
and made our way up the drive to the house, but
in the library we found a considerable company al-
ready assembled. Goldberger was there, with
Freylinghuisen his physician, his clerk, his stenog-
rapher, and the men who were to constitute the
jury; Simmonds was there, and with him was an
alert little man in glasses, who, Godfrey told me
in an aside, was Sylvester, the head of the Identifi-
cation Bureau, and the greatest expert on finger-
prints in America. The district attorney had sent
up an assistant, also with a stenographer, and al-
together the room was decidedly crowded.
It became impossible a moment later, when a
string of automobiles puffed up the drive and dis-
gorged a mob of reporters and photographers. As
many as the room would hold pushed into it, and
the others stood outside in the drive and com-
plained loudly. The complaints of the photog-
raphers were especially varied and forceful. Gold-
berger looked around him in despair, mopping his
|
138


THE GLOVED HAND I39
face angrily, for the crowded room was very hot.
“You fellows will have to get out of here,”
he said to the reporters. “There's no room. I'll
give you a transcript of the proceedings after
they're over.”
The protests redoubled. How were they to get
any human interest out of a transcript? Besides,
there were the photographers. What did he ex-
pect them to do — photograph the transcript?
And finally, the law required that the hearing be
public, so they had a right to be present. It was
a tense moment, the more so since Goldberger was
by no means insensible of the value of newspaper
popularity to a man in public life.
“Why not go out on the lawn?” Godfrey sug-
gested. “It’s only a question of moving some
chairs and tables, and the boys will all lend a
hand.”
The boys applauded, almost forgiving Godfrey
his scoop, protested their entire willingness to lend
two hands if necessary, and, when Goldberger
nodded his approval, fell to work with a will. The
lower floor of the house was denuded, the garden
seats pressed into service, and at the end of five
minutes, the court was established amid the circle
of trees, the reporters had their coats off and their
pipes lighted, the photographers ditto and their
cameras placed. Good humour was restored; peace


THE GLOWED HAND I4 I
I was testifying, and I could not deny myself a
triumphant glance at Goldberger, but he was study-
ing some memoranda and affected not to notice
it. As soon as I left the stand, Swain came and
sat down beside me and gave me a letter. It was
addressed to Miss Vaughan.
“It's from Mrs. Royce,” he said. “She's a
trump! She's determined that Marjorie shall
come to her. She says if you don't bring her,
she'll come after her herself. Do you know how
she is this morning?”
“No,” I said; “I haven't seen Hinman. But
how are you?”
“Oh, I'm all right again — head a little sore
yet where I bumped it — but otherwise as fit as
a fiddle.”
“You look it!” I said; and I was glad, be-
cause I wanted him to make a good impression
on the stand. I knew what weight appearances
often had; and no jury, I told myself, would be-
lieve that this bright-eyed, fresh-coloured boy
could have had any hand in a brutal murder.
Just then Hinman's name was called, and an
officer hurried away to the house after him. They
returned together almost at once, and Hinman was
placed on the stand. He told of being summoned
by Godfrey, and of the events which followed.
He said that the murder had been committed about


I42 THE GLOVED HAND
midnight, that death had been due to strangula-
tion; and identified the cord and the blood-stained
handkerchief which the coroner submitted to him.
I fancied that Swain lost a little of his colour when
he saw the handkerchief and learned where it had
been found, but he made no remark.
“Will Miss Vaughan be able to testify?” Gold-
berger inquired, just before the doctor stepped
down.
“Unless it is absolutely necessary, I think she
would better be excused,” Hinman answered.
“She is still very nervous. The ordeal might
cause a serious collapse.”
“We will try to get along without her,” as-
sented Goldberger. “If necessary, I can take her
deposition. Is she in bed?”
“Yes; I am keeping her as quiet as possi-
ble.” -
“Very well; we won't disturb her,” said Gold-
berger, and Hinman was excused, and Freyling-
huisen called. He merely testified to the cause
of death and that the autopsy had shown. that the
deceased was in fair health and without organic
disease.
Then the servants were called, but their evi.
dence was unimportant. They had gone to bed
about ten o'clock, and had not awakened until the
coroner himself had pounded at the door. They
5.


THE GLOVED HAND I43
had heard no unusual sound. Yes, they had slept
with their doors locked and windows shuttered be-
cause that was the rule of the house. Yes, even
in the hottest weather; that made no difference,
since each of their rooms was fitted with a ven-
tilator.
Questioned as to the manner of life of the other
inmates of the house, the German and his wife
were non-committal. They had been with the fam-
ily a long time; had taken care of the place when
their master was abroad; only after his return had
it been necessary to get another servant. He had
been at home for a year, and the Hindus had ar-
rived about six months later. Yes, they knew
their master was studying some strange religion,
but that was no affair of theirs, and they had never
seen anything wrong. He had always treated
them well; was a little strange and absent-minded
at times; but neither of them really saw much of
him. He never interfered in the household af-
fairs, Miss Vaughan giving such instructions as
were necessary. The man spent most of his time
in the grounds, and the woman in the kitchen.
She was a little petulant over the fact that one
of the Hindus — the “ugly one "— refused to eat
her cooking, but insisted on preparing his own
food. Also, the housemaid had told her that
there was a snake, but she had never seen it.


I44 THE GLOVED HAND
From the Irish housemaid a little more informa-
tion was obtained. Neither Mr. Vaughan nor
the yogi ate any breakfast; indeed, they rarely
left their rooms before noon. The other Hindu
mixed himself up some sort of mess over the kit-
chen stove. Miss Vaughan breakfasted alone at
nine o'clock. At such times, she was accustomed
to talk over household affairs with the maid, and
after breakfast would visit the kitchen and make
a tour of the grounds and garden. The re-
mainder of her day would be spent in reading, in
playing the piano, in doing little household tasks,
or in walking about the grounds with her father.
Yes, sometimes the yogi would join them, and
there would be long discussions. After dinner, in
the library, there would also be long discussions,
but the girl had no idea what they were about.
She heard a fragment of them occasionally, but
had never been able to make anything of them.
In fact, from the way they dressed and all, she
had come to the conclusion that Mr. Vaughan and
the yogi were both a little crazy, but quite inof-
fensive and harmless.
“And how about Miss Vaughan?” asked the
COroner.
“Miss Vaughan, bless her heart, wasn't crazy,”
said the girl quickly; “not a bit of it. She was
just sad and lonely,– as who wouldn't bel She


THE GLOWED HAND I45
never went out— in the five months I’ve been
here, she's never been off the place; and them
front gates was never opened to let anybody in.
The only people who come in were the grocer and
milk-man and such-like, through the little door
at the side.”
“You say you have been here five months?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How did you come to apply for the place?”
“I didn't apply for it. I was sent here by an
employment bureau. Miss Marjorie engaged me.
I didn't see the Hindus till afterwards, or I don't
think I'd have took it. After that, I stayed for
Miss Marjorie's sake.”
“You thought she needed you?”
“Yes, I did. With her father moonin’ round
in a kind of trance, and the yogi lookin' at her
with eyes like live coals, and a snake that stood
on its tail, and the other naygur going around
with nothin' on but a diaper, I thought she needed
somebody to look after her; and says I, ‘Annie
Crogan, you're the girl to do it!'”
There was a ripple of laughter and the pencils
of the reporters flew across their paper. It was
the first gleam to enliven a prosaic and tiresome
hearing.
“Were the Hindus obtrusive in any way?”
asked the coroner.


146 THE GLOVED HAND
“Oh, no; they minded their business; I've no
complaint on that score.”
“Did you see any of their religious practices?”
“I wouldn't call them religious — quite the
contrary. I've seen them wavin' their arms and
bowin' to the sun and settin' in the dark starin'
at a glass globe with a light in it; that's about all.
I got used to it, after a while, and just went on
about my work without takin' any notice.”
There was little more to be got from her, and
finally she was excused. The reporters yawned.
The jury twitched nervously. Worthington
Vaughan was dead; he had been strangled — so
much was clear; but not a scintilla of evidence had
as yet been introduced as to who had strangled
him. Then a movement of interest ran through
the crowd, for a policeman came from the direc-
tion of the house accompanied by two strange fig-
ures. One was the yogi, in robes of dazzling
white; the other his attendant, wearing something
more than a diaper, indeed, but with his thin brown
legs bare.
The yogi bowed to Goldberger with grave cour-
tesy, and, at a word from the attendant policeman,
sat down in the witness-chair. Everybody was
leaning forward looking at him, and the cameras
were clicking in chorus, but he seemed scarcely
aware of the circle of eager faces.


THE GLOVED HAND I47
“Hold up your right hand, please,” began
Goldberger, after contemplating him for a mo-
ment.
“For what purpose?” asked the yogi.
“I’m going to swear you.”
“I do not understand.”
“I’m going to put you on oath to tell nothing
but the truth,” explained the coroner.
“An oath is unnecessary,” said the yogi with
a smile. “To speak the truth is required by my
religion.”
There was something impressive in the words,
and Goldberger slowly lowered his arm.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Francisco Silva.”
“You are not a Hinduf ’’
“I am of their faith.”
“But by birth?”
“I am a Portuguese.”
“Born in India?”
“Born at Goa.”
The coroner paused. He had never heard of
Goa. Neither had I. Neither, I judged, had
any one else present. In this, however, I was
wrong. Godfrey had heard of it, and afterwards
referred me to Marryat's “Phantom Ship" as
his source of information.
“Goa,” Silva explained, seeing our perplexity,


148 THE GLOWED HAND
“is a colony owned by Portugal on the Malabar
coast, some distance below Bombay.”
“How does it come that you speak English so
Well?” -
“I was educated at Bombay, and afterwards
at Oxford and at Paris.”
“But you are by religion a HinduP"
“I am a Saiva — a follower of Siva, the Lord
of life and death.”
As he spoke, he touched his forehead with the
fingers of his left hand. There was a moment's
silence. Goldberger's moustache, I noted with a
smile, was beginning to suffer again.
“You are what is called an adept?” he asked,
at last.
“Some may call me that,” said Silva, “but in-
correctly. Among my fellow Saivas, I am known
as a White Priest, a yogi, a teacher of the law.”
“Mr. Vaughan was your pupil?”
“Yes; for six months he was my pupil.”
“In what way did you come to accept this po-
sition?”
“Two years ago, Mr. Vaughan visited the mon-
astery of our order in Crete. He was at that
time merely a student of Orientalism, and came
to us from curiosity. But his interest grew; and
after a year spent in studying the holy books, he
asked that a teacher be sent to him. There was


THE GLOVED HAND I49
none at that time who could be spared; but six
months ago, having completed a task which had
occupied me in Paris, I was assigned to this.”
“Do you always go to so much trouble to se-
cure converts?” questioned Goldberger, a little
cynically.
“Usually we require that the period of study
be passed at one of our monasteries. But this
case was exceptional.”
“In what way?” -
“It was our hope,” explained the yogi, calmly,
“that Mr. Vaughan would assist us in spread-
ing the Great Truth by endowing a monastery for
us in this country.”
“Ah!” and Goldberger looked at him. “Did
he agree to do so?”
“He did,” answered the yogi, still more calmly.
“This estate was to have been given to us for
that purpose, together with an endowment suf-
ficient to maintain it. Mr. Vaughan himself hoped
to gain the White Robe and become a teacher.”
“What was to become of his daughter?”
“It was his hope that she would become a
priestess of our order.”
“You hoped so, too, no doubt?” inquired Gold-
berger sweetly.
“I did. It is an office of high honour and great
influence. She would walk all her days in the


CHAPTER XIV
THE FINGER-PRINTS
A SHIVER ran through the crowd, like a gust of
wind across a field of wheat. The words, “Mah-
bub is Thuggee,” seemed to rend the veil which
obscured the tragedy. Surely it was clear enough,
now: here was a man killed by Thuggee's peculiar
method, and here was the Thug. It was as sim-
ple as two and two l
Every eye was on the bare-legged Hindu, im-
passive as ever, staring straight before him. The
camera-men hastily pushed in fresh plates and
trained their machines upon him. Two policemen
edged close to his side.
But Francisco Silva looked about him with
scornful eyes, and presently he opened his lips as
though to speak, and then he closed them.
Goldberger seemed perplexed. He looked as
though, while rolling smoothly along the road
toward a well-understood goal, he had suddenly
struck an unforeseen obstacle. The possibility of
Mahbub's guilt seemed to interfere with some the-
ory of his own. He called Simmonds and the dis-
trict attorney to him, and they exchanged a few
low words. Then he turned back to the witness.
152


154 THE GLOVED HAND
Goldberger pulled at his moustache impatiently.
“There are a lot of questions I’d like to ask,”
he said, “but I feel a good deal as though I were
questioning the Sphinx. Isn't it a little queer that
a Thug should be so particular about a few blood-
stains?”
“I fear that you are doing Mahbub an injus-
tice in your thoughts,” Silva said, gravely. “You
have heard certain tales of the Thugs, perhaps —
tales distorted and magnified and untrue. In the
old days, as worshippers of Kali, they did, some-
times, offer her a human sacrifice; but that was
long ago. To say a man is a Thug is not to say
he is also a murderer.”
“It will take more than that to convict him,
anyway,” assented Goldberger, quickly. “That is
all for the present, professor.” I bit back a smile
at the title which came so unconsciously from
Goldberger's lips.
Silva bowed and walked slowly away toward
the house, Mahbub following close behind. At
a look from Simmonds, two of his men strolled
after the strange couple.
Goldberger stared musingly after them for a
moment, then shook his head impatiently, and
turned back to the business in hand.
“Will Mr. Swain please take the stand?” he
said; and Swain took the chair. “Now, Mr.


THE GLOVED HAND 155
Swain,” Goldberger began, after swearing him,
“please tell us, in your own way, of what part
you had in the incidents of Thursday night.”
Swain told his story much as he had told it to
Godfrey and me, and I noticed how closely both
Goldberger and the district attorney followed it.
When he had finished, Goldberger asked the same
question that Godfrey had asked.
“While you were having the altercation with
Mr. Waughan, did you grasp hold of him?”
“No, sir; I did not touch him.”
“You are quite sure?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You didn't touch him at any time, then or
afterwards?”
“No, sir. I didn't see him afterwards.”
“What were your feelings when he took his
daughter away?”
“I was profoundly grieved.”
“And angry?”
“Yes, I suppose I was angry. He was most
unjust to me.”
“He had used very violent language to you,
had he not?”
{{ Yes.”
“He had threatened your life if you tried to
see his daughter again?”
44 Yes.”


I56 THE GLOVED HAND
“Now, Mr. Swain, as you stood there, angry
and humiliated, didn't you make up your mind
to follow him to the house and have it out with
him?”
Swain smiled.
“I’m lawyer enough to know,” he said, “that
a question like that isn't permissible. But I'll an-
swer it. I may have had such an impulse — I
don't know; but the sight of the cobra there in
the arbour put it effectually out of my head.”
“You still think there was a cobra?”
“I am sure of it.”
“And you ran out of the arbour so fast you
bumped your head?”
“I suppose that's what happened. It's mighty
sore, anyway,” and Swain put his hand to it rue-
fully.
“Mr. Swain,” went on the coroner, slowly,
“are you prepared to swear that, after you hurt
your head, you might not, in a confused and half-
dazed condition, have followed your previous im-
pulse to go to the house and see Mr. Vaughan?”
“Yes,” answered Swain, emphatically, “I am.
Although I was somewhat dazed, I have a dis-
tinct recollection of going straight to the wall and
climbing back over it.”
“You cut your wrist as you were crossing the
wall the first time?”


THE GLOWED HAND I57
z
“Yes,” and Swain held up his hand and showed
the strip of plaster across the wound.
“Your right wrist?”
4 & Yes.”
“It bled freely, did it not?”
“Very freely.” -
“What became of the clothes you took off when
you changed into those brought by Mr. God-
frey?”
“I don't know. Mr. Lester told me they were
left here. I intended to inquire for them.”
At a sign from Goldberger, Simmonds opened
a suit-case and placed a bundle on the table. Gold-
berger unrolled it and handed it to Swain.
“Are these the clothes?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Swain, after a moment's examina-
tion.
“Will you hold the shirt up so the jury can
see it?”
Swain held the garment up, and everybody's
eyes were fixed upon the blood-soaked sleeve.
“There seems to have been a good deal of
blood,” remarked Goldberger. “It must have
run down over your hand.”
“It did. It was all over my fingers.”
“So that it would probably stain anything you
touched?”
“Yes, very probably.”


I58 THE GLOWED HAND
“Did you think of that when you were in the
arbour with Miss Waughan?”
Swain's face suddenly crimsoned and he hung
his head.
“I'm afraid not,” he said.
“How was she dressed?”
“In a white robe of some silk-like material.”
“A robe that would show a blood-stain?”
“Undoubtedly.”
Goldberger paused for an instant, and then pro-
duced a pad, such as one uses for inking rubber
stamps, opened it and placed it on the table before
him.
“Have you any objection to giving me a set
of your finger-prints?” he asked.
“None whatever,” and Swain stepped toward
the table and placed the tips of his fingers on the
pad. Then he pressed each one carefully upon
the pad of paper which the coroner placed before
him. Goldberger watched him curiously, until all
ten impressions had been made.
“You did that as though you had done it be-
fore,” he remarked.
“I made a set once for Mr. Vaughan,” said
Swain, sitting down again. “He had a most in-
teresting collection.”
Goldberger passed the prints over to the head


16o THE GLOVED HAND
an ordinary square knot with which the cord was
made into a noose, and then a double bowline to
secure it.” -
“A double bowline? Can you tie such a
knot?”
“Certainly. Anyone who has ever owned a
boat can do so. It is the best knot for this pur-
pose.”
The coroner reached out for the cord and re-
placed it in the envelope. Then he produced thé
handkerchief.
“Can you identify this?” he asked, and handed
it to the witness.
Swain changed colour a little as he took it.
“I cannot identify it,” he said, in a low voice;
“but I will say this: when Miss Waughan found
that my wrist was bleeding, she insisted upon tying
her handkerchief around it. This may be the
handkerchief.”
Again a little shiver ran through the crowd,
and Goldberger's eyes were gleaming.
“You notice that two corners of the handker-
chief are free from stain,” he said, “and are
crumpled as though they had been tied in a knot.
The handkerchief Miss Vaughan used would prob-
ably be in that condition, would it not?”
“Yes,” Swain answered, his voice still low.
“You heard Dr. Hinman testify that he found


THE GLOWED HAND I61
the handkerchief beside the chair in which Mr.
Vaughan was murdered?”
{{ Yes.”
“Can you explain its presence there?”
“I cannot, unless it dropped from my wrist
when I stooped to raise Miss Vaughan.”
Goldberger looked at the witness for a moment,
then he glanced at Sylvester, who nodded almost
imperceptibly.
“That is all for the present, Mr. Swain,” the
coroner said, and Swain sat down again beside
me, very pale, but holding himself well in hand.
Then Simmonds took the stand. His story de-
veloped nothing new, but he told of the finding
of the body and of its appearance and manner of
death in a way which brought back the scene to
me very vividly. I suspected that he made his
story deliberately impressive in order to efface the
good impression made by the previous witness.
Finally, the coroner dipped once more into the
suit-case, brought out another bundle and unrolled
it. It proved to be a white robe with red stains
about the top. He handed it to Simmonds.
“Can you identify this?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Simmonds; “it is the garment
worn by Mr. Vaughan at the time of his mur-
der.”
“How do you identify it?”


162 THE GLOWED HAND
“By my initials in indelible ink, on the right
sleeve, where I placed them.”
“There are stains on the collar of the robe.
What are they?”
“Blood-stains.”
“Human blood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How do you know?”
“I have had them tested.”
“Did any blood come from the corpse?”
“No, sir; the skin of the neck was not broken.”
“Where, then, in your opinion, did this blood
come from?”
“From the murderer,” answered Simmonds,
quietly.
There was a sudden gasp from the reporters,
as they saw whither this testimony was tending.
I glanced at Swain. He was a little paler, but
was smiling confidently.
Goldberger, his face hawklike, stooped again
to the suitcase, produced a third bundle, and, un-
rolling it, disclosed another robe, also of white
silk. This, too, he handed to Simmonds.
“Can you identify that?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Simmonds. “It is the robe worn
by Miss Vaughan on the night of the tragedy.
My initials are on the left sleeve.”
“That also has blood-marks on it, I believe?”


164 THE GLOWED HAND
“You consider these plain enough for purposes
of identification?”
“Undoubtedly. Any one of them would be
enough.”
Goldberger passed the photographs to the fore-
man of the jury, who looked at them vacantly.
“And the other photographs?” he asked.
“I got only two prints from the other robe,”
said Sylvester. “All but these were hopelessly
smudged, as though the hand had moved while
touching the garment.”
“You mean they were all made by one hand?”
asked Goldberger.
“Yes, sir; by the right hand. Again I have
a print of the thumb and one of the third finger.”
He passed the photographs over, and again
Goldberger handed them on to the jury.
“Mr. Sylvester,” said the coroner, “you con-
sider the finger-print method of identification a
positive one, do you not?”
“Absolutely so.”
“Even with a single finger?”
“Perhaps with a single finger there may be
some doubt, if there is no other evidence. Some-
body has computed that the chance of two prints
being exactly the same is one in sixty-four mil.
lions.”
“And where there is other evidence?”


CHAPTER XV
THE CHAIN TIGHTENS
AN instant's silence followed Sylvester's words,
and then a little murmur of interest and excite-
ment, as the reporters bent closer above their
work. I heard a quick, deep intaking of the
breath from the man who sat beside me, and then
I was on my feet.
“Your Honour,” I said to Goldberger, “it
seems that an effort is to be made to incriminate
Mr. Swain in this affair, and he should therefore
be represented by counsel. I myself intend to rep-
resent him, and I ask for an hour's adjournment
in order to consult with my client.”
Goldberger glanced at his watch.
“I intended to adjourn for lunch,” he said, “as
soon as I had finished with Mr. Sylvester. We
will adjourn now, if you wish — until one-thirty,”
he added.
The battery of cameras was clicking at Swain,
and two or three artists were making sketches of
his head; there was a great bustle as the reporters
gathered up their papers and hurried to their cars
to search for the nearest telephone; the jury.
166


THE GLOVED HAND 167
walked heavily away in charge of an officer to get
their lunch at some near-by road-house; Sylvester
was gathering up his prints and photographs and
putting them carefully in his pocket; Simmonds
was replacing the blood-stained clothing in the suit-
case, to be held as evidence for the trial; but Swain
sat there, with arms folded, staring straight be-
fore him, apparently unconscious of all this.
Goldberger looked at him closely, as he came
down to speak to me, but Swain did not glance
up.
“I can parole him in your custody, I suppose,
Mr. Lester?” the coroner asked.
“Yes; certainly,” I assented.
“Sylvester's evidence makes it look bad for
him.”
“Will you introduce me to Sylvester? I should
like to go over the prints with him.”
“Certainly;” and, a moment later, with the
prints spread out before us, Sylvester was showing
me their points of similarity.
Godfrey came forward while he was talking
and stood looking over his shoulder.
I had heard of finger-print identification, of
course, many times, but had made no study of the
subject, and, I confess, the blurred photographs
which Sylvester offered for my inspection seemed
to me mighty poor evidence upon which to accuse


168 THE GLOVED HAND
a man of murder. The photographs showed the
prints considerably larger than life-size, but this
enlargement had also exaggerated the threads of
the cloth, so that the prints seemed half-concealed
by a heavy mesh. To the naked eye, the lines
were almost indistinguishable, but under Sylvester's
powerful glass they came out more clearly.
“The thumb,” said Sylvester, following the
lines first to the right and then to the left with
the point of a pencil, “is what we call a double
whorl. It consists of fourteen lines, or ridges.
With the micrometer,” and he raised the lid of
a little leather box which stood on the table, took
out an instrument of polished steel and applied it
to one of the photographs, “we get the angle of
these ridges. See how I adjust it,” and I watched
him, as, with a delicate thumbscrew, he made the
needle-like points of the finder coincide with the
outside lines of the whorl. “Now here is a photo-
graph from the other robe, also showing the
thumb,” and he applied the machine carefully to
it. “It also is a double whorl of fourteen lines,
and you see the angles are the same. And here
is the print of the right thumb which your client
made for me.” He applied the micrometer and
drew back that I might see for myself.
“But these photographs are enlarged,” I ob-
jected.


THE GLOVED HAND 169
“That makes no difference. Enlargement does
not alter the angles. Here are the other prints.”
He compared them one by one, in the same man-
ner. When he had finished, there was no escap-
ing the conviction that they had been made by the
same hand — that is, unless one denied the theory
of finger-print identification altogether, and that,
I knew, would be absurd. As he finished his
demonstration, Sylvester glanced over my shoulder
with a little deprecating smile, as of a man apol-
ogising for doing an unpleasant duty, and I turned
to find Swain standing there, his face lined with
perplexity.
“You heard?” I asked.
“Yes; and I believe Mr. Sylvester is right. I
can't understand it.”
“Well,” I said, “suppose we go and have some
lunch, and then we can talk it over,” and thank-
ing Sylvester for his courtesy, I led Swain away.
Godfrey fell into step beside us, and for some mo-
ments we walked on in silence.
“There is only one explanation that I can see,”
said Godfrey, at last. “Swain, you remember,
got to the library about a minute ahead of us, and
when we reached the door he was lifting Miss
Vaughan to the couch. In that minute, he must
have touched the dead man.”
Swain shook his head doubtfully.


THE GLOWED HAND 171
finger-prints could have got on that garment, and
that is from your fingers. If you didn't put them
there consciously, you must have done so uncon-
sciously. If they aren't explained in some way,
the jury will very probably hold you responsible
for the crime.” -
“I understand that,” Swain answered thickly;
“but how can they be explained? I don't see why
I should put my hands on Mr. Vaughan's throat,
even unconsciously. And then there's the fact that
at no time during the evening was I really uncon-
scious—I was only confused and dazed.”
“Goldberger's theory is plain enough,” said
Godfrey, turning to me; “and I must say that it's
a good one. He realises that there wasn't provo-
cation enough to cause a man like Swain to com-
mit murder, with all his senses about him; but his
presumption is that the crime was committed while
Swain was in a dazed condition and not wholly
self-controlled. Such a thing is possible.”
“No, it isn't!” cried Swain, his face livid. “It
isn't possible! I'm not a murderer. I remember
everything else — do you think I wouldn't remem-
ber a thing like that!”
“I don't know what to think,” Godfrey admit-
ted, a straight line between his brows. “Besides,
there's the handkerchief.”
“I don't see any mystery about that,” said


THE GLOVED HAND I73
theory was a good one, and it is; but I don't be-
lieve it. My belief is that the murder was done
by the Thug; but there's nothing to support it,
except the fact that he was on the ground and
that a noose was used. There's not a bit of di-
rect evidence to connect him with the crime, and
there's a lot of direct evidence to connect you with
it. It's up to us to explain it away. Now, think
carefully before you answer my questions: Have
you any recollection, however faint, of having seen
Mahbub before this morning?”
Swain sat for quite a minute searching his con-
sciousness. Then, to my great disappointment, he
shook his head.
“No,” he said; “I am sure I never saw him
before.”
“Nor Silva P’”
“No, nor Silva — except, of course, the time,
three or four months ago, when he gave me Mr.
Vaughan's message.”
“Have you a distinct recollection that the li-
brary was empty when you sprang into it?”
“Yes; very distinct. I remember looking about
it, and then running past the table and discovering
Miss Vaughan.”
“You saw her father also?”
“Yes; but I merely glanced at him. I realised
that he was dead.”


I74 THE GLOVED HAND
“And you also have a distinct recollection that
you did not approach him or touch him?”
“I am quite certain of that,” answered Swain,
positively.
“Then I give it up,” said Godfrey, and lay
back in his chair.
There was a queer boiling of ideas in my mind;
ideas difficult to clothe with words, and composed
of I know not what farrago of occultism, mysti-
cism, and Oriental magic; but at last I managed
to simmer them down to a timid question: -
“I know it sounds foolish, but wouldn't it be
possible, Godfrey, to explain all this by hypnosis,
or occult influence, or something of that sort?”
Godfrey turned and looked at me.
“Silva seems to have impressed you,” he said.
“He has. But isn't such an explanation pos-
sible?”
“I don't think so. I don't deny that the Ori-
entals have gone farther along certain paths of
psychology than we have, but as to their posses-
sing any occult power, it is, in my opinion, all bosh.
As for hypnosis, the best authorities agree that no
man can be hypnotised to do a thing which, in his
normal condition, would be profoundly repugnant
to him. Indeed, few men can be hypnotised against
their will. To be hypnotised, you have to yield
yourself. Of course, the more you yield your-


THE GLOVED HAND 17;
self, the weaker you grow, but that doesn't apply
to Swain. I shouldn't advise you to use that line
of argument to a jury,” he added, with a smile.
“You’d better just leave the whole thing up in the
air.”
“Well,” I said, “I’ll make the best fight I can.
I was hoping Swain could help me; since he can't,
we'll have to trust to luck.”
Godfrey left us to get his story of the morning
hearing into shape, and I fell into a gloomy revery.
I could see no way out of the maze; either Swain
had touched Vaughan's body, or it had been
touched by another man with the same finger-mark-
ings. I sat suddenly upright, for if there was such
a man, he must be one of two. -
“What is it?” Swain asked, looking at me.
“A long shot,” I said. “An exceedingly
long shot — a three-hundred-million to one shot.
How many people are there in the world, Swain?”
“I’m sure I don't know,” and he stared at me
in bewilderment.
“I think it's something like a billion and a half.
If that is true, then it's possible that there are four
people in the world, beside yourself, with the
thumb and two fingers of the right hand marked
exactly as yours are.”
“We must have a reunion, some day,” Swain
remarked, with irony.


176 THE GLOWED HAND
But I refused to be diverted.
“Allowing for imperceptible differences,” I
went on, “I think it is safe to assume that there
are ten such people.”
“Well,” said Swain, bitterly, “I know one
thing that it isn't safe to assume, and that is that
either of those Hindus is one of those ten. I sup-
pose that is the assumption you will make next?”
“It's an assumption I intend to put to the proof,
anyway,” I answered, somewhat testily, “and if it
fails, I'm afraid you'll have to go to jail till I
can dig up some more evidence.”
He turned toward me quickly, his face working.
“See here, Mr. Lester,” he said, “don’t mis-
understand me. I’m awfully grateful for all
you're doing for me; but I don't mind going to
jail — not on my own account. I'm innocent, and
I'll be able to prove it in time. But Marjorie
mustn't be left alone. I'd be ready to face any-
thing if I knew that she was safe. She mustn't
be left in that house — not a single night. Prom-
ise me that you'll take her with you as soon as the
inquest's over !”
“I’ll promise that, Swain, gladly,” I said, “pro-
vided, of course, the doctor consents.”
“We must get him,” and Swain sprang to his
feet. “We must explain to him how important it
- ??
-
1S


178 THE GLOVED HAND
family of his partner, Mr. Royce, where she will
be properly taken care of. Is there any reason
why she can't be taken there to-day?”
The doctor considered for a moment.
“Ordinarily,” he said, at last, “I would ad-
vise that she be left where she is for a few days;
but, under the circumstances, perhaps she would
better be moved. You can get an easy-riding car-
riage — or a car will do, if you drive carefully.
The nurses, will, of course, go along. The only
thing is, she will probably wish to attend her
father's funeral, which takes place to-morrow.”
Swain bit his lips nervously.
“I have a horror of her staying in that house
another night,” he said; “but I hadn't thought of
the funeral. There is one nurse on duty all the
time, isn't there, doctor?”
“Yes.” -
“All right, then; we'll risk one night more.
But you promise me that she shall be taken away
immediately after the funeral?”
“Yes,” I said, “I promise.”
“And I,” said the doctor. Then he looked at
his watch. “It's time we were getting back,” he
added.
He took us over in his car, and we found the
jury, under the guidance of Simmonds, just coming
out of the house, each member smoking a fat black


THE GLOVED HAND I79
cigar at the expense of the State. They had been
viewing the body and the scene of the crime, but as
they filed back into their seats, I noted that they
seemed anything but depressed. The lunch had
evidently been a good one.
Sylvester was recalled to finish his testimony.
He explained the system of curves and angles by
which finger-prints are grouped and classified, and
the various points of resemblance by which two
prints could be proved to have been made by the
same finger. There was, first of all, the general
convolution, whether a flexure, a stria, a sinus, a
spiral, a circle, or a whorl; there was, secondly,
the number of ridges in the convolution; and there
was, thirdly, the angles which these ridges made.
If two prints agreed in all these details, their iden-
tity was certain. He then proceeded to show that
the prints made that morning by Swain did so
agree with the photographs of the prints on the
garments. Finally the witness was turned over to
me for cross-examination.
“Mr. Sylvester,” I began, “are you willing to
assert that those finger-prints could have been made
by no man in the world except Mr. Swain?”
Sylvester hesitated, just as I hoped he would
do.
“No,” he answered, at last, “I can't assert
that, Mr. Lester. There may be three or four


THE GLOWED HAND I 8 I
might not have been committed by some person
unknown to us.”
“You can scarcely expect the jury to believe,
however,” Goldberger pointed out, “that this sup-
posititious person had finger-tips like your
client's.”
“No,” I agreed, “I make no such assertion; my
hope is that we shall soon have the prints of the
real murderer; and when I say the real murderer,”
I added, looking at the jury, “I believe every one
present understands who I mean.”
The coroner rapped sharply; but I had said
what I wished to say, and sat down. The wit-
nesses of the morning were ordered to be brought
out. Sylvester arranged his ink-pad and sheets
of paper.
“It seems to me,” remarked the coroner, with
a smile, “that you and Mr. Godfrey would better
register, too. You were within striking distance.”
“That is right,” I agreed, and was the first
to register; but Sylvester, after a glance at my
prints, shook his head.
“Your thumb is a left sinus,” he said. “You're
cleared, Mr. Lester.”
Godfrey came forward and registered, too, and
after him the three servants. In each case, a
shake of Sylvester's head told the result.
Then Simmonds came from the house, with
3.


182 THE GLOWED HAND
Silva and Mahbub after him, and the coroner ex-
plained to Silva what was wanted. I fancied that
the yogi’s brow contracted a little. -
“The registration of the fingers,” he said, “ of
the foot or of the palm, is with us a religious cere-
mony, not to be lightly performed. By some, it
is also held that the touch of ink, unless com-
pounded by a priest of the temple according to a
certain formula, is defiling; and, above all, it is
impossible for a believer to permit such relics of
himself to remain in the hands of an infidel.”
“The relics, as you call them,” Goldberger ex-
plained, “won't need to remain in our hands.
My expert here can tell in a minute whether your
prints resemble those of his photographs. If they
do not, they will be returned to you.”
“And if they do?”
Goldberger laughed.
“Well, you can have them back, anyway. In
that case, I guess we can persuade you, later on,
to make another set.”
The yogi flushed angrily, but controlled him-
self.
“I rely upon your promise, sir,” he said, and
laid his fingers first upon the pad and then upon
the paper.
He stood with closed eyes and moving lips, his
inked fingers held carefully away from him, dur-


THE GLOVED HAND 183
ing the breathless moment that Sylvester bent
above the prints. Then the expert looked up and
shook his head.
“No resemblance at all,” he said, and held out
the sheet of paper on which the prints were.
Silva accepted it silently, and rolled it into a
ball in the palm of his hand.
“Now for the other fellow,” said Gold-
berger.
Silva glanced at his follower doubtfully.
“I am not sure that I can make him under-
stand,” he said, and for some moments talked en-
ergetically to Mahbub in a language which I sup-
pose was Hindu. Mahbub listened, scowling
fiercely, speaking a brief sentence now and then.
“He would know,” Silva asked, at last, turning
to the coroner, “whether blood is a constituent of
that ink.”
“It is a purely chemical compound,” Sylvester
explained. “There is no blood in it, nor any other
animal matter.”
This was repeated to Mahbub, and, after some
further hesitation, he advanced to the table.
A moment later, Sylvester was bending above
the prints. Then he looked up, his face red with
astonishment, and motioned me to approach.
“Look at that!” he said, and laid the prints
before me.


184 THE GLOWED HAND
My heart was leaping with the hope that the in-
credible had happened; that here lay the clue
to the mystery. But the first glance told me that
such was not the case. The prints resembled
Swain's not at all. And then, when I looked at
them again, I perceived that they resembled no
other prints which I had ever seen.
For the prints of all ten fingers were exactly
alike, and consisted, not of whorls and spirals, but
of straight lines running right across the finger.
Sylvester was staring at them in bewilderment.
“These,” he said, when he could find his voice,
“are the most remarkable prints I ever saw.”
“Do they resemble those on the robe?” asked
the coroner.
“Not in the least.”
“Then that settles that point,” said Goldberger,
with what seemed to me a sigh of relief.
“There is one thing, though,” said Sylvester,
eyeing Mahbub curiously; “I wish I knew the
secret of these extraordinary prints.”
“I can tell it to you,” said Silva, with a little
smile. “It is not at all extraordinary. The sys-
tem of finger-print identification has been in use
among the Hindus for many centuries, and was
adopted by the English courts in India nearly a
hundred years ago, after every other method had
failed. The caste of Thuggee, which was at war


THE GLOVED HAND 18;
with all other castes, and especially at war with
the English, evaded it by stimulating on the fingers
of their male children the formation of these
artifical ridges. It became a sacred rite, performed
by the priests, and has been maintained by the
more devout members of the caste, although the
need for it has ceased.”
Sylvester looked at the prints again.
“I should like to keep these,” he said. “They
would be a great addition to my collection.”
Silva bowed.
“Mahbub will have no objection,” he said.
“To him, they are of no importance, since there
are many hundreds of men in the world with
finger-tips identical with his. That is all?”
Goldberger nodded, and the two strange figures
walked slowly away toward the house.


THE GLOVED HAND 187
torted. “It is a certainty. I am willing to swear
that the finger-prints on the robe worn by the mur-
dered man were made by Frederic Swain.”
“You realise the serious nature of this asser-
tion?” asked the coroner, slowly.
“I realise it fully.”
“And that realisation does not cause you to
modify it in any way?”
“It cannot be modified,” said Sylvester, firmly,
“however serious it may be, however reluctant I
may be to make it — it cannot be modified because
it is the truth.”
There was a moment's silence, then Goldberger
turned to me.
“Have you any questions to ask the witness,
Mr. Lester?”
“No,” I answered; “I have none.”
Sylvester bent again above his prints, while the
coroner and the prosecutor held a brief consulta-
tion. Then Goldberger turned back to me,
“Have you anything further, Mr. Lester?” he
asked. “Our evidence is all in, I believe.”
I was driven to my last entrenchment.
“I should like to call Miss Vaughan,” I said,
“if Dr. Hinman thinks she is strong enough.”
Swain's chair creaked as he swung toward me.
“No, no!” he whispered, angrily. “Don’t do
that! Spare her that!”


190 THE GLOWED HAND
to precede him, followed us into the room, and
closed the door gently.
Miss Vaughan was half-sitting, half-reclining in
a large chair. The blinds were drawn and the
room in semi-darkness, but even in that light I
could see how changed she was from the girl of
whom I had caught a glimpse two days before.
Her face was dead white, as though every drop of
blood had been drained from it; her eyes were
heavy and puffed, as from much weeping, and it
seemed to me that there still lingered in their
depths a shadow of horror and shrinking fear.
“This is Mr. Goldberger,” said the doctor,
“ and this is Mr. Lester.”
She inclined her head to each of us, as we
took the chairs the doctor drew up, and I fancied
that her cheeks flushed a little as her eyes met
mine.
“I have explained to Miss Vaughan,” the doc-
tor continued, “that an inquiry is in progress, as
the law requires, to determine the manner of her
father's death, and that her story of what hap-
pened that night is essential to it.”
“It will, at least, be a great help to us,” said
Goldberger gently, and I saw how deeply the girl's
delicate beauty appealed to him. It was a beauty
which no pallor could disguise, and Goldberger's
temperament was an impressionable one.


THE GLOVED HAND I9 I
“I shall be glad to tell you all I know,” said
Miss Vaughan, “but I fear it will not help you
much.”
“Will you tell us something, first, of your
father's mental state?” I suggested.
“For many years,” she began, “father had
been a student of mysticism, and until quite re-
cently he remained merely a student. I mean by
that that he approached the subject with a detached
mind and with no interest in it except a scientific
interest.”
“I understand,” I said. “And that has
changed recently?”
“It has changed completely in the last few
months. He became a disciple, a convert anxious
to win other converts.”
“A convert to what?”
“To Hinduism — to the worship of Siva.”
“That is the cult to which Francisco Silva be-
longs?”
“Yes; he is a White Priest of Siva.”
“And this change in your father has been since
the coming of this man?”
& 4 Yes.”
“Do you know anything of him?”
“Only that he is a very wonderful man.”
“You know nothing of his past?”
4 & No.”


I92 THE GLOWED HAND
“Did your father wish you to become a con-
vert?”
“Yes, he desired it deeply.”
“A priestess of Siva, I believe it is called?”
4 - Yes.”
“And the yogi also desired it?”
“He believed it would be a great destiny. But
he urged it only for my father's sake.”
“So you determined to appeal to Mr. Swain?”
The colour deepened in her cheeks again.
“I decided to ask his advice,” she said.
“Please tell us what happened that evening.”
“Mr. Swain met me at the arbour in the cor-
ner of the grounds, as I had asked him to, and
convinced me that my father's mind had given
way under his long study of the occult. We de-
cided that he should be placed in a sanitarium
where he could have proper attention, and Mr.
Swain was to make the necessary arrangements.
All I would have to do would be to sign some
papers. We were just saying good-night, when
my father appeared at the entrance of the ar-
bour.” -
“This was about midnight, was it not?”
44 Yes.”
“Why did you choose that hour for the meet.
ing?”
“Because at that hour my father and the yogi


THE GLOVED HAND 193
were always engaged in invoking an astral bene-
diction.”
Even I, who knew the significance of the words,
paused a little at them. The doctor and Gold-
berger were hopelessly at sea. After all, the
words were a very good description of the weird
ceremony.
“Well,” I said, “and after your father ap-
peared, what happened?”
“He was very excited and spoke to Mr. Swain
in a most violent manner. Mr. Swain attempted
to take me away from him, not knowing, at first,
who it was had seized me; but I pushed him back
and led my father away toward the house.”
“Did Mr. Swain touch your father?”
“No; I was between them all the time. I was
determined that they should not touch each other.
I was afraid, if they came together, that some-
thing terrible would happen.”
Goldberger glanced at me.
“Something terrible to your father?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” she answered, quickly; “Mr. Swain
would not have harmed my father, but father did
not know what he was doing and might have
harmed Mr. Swain.”
It was my turn to look at Goldberger.
“After you left the arbour,” I asked, “did you
see Mr. Swain again?”


I94 THE GLOWED HAND
“No, I did not see him again.”
“You went straight to the house?”
“Yes; father was still very violent. He had
forbidden me to see Mr. Swain or to write to him.
He had taken a violent dislike to him.”
“Do you know why?”
“Yes,” and she flushed a little, but went on
bravely. “He believed that Mr. Swain wished
to marry me.”
“As, in fact, he did,” “I commented.
“Yes; or, at least, he did before his financial
troubles came. After that, he wished to give me
up.”
“But you refused to be given up?”
“Yes,” she said, and looked at me with eyes
beautifully radiant. “I refused to be given up.”
I felt that I was rushing in where angels would
hesitate to enter, and beat a hasty retreat.
“Was your father always opposed to your mar-
riage?” I asked.
“No; he has wanted me to wait until I was of
age; but he never absolutely forbade it until a few
months ago. It was at the time he first tried to
persuade me to become a convert to Hinduism.”
“What occurred after you and your father
reached the house?”
“Father was very angry, and demanded that
I promise never to see Mr. Swain again. When


THE GLOVED HAND I95
I refused to promise, he sent me to my room, for-
bidding me to leave it without his permission. I
came up at once, more than ever convinced that
father needed medical attention. I was very nerv-
ous and over-wrought, and I sat down by the
window to control myself before going to bed.
And then, suddenly, I remembered something the
yogi had told me — that father was not strong,
and that a fit of anger might be very serious. I
knew the servants had gone to bed, and that he
must be downstairs alone, since I had heard no one
come up.” -
“You had heard no one in the hall at all?” I
asked.
“No, I had heard no one. But I remember, as
I started down the stairs, a curious feeling of dread
seized me. It was so strong that I stood for
some moments on the top step before I could
muster courage to go down. At last, I did go
down and — and found my father l’”
She stopped, her hands over her eyes, as though
to shut away the remembrance of that dreadful
sight.
“Have you strength to tell me just what hap-
pened, Miss Vaughan?” I asked gently.
She controlled herself with an effort and took
her hands from her face.
“Yes,” she said; “I can tell you. I remember


196 THE GLOWED HAND
that I stood for a moment at the door, looking
about the room, for at the first glance I thought
there was no one there. I thought, for an instant,
that father had gone into the grounds, for the
curtain at the other door was trembling a little, as
though someone had just passed.”
“Ah!” I said, and looked at Goldberger.
“It might have been merely the breeze, might
it not?” he asked.
“I suppose so. The next instant I saw my father
huddled forward in his chair. I was sure he had
had a seizure of some sort; I ran to him, and
raised his head. . . .”
Again she stopped, her eyes covered, and a
slow shudder shook her from head to foot. I
could guess what a shock the sight of that hor-
rible face had been I
“I do not remember anything more,” she added,
in a whisper.
For a moment, we all sat silent. The only por-
tion of her evidence which could in any way help
Swain was her discovery of the swaying curtain,
and even that, as Goldberger had pointed out,
might easily mean nothing.
“Miss Vaughan,” I said, at last, “how long
a time elapsed from the moment you left your
father in the library until you found him?”
“I don't know. Perhaps fifteen minutes.”


THE GLOVED HAND 1.97
“Was he quite dead when you found him?”
“Yes, I — I think so.”
“Then,” I said to Goldberger, “the murder
must have been committed very soon after Miss
Vaughan came upstairs.”
“Yes,” agreed Goldberger, in a low tone,
“ and by somebody who came in from the grounds,
since she met no one in the hall and heard no
one.”
Miss Vaughan leaned toward him, her hands
clasping and unclasping.
“Do you know who it was?” she gasped.
“Have you found out who it was?”
“We suspect who it was,” answered Goldberger
gravely.
“Tell me,” she began.
“Wait a minute, Miss Vaughan,” I broke in.
“Tell me, first — did you hear anyone following
you across the garden?”
“Yes,” she answered thoughtfully; “once or
twice I fancied that someone was following us.
It seemed to me I heard a step, but when I looked
back I saw no one.”
“Did that fact make you uneasy?"
“No,” she said, with a little smile. “I thought
it was Mr. Swain.”
I saw Goldberger's sudden movement. I my-
self could not repress a little shudder.


198 THE GLOVED HAND
“You thought that would be the natural thing
for Mr. Swain to do, did you not?” the coroner
inquired. -
“Yes — I thought he might wish to see me
safe.” Then she stopped, leaning forward in her
chair and staring first at Goldberger and then at
me. “What is it?” she whispered, her hands
against her heart. “Oh, what is it? You don't
mean — you can't mean — oh, tell me! It isn't
Fred you suspect! It can't be Fred!”
It was Dr. Hinman who laid a gentle and quiet-
ing hand upon her shoulder, and it was his grave
voice which answered her.
“Yes,” he said, “there are some things which
seem to implicate Mr. Swain; but both Mr. Lester
and I are certain he isn't guilty. We're going to
prove it!”
She looked up at him with a grateful smile.
“Thank you!” she gasped. “I — wait a mo-
ment — I was silly to give way so. Of course
you will prove it! It's absurd!” And then she
stopped and looked at Goldberger. “Do you be-
lieve it?” she demanded.
Goldberger flushed a little under her gaze.
“I don't know what to believe, Miss Vaughan,”
he said. “I’m searching for the truth.”
“So are we all,” I said. “I am counsel for
Mr. Swain, Miss Vaughan, and I have come to


THE GLOVED HAND 199
you, hoping that your story would help to clear
him.”
“Oh, I wish it might!” she cried.
“You know Mr. Swain cut his wrist as he
came over the wall that night?”
“Yes, he told me. He didn't know it was
bleeding, at first; then he felt the blood on his
hand, and I wrapped his wrist in my handker-
chief.”
“Was it this handkerchief?” asked Gold-
berger, and took from his pocket the blood-stained
square and handed it to her.
She took it with a little shiver, looked at it, and
passed it back to him.
“Yes,” she said; “that is it.”
Then she sat upright, her clenched hands against
her breast, staring at us with starting eyes.
“I remember now!” she gasped. “I remem-
ber now! I saw it — a blotch of red — lying on
the floor beside my father's chair! How did it
get there, Mr. Lester? Had he been there?
Did he follow us?” She stopped again, as she saw
the look in Goldberger's eyes, and then the look in
mine. With a long, indrawn breath of horror,
she cowered back into the chair, shaking from head
to foot. “Oh, what have I done!” she moaned.
“What have I done! ” º
There could be no question as to what she had


200 THE GLOVED HAND
done, I told myself, bitterly: she had added an-
other link to the chain of evidence about her lover.
I could see the same thought in the sardonic gaze
which Goldberger turned upon me; but before
either of us could say a word, the doctor, with a
peremptory gesture, had driven us from the room.


CHAPTER XVII
THE VERDICT
GOLDBERGER paused at the stair-head and looked
at me, an ironical light in his eyes. I knew he
suspected that Miss Vaughan's story of the hand-
kerchief was no great surprise to me.
“Well,” he asked, “will you wish to put her
on the stand?”
I shook my head and started down the stairs,
for I was far from desiring an argument just then,
but he stopped me with a hand upon the sleeve.
“You realise, Mr. Lester,” he said, more seri-
ously, “that it is plainly my duty to cause Swain's
arrest?”
“Yes,” I assented. “I realise that. Under
the circumstances, you can do nothing else.”
He nodded, and we went downstairs together.
I saw Swain's eager eyes upon us as we came out
upon the lawn, and his lips were at my ear the in-
stant I had taken my seat.
“Well?” he whispered.
“She cannot help you,” I said. I did not think
it necessary to say how deeply she would hurt him
when her testimony was called for in open court,
as, of course, it would be.
2O:


204 THE GLOVED HAND
better to hold my peace. The more confident he
was, the less irksome he would find imprisonment.
So I sat silent until the members of the jury filed
back into their places.
“Have you reached a verdict, gentlemen?”
the coroner asked, after his clerk had polled them.
“Yes, Your Honour,” the foreman answered.
“What is the verdict?”
The foreman held out a folded paper to the
clerk, who took it, opened it, and read:
“We, the jury in the inquest held this thir-
teenth day of June, 1908, into the death of one
Worthington Vaughan, residing in the Borough
of the Bronx, City of New York, do find that the
deceased came to his death by strangulation at
the hands of one Frederic Swain.”
There was an instant's silence, and then Gold-
berger turned to the jury.
“Is this your verdict, gentlemen?” he asked
quietly; and each juryman replied in the affirma-
tive as his name was called. “I thank you for
your services,” Goldberger added, directed his
clerk to give them their vouchers on the city treas-
urer, and dismissed them.
Simmonds and the assistant district attorney
came toward us, and I arose to meet them.
Swain got up, also, and when I glanced at him I
saw that he was smiling.


206 THE GLOWED HAND
reporters and photographers piled into the others,
the few stragglers who had straggled in straggled
on again, and in five minutes the place was de-
serted. As I looked around, I was surprised to
see that even Godfrey had departed. There was
something depressing about the jumble of chairs
and tables, the litter of paper on the grass —
something sordid, as of a banquet-hall deserted by
the diners.
I turned away and started for the gate; and
then, suddenly, I wondered who was in charge of
the house. Who would give orders to clear away
this litter? Who would arrange for the funeral
on the morrow? How could Miss Vaughan do
it, ill as she was? With quick resolution, I turned
back toward the house. As I did so, I was sur-
prised to see a man appear at the edge of the
lawn and run toward me. It was Hinman.
“I was afraid I'd missed you,” he said.
“Miss Vaughan wishes to see you. She's all
alone here and needs some help.”
“I'd thought of that,” I said. “I was just
coming to offer it. Is she better?”
“Yes, much better. I think she has realised
the necessity of conquering her nerves. Of course,
we must still be careful.”
I nodded, and followed him into the house.
Then I stopped in astonishment, for Miss Vaughan


THE GLOWED HAND 2O7
was sitting in a chair in the library. She rose as
I entered, came a step toward me and held out her
hand.
“You must not think too badly of me, Mr.
Lester,” she said. “I won't give way again, I
promise you.”
“You have had a great deal to bear,” I pro-
tested, taking her hand in mine. “I think you
have been very brave. I only hope that I can be
of some service to you.”
“Thank you. I am sure you can. Let us all
sit down, for we must have quite a talk. Dr. Hin-
man tells me that I shall need a lawyer.”
“Undoubtedly,” I assented. “Your father's
estate will have to be settled, and that can only
be done in the courts. Besides, in the eyes of the
law, you are still a minor.”
“Will you be my lawyer, Mr. Lester?”
“It will be a great privilege,” I answered.
“Then we will consider that settled?”
“Yes,” I agreed, “we will consider that
settled.”
“But it is not business I wish to discuss to-day,”
she went on, quickly. “There are other things
more urgent. First, I wish to get acquainted with
you. Have you not wondered, Mr. Lester, why
it was that I chose you to deliver my letter?”
“I suppose it was because there was no one


208 THE GLOVED HAND
else,” I answered, looking at her in some astonish-
ment for the way she was rattling on. The colour
was coming and going in her cheeks and her eyes
were very bright. I wondered if she had escaped
brain fever, after all.
“No,” she said, smiling audaciously, “it was
because I liked your face — I knew you could be
trusted. Of course, for a moment I was startled
at seeing you looking down at me from a tree. I
wondered afterwards how you came to be there.”
“Just idle curiosity,” I managed to stammer,
my face very hot. “I am sorry if I annoyed
you.”
“Oh, but it was most fortunate,” she protested;
“ and a great coincidence, too, that you should be
Mr. Swain's employer, and able to get hold of him
at once.”
“It didn't do much good,” I said, gloomily;
“and it has ended in putting Swain in jail.”
I happened to glance at her hands, folded in
her lap, and saw that they were fairly biting into
each other.
“In jail!” she whispered, and now there was
no colour in her face.
“Forgive me, Miss Vaughan,” I said, hastily.
“That was brutal. I forgot you didn't know.”
“Tell me!” she panted. “Tell me! I can
stand it! Oh, you foolish man, didn't you see —


THE GLOVED HAND 2II
“I am afraid there can be doubt of it,” and
I told her how Sylvester had proved it.
She listened motionless, mute, scarce-breathing,
searching my face with distended eyes. Then, sud-
denly, her face changed, she rose from her chair,
flew across the room, opened a bookcase and pulled
out a bulky volume bound in vellum. She turned
the pages rapidly, giving each of them only a
glance. Suddenly she stopped, and stared at a
page, her face livid.
“What is it?” I asked, and hastened to her.
“It is the book of finger-prints,” she gasped.
“A great many — oh, a great many — my father
collected and studied them for years. He be-
lieved—I do not know what he believed.”
She paused, struggling for breath.
“Well,” I said; “what then?”
“Mr. Swain's was among them,” she went on,
in the merest whisper. “They were here —
page two hundred and thirty — see, there is an
index — ‘Swain, F., page two hundred and
thirty.'”
She pointed at the entry with a shaking finger.
“Well,” I said again, striving to understand,
“what of it?”
“Look!” she whispered, holding the book to-
ward me, “that page is no longer there! It has
been torn out !”


2 I 2 THE GLOWED HAND
Then, with a convulsive shudder, she closed the
book, thrust it back into its place, and ran noise-
lessly to the door leading to the hall. She swept
back the curtain and looked out.
“Oh, is it you, Annie?” she said, and I saw
the Irish maid standing just outside. “I was
about to call you. Please tell Henry to bring
those tables and chairs in from the lawn.”
“Yes, ma'am,” said the girl, and turned away.
Miss Vaughan stood looking after her for a
moment, then dropped the curtain and turned back
again into the room. I saw that she had mastered
her emotion, but her face was still dead white.
As for me, my brain was whirling. What if
Swain's finger-prints were missing from the book?
What connection could that have with the blood-
stains on the robe? What was the meaning of
Miss Vaughan's emotion? Who was it she had
expected to find listening at the door? I could
only stare at her, and she smiled slightly as she
saw my look.
“But what is it you suspect?” I stammered.
“I don't see. . . .”
“Neither do I,” she broke in. “But I am try-
ing to see — I am trying to see!” and she wrung
her hands together.
“The disappearance of the prints seems plain
enough to me,” said Hinman, coming forward.


THE GLOWED HAND 213
“Mr. Vaughan no doubt tore them out himself,
when he took his violent dislike to Swain. The
act would be characteristic of a certain form of
mania. Nobody else would have any motive for
destroying them; in fact, no one else would dare
mutilate a book he prized so highly.”
Miss Vaughan seemed to breathe more freely,
but her intent inward look did not relax.
“At least that is an explanation,” I agreed.
“It is the true explanation,” said Hinman, con-
fidently. “Can you suggest any other, Miss
Vaughan?” -
“No,” she said, slowly; “no,” and walked once
or twice up and down the room. Then she
seemed to put the subject away from her. “At
any rate, it is of no importance. I wish to speak
to you about my father's funeral, Dr. Hinman,”
she went on, in another tone. “It is to be to-
morrow?”
“Yes — at eleven o'clock. I have made such
arrangements as I could without consulting you.
But there are some things you will have to tell
me.”
“What are they?”
“Do you desire a minister?”
“No. He would not have wished it. If there
is any priest, it will be his own.”
“You mean the yogi?”


214 THE GLOVED HAND
{{ Yes.”
“Are there any relatives to inform?”
{{ No.”
“Where shall the body be buried?”
“It must not be buried. It must be given to
the flames. That was his wish.”
“Very well. I will arrange for cremation.
Will you wish to accompany it?”
“No, no!” she cried, with a gesture of repug-
nance.
“That is all, then, I believe,” said Hinman
slowly. “And now I must be going. I beg you
not to overtax yourself.”
“I shall not,” she promised, and he bowed and
left us.
The afternoon was fading into evening, and
the shadows were deepening in the room. I
glanced about me with a little feeling of appre-
hension.
“The nurses are still here, are they not?” I
asked.
“Yes; but I shall dismiss them to-morrow.”
I hesitated a moment. I did not wish to alarm
her, and yet.
“After they are gone, it will be rather lone-
some for you here,” I ventured.
“I am used to being lonesome.”
“My partner's wife, Mrs. Royce, would be


THE GLOVED HAND 21;
very glad if you would come to her,” I said. “I
have a letter from her,” and I gave it to her.
She stood considering it with a little pucker of
perplexity between her brows. She did not at-
tempt to open it.
“She is very kind,” she murmured, and her
tone surprised and disappointed me.
“May I see you to-morrow?”
“If you wish.”
“I shall come some time during the afternoon,”
I said, and took up my hat. “There is nothing
else I can do for you?” -
“No, I believe not.”
She was plainly preoccupied and answered al-
most at random, with a coldness in sharp contrast
to the warmth of her previous manner.
“Then I will say good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Lester; and thank you.”
She went with me to the door, and stood for a
moment looking after me; then she turned back into
the house. And I went on down the avenue with
a chill at my heart.


CHAPTER XVIII
BUILDING A THEORY
I was surprised, when I came down for dinner
an hour later, to find Godfrey awaiting me.
“I always try to make it, Saturday night,” he
explained. “The chief throws the work on the
other fellows, if he can. That's the reason I
hustled away after the inquest. The story's all
in, and now we'll have a good dinner — if I do
say it myself — and then a good talk. I feel the
need of a talk, Lester.”
“So do I,” I said; “though I'm afraid talk-
ing won't help us much.” -
“The funny thing about this case is,” mused
Godfrey, “that the farther we get into it the
thicker it grows.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “and the more one thinks
about it, the less one understands.”
“Well, suppose we get away from it for a
while,” said Godfrey, and turned the talk to other
things. No man could talk more delightfully of
music, of art, of letters. How he managed it I
could never guess, but he seemed to have read
everything, to have seen everything, to have heard
216


THE GLOWED HAND 217
everything. Marryat, for instance; who reads
Marryat nowadays? And yet he had read the
“Phantom Ship,” and so knew something of Goa.
An hour passed very quickly, but at last he rose
and led the way into his study.
“A friend of mine dropped in to see me to-day
at the office,” he remarked, “a Cuban planter
who comes up to New York occasionally, and whom
I happened to help out of a rather serious difficulty
a few years ago. Perhaps some day I'll tell you
about it. He always brings me a bundle of his
own special cigars. I didn't see him to-day, but
he left the cigars, and I want you to try one.
Perhaps it will give you an inspiration.”
He went to his desk, opened a tin-foiled package
that lay there, and carefully extracted two long
cigars of a rich and glowing brown.
“Perhaps you've heard of the special cigars that
are made for Pierpont Morgan,” he went on, as
he handed one to me, after carefully replacing the
wrappings of the bundle. “Well, I smoked one
of Morgan's cigars once — it was good, mighty
good; but it wasn't in the same class with these.
Light up.”
I did. Never before had I drawn between my
lips a breath so satisfying — so rich, so smooth, so
full of flavour. I exhaled the fragrant smoke
slowly.


2 I 8 THE GLOWED HAND
“Godfrey,” I said, “I never knew what tobacco
was before. Are these cigars purchasable? I'm
only a poor lawyer, but even one a month would
be a thing to look forward to and dream about.”
But Godfrey shook his head.
“I've felt like that,” he said; “but they're not
to be had for money. And now about Swain.”
“Let’s postpone it a little longer,” I begged.
“I don't want my mind distracted.”
Godfrey laughed, but fell silent; and for the
next half hour, no sound was heard.
“Now,” I said, at last, “I’m ready to listen, so
fire ahead whenever you want to.”
“I haven't much to tell,” he began; “nothing
new about the case. But I stopped at the Tombs,
before I started back, to make sure that Swain
had everything he wanted. They'd given him an
upper cell, and sent over to the Marathon and
got him his things, and I arranged to have his meals
sent in to him from Moquin's.”
“I ought to have thought of that,” I said, con-
tritely. “I’m much obliged to you, Godfrey.
Did you see him?”
“Only for a minute. He seemed fairly cheer.
ful. He'd had them bring some of his law books
to him, and remarked that he'd have plenty of time
to study. I like the way he's taking it. He gave
me a message for you.”


THE GLOVED HAND 219
“What was it?”
“That you are not to forget your promise.”
I smoked on for a few moments in silence.
“I promised him I’d get Miss Vaughan away
from that house,” I said at last. “I had Mrs.
Royce write her a note, inviting her to stay with
her. I gave it to her this afternoon.”
“What did she say?”
“She didn't say anything, but I could see the
idea didn't impress her. And I had thought all
along that she would jump at it.”
Godfrey gave a little grunt, whether of sur-
prise or satisfaction I could not tell.
“Why didn't you put her on the stand to-
day, Lester?” he asked. “Afraid of upsetting
her?”
“I wouldn't have stopped for that, if her evi-
dence would have helped Swain. But it would
only have put him deeper in the hole.”
“In what way?”
“Well, in the first place, she says that as she
and her father returned to the house, she heard
footsteps behind them and thought it was Swain
following them, because that would be a natural
thing for him to do; and, in the second place, she
saw that blood-stained handkerchief on the floor
beside her father's chair when she came into the
room and found him dead.”


22O THE GLOVED HAND
“So,” said Godfrey slowly, “it couldn't have
been dropped there by Swain when he stooped to
pick her up.” -
“No; besides, we know perfectly well that it
wasn't about his wrist when he came back over the
wall. Goldberger knows it, too, and we'll be
asked about it, next time.”
, “It might have been pushed up his sleeve —
we weren't absolutely certain. But this new evi-
dence settles it.”
I assented miserably and Godfrey smoked on
thoughtfully. But my cigar had lost some of its
flavour.
“How did Miss Vaughan come to find the
body?” he asked at last, and I told him the story
as she had told it to me. He thought it over for
some moments; then he leaned forward and laid
his hand on my knee. -
“Now, Lester,” he said, “let’s review this
thing. It can't be as dark as it seems — there's
light somewhere. Here is the case, bared of all
inessentials: Swain crosses the wall about eleven
o'clock, cutting his wrist as he does so; Miss
Vaughan meets him about eleven-thirty, and after
a time, finds that his wrist is bleeding and ties her
handkerchief about it; they agree to have her
father examined for lunacy, arrange a meeting for
the next night, and are about to separate, when


THE GLOWED HAND 22 I
her father rushes in upon them, savagely berates
Swain and takes his daughter away. That must
have been about twelve o'clock.
“Swain, according to his story, sits there for
ten or fifteen minutes, finally sees the cobra, or
thinks he does, and makes a dash for safety, strik-
ing his head sharply against a tree. He tumbles
over the wall in a half-dazed condition. The
handkerchief is no longer about his wrist. That,
you will remember, was about twelve-twenty.
“Almost at once we heard Miss Vaughan's
screams. After that, Swain isn't out of our sight
for more than a minute — too short a time, any-
way, for anything to have happened we don't know
about.
“Meanwhile, Miss Vaughan has returned with
her father to the house, hearing steps behind her
and taking it for granted that it is Swain follow-
ing at a distance. She goes to her room, stays
there fifteen minutes or so, and comes downstairs
again to find her father dead.
“Now let us see what had happened. You
were right in saying that her father must have been
strangled immediately after she left him. Other-
wise he would still have been twitching in such a
way that she must have noticed it. No doubt he
dropped into the chair exhausted by his fit of rage;
the murderer entered through the garden door,


222 THE GLOVED HAND
stopped to cut off the end of the curtain-cord and
make a noose of it — that would have taken at
least a minute — and then strangled his victim.
Then he heard her coming down the stairs, and
escaped through the garden-door again just as
she entered at the other. She saw the curtain still
shaking. Then she fainted.
“Now, what are the clues to the murderer? A
string tied with a peculiar knot, the blood-stained
handkerchief, and the finger-prints on the dead
man's robe.” -
Godfrey paused for a moment. Freed of its
inessentials, in this way, the case was beautifully
clear — and beautifully baffling. It was a paved
way, smooth and wide and without obstruction of
any kind; but it ended in a cul-de-sacſ
“One thing is certain,” Godfrey went on, at
last; “the murder was committed by somebody –
either by Swain, or by one of the Hindus, or by
some unknown. Let us weigh the evidence for
and against each of them.
“Against Swain it may be urged that he was on
the ground, that he had time to do it, and some
provocation, though the provocation, as we know
it, seems to be inadequate, provided Swain was in
his right mind; a handkerchief which was tied
about his wrist is found beside the body, and his
finger-prints are found upon it. Miss Vaughan be.


224 THE GLOVED HAND
snake in the arbour, it is probable that the Thug
wasn't far away.
“Against an unknown it may be urged that
neither Swain nor the Hindus could have com-
mitted the crime; but I don't see how an unknown
could either, unless he happened to be one of the
three or four people in the world with finger-tips
like Swain's. And that is too far-fetched to be
believable.
“But this I am sure of, Lester,” and Godfrey
leaned forward again: “the murder was com-
mitted either by Swain or by someone anxious to
implicate Swain. We agree that it wasn't Swain.
Very well, then: the person who committed the
murder made a noise in following Miss Vaughan
and her father so that she should think it was
Swain who was following them; he picked up the
blood-stained handkerchief, which Swain had
dropped perhaps when he fled from the arbour,
and placed it beside the body; and in some way
inconceivable to me he pressed the prints of
Swain's fingers on the dead man's robe. Now, to
do that, he must have known that Swain was in-
jured — the blood-stained handkerchief would tell
him that; but he must also have known that it was
his right hand that was injured. There was no
blood on Swain's left hand.”
Again Godfrey paused. I was following his


THE GLOVED HAND 225
reasoning with such absorbed attention that I could
feel my brain crinkle with the effort.
“Now, listen,” said Godfrey, and I could have
smiled at the uselessness of the admonition — as
if I were not already listening with all my faculties!
“There is only one way in which the murderer
could have known that it was Swain's right hand,
and that was by overhearing the conversation in
the arbour. But if he overheard that much, he
overheard it all, and he knew therefore what it
was Swain proposed to do. He knew that
Vaughan's sanity was to be questioned; he knew
that he would probably be placed in a sanitarium;
he knew that Miss Vaughan would probably marry
Swain. Presuming that it was Silva, he knew that,
unless something was done to stop it, a very few
days would place both Vaughan and his daughter
beyond his reach.”
“That is true,” I admitted; “but Vaughan was
beyond his reach a good deal more certainly dead
than he would have been in a sanitarium. Be-
sides, it isn't at all certain that he would have been
sent to a sanitarium.”
“That's an objection, surely,” Godfrey agreed;
“but I must find out if Vaughan is really beyond
l.is reach dead.”
I stared at him.
“You don't mean.


226 THE GLOWED HAND
“I don't know what I mean, Lester. I can feel
a sort of dim meaning at the back of my mind, but
I can't get it out into the light.” -
“Besides,” I went on, “if the yogi did it, how
did he get back into the house before we got
there?”
“He peeped in at the door, saw the coast was
clear, and went back through the library. Re-
member, Miss Vaughan was unconscious. That
doesn't bother me. And another thing, Lester.
How did Miss Vaughan's father come to burst in
on her and Swain like that? How did he know
they were in the arbour? It was dark and he
couldn't have seen either of them.”
“He might have been walking about the
grounds and overheard them.”
“I don't believe it. I believe somebody told
him they were there. And only one person could
have told him — that is Silva. No — there's
only one point I can't get past—that's the finger-
prints.”
And then I remembered.
“Godfrey,” I cried, “there's one thing — I for-
got to tell you. You heard Swain remark that
Vaughan was a collector of finger-prints?”
4. Yes.”
“And that he had a set of Swain's?”
“Yes.”


CHAPTER XIX
THE YOGI CON QUERS
The events of the day that followed — Sunday—
I shall pass over as briefly as may be. It was for
me a day of disappointment, culminating in de-
spair, and, looking back at it, I remember it as a
grey day, windy, and with gusts of rain.
Dr. Hinman stopped for us, and Godfrey and
I accompanied him to the service over the body
of the murdered man. We were the only out-
siders there, besides the undertaker and his as-
sistants, and they were not admitted to the cere-
mony. This was witnessed only by Miss Vaughan,
Mahbub and us three. The servants were not
there, and neither were Miss Vaughan's nurses.
I have never seen a more impressive figure than
Silva made that morning. His robes were dead
black, and in contrast to them and to his hair and
beard, his face looked white as marble. But,
after the first moments, the ceremony failed to in-
terest me; for Silva spoke a language which I
supposed to be Hindustani, and there was a mo-
notony about it and about his gestures which ended
in getting on my nerves. It lasted half an hour,
229


230 THE GLOVED HAND
and the moment it was over, Miss Vaughan
slipped away. The yogi and Mahbub followed
her, and then we three stepped forward for a last
look at the body.
It was robed all in white. The undertaker had
managed to compose the features, and the high
stock concealed the ugly marks upon the neck. So
there was nothing to tell of the manner of his
death, and there was a certain majesty about him
as he lay with hands crossed and eyes closed.
We left the room in silence, and Hinman
signed to the undertaker that the service was ended.
“I am going with the body to the crematory,”
he said, and presently drove away with the under-
taker, ahead of the hearse. Godfrey and I stood
gazing after it until it passed from sight, then, in
silence, we walked down the drive to the entrance.
The gardener was standing there, and regarded
us with eyes which seemed to me distinctly un-
friendly. He made no sign of recognition, and,
the moment we were outside, he closed the gates
and locked them carefully, as though obeying pre-
cise instructions.
“So,” said Godfrey, in a low tone, as we went
on together, “the lock has been repaired. I won-
der who ordered that done?”
“Miss Vaughan, no doubt,” I answered. “She
wouldn't want those gates gaping open.”


THE GLOVED HAND 23 I
“Perhaps not,” Godfrey assented; “but would
she want the barrier intact? Remember, Lester,
it's as much a barrier from one side as from the
other.”
“Well, she won't be inside it much longer,” I
*assured him. “I’m going to get her out this aft-
ernoon.”
The words were uttered with a confidence I was
far from feeling, and I rather expected Godfrey to
challenge it, but he walked on without replying, his
head bent in thought, and did not again speak of
Miss Vaughan or her affairs.
He drove into the city shortly after lunch,
and it was about the middle of the afternoon when
I presented myself again at the gates of Elmhurst
and rang the bell. I waited five minutes and rang
again. Finally the gardener came shuffling down
the drive and asked me what I wanted. I told him
I had an appointment with his mistress; but, in-
stead of admitting me, he took my card and shuf-
fled away with it.
I confess that I grew angry, as I stood there
kicking my heels at the roadside, for he was gone
a long time, and all these precautions and delays
were incomprehensible to me. But he came back
at last, unlocked the gate without a word, and mo-
tioned me to enter. Then he locked it again, and
led the way up the drive to the house. The house-


232 THE GLOVED HAND
* *
maid met us at the door of the library, as though
she had been stationed there. -
“If you will wait here, sir,” she said, “Miss
Vaughan will see you.” s
“I hope she is well,” I ventured, thinking the
girl might furnish me with some clue to all this?
mystery, but she was already at the door.
“Quite well, sir,” she said, and the next in-
stant had disappeared. º
Another ten minutes elapsed, and then, just as
I was thinking seriously of putting on my hat and
leaving the house, I heard a step coming down
the stair. A moment later Miss Vaughan stood
on the threshold. . º
I had taken it for granted that, relieved of her"
father's presence, she would return to the clothing
of every day; but she still wore the flowing white
semi-Grecian garb in which I had first seen her.,
I could not but admit that it added grace and
beauty to her figure, as well as a certain impres-
siveness impossible to petticoats; and yet I felt a
sense of disappointment. For her retention. of
the costume could only mean that her father's in-
fluence was still dominant.
“You wished to see me?” she asked; and again
I was surprised, for I had supposed she would
apologise for the delay to which I had been sub-
jected. Instead, she spoke almost as to a stranger.
** * . s |
* =
- **


THE GLOWED HAND 237
“Watch the house!” he cried. “Watch the
house! And be ready if she screams again.”
“All right,” I said, soothingly, “I’ll do that.
But tell me, Swain, what is it you fear?”
“I fear Silva ” said Swain, in a voice husky
with emotion. “It isn't remorse for her father
— it's Silva who's working on her. I feel it, some
way — I’m sure of it. God knows what he'll try
— any villainy. You must watch the house, Mr.
Lester — day and night you must watch the
house!”
“All right,” I said, again, strangely impressed
by his words. “You may count on me.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Remember, we've
only you. Good-bye.”
Swain's words gave me plenty to think over,
and left me so troubled and uneasy that I made
a trip to the top of the ladder to take a look over
Elmhurst. But everything appeared as usual.
Perhaps Swain was right—perhaps it was Silva
who was using every minute to increase his influ-
ence; but what could I do? So long as he com-
mitted no overt act, there was no excuse for inter-
ference, and Miss Vaughan would undoubtedly
resent it. As Swain had said, there was nothing
that I could do but watch.
Two hours later, just as I was getting up from
a dinner to which, in my perturbed condition, I


238 THE GLOVED HAND
had done small justice, I heard a ring at the bell,
and presently Mrs. Hargis entered to tell me that
there was a gentleman asking for me. I went out
to meet him, and was astonished to find that it was
Simmonds.
“I don't wonder you're surprised,” he said, as
we sat down. “Fact is, I'm surprised myself,
for I don't know exactly what I'm to do out here.
But Swain, after he got back to his cell, was like
a crazy man; he was sure something dreadful was
going to happen to Miss Vaughan if she stayed
in the house with those Hindus. In the end, he
got me kind of scared, too, and made me promise
to come out and help you keep watch. I went
down to the Record office and had a talk with God-
frey before I started. I half expected him to
laugh at me; but he seemed to think I'd better
come. The fact is,” concluded Simmonds, shift-
ing his cigar to the other side of his mouth, “he
was so serious about it, that I brought two men
along. One of them's patrolling the road in front
of the house, and the other the road along the side.
I've arranged for two others to relieve them at
midnight. Now, what's it all about, anyway?”
“Well,” I said, “in the first place, neither God.
frey nor I believes that Swain strangled that man.”
“I can't hardly believe it myself,” agreed Sim-
monds, “for he seems a nice young feller; but it's


240 THE GLOWED HAND
it is dark, and let them conceal themselves near
the house? They can get over the wall on this
side. We've got ladders. Besides,” I added,
“it would be a great mistake to give Silva any
reason to suspect he's being watched. He'd see
the men out on the road, sooner or later; but they
could keep out of sight among the shrubbery.”
Simmonds considered this for a moment.
“I don't know but what you're right,” he
agreed, at last. “We'll arrange it that way,
then,” and he went away presently to call in his
men. He soon came back with them, and gave
them careful and detailed instructions as to what
he wanted them to do, dwelling especially upon
the importance of their keeping carefully con-
cealed. Then we got the ladders and put them
in place.
“Be careful not to touch the top of the wall,"
I cautioned them; “there's broken glass on top,
and the merest touch may mean a bad injury.”
“When you get down on the other side,” Sim-
monds added, “take down the ladder and hide it
in the shrubbery at the foot of the wall. Some-
body might see it if you left it standing there.
But for heaven's sake, don't get mixed up so you
can't find it again. Be back here at eleven-thirty,
and your relief will be ready. You've got your
whistles? Well, blow them good and hard if


THE GLOVED HAND 24. I
there's any trouble. And be mighty careful not
to let anyone see you, or you may get snake-bit!”
The men mounted the ladder, crossed the wall
and disappeared on the other side, and Simmonds
and I turned back to the house. I felt as though
a great load had been lifted from my shoulders.
With those two men so close at hand, surely noth-
ing very serious could happen to Miss Vaughan'
Simmonds and I spent the remainder of the
evening in discussing the case, but neither of us
was able to shed any new light upon it. Shortly
after eleven, the two men who were to form the
relief arrived, and just as we started for the wall,
Godfrey drove in from the highway. It needed
but a moment to tell him of our arrangements,
which he heartily approved. He joined us, and
we were soon at the foot of the ladder. While
we waited, Simmonds gave the new men the same
minute instructions he had given the others; and
presently we heard a slight scraping against the
wall, and the men who had been on duty re-
crossed it.
They had nothing of especial interest to report.
The yogi and Miss Vaughan had taken a stroll
through the grounds early in the evening; and my
heart sank as the detective added that they seemed
to be talking earnestly together. Then they had
re-entered the house, and Miss Vaughan had re-


THE GLOVED HAND 243
High in the heavens that strange star sprang
suddenly into being, glowed, brightened, burned
steel-blue; then slowly and slowly it floated down,
straight down; hovered, burst into a thousand
sparks.
And, scarcely able to believe my eyes, I saw
standing there against the night two white-robed
figures, with arms extended and faces raised; and
then they vanished again into the darkness.
For an instant we sat there silent, still staring.
Then Godfrey drew a deep breath.
“I feared so!” he said. “Miss Vaughan has
become a convert!”
And he led the way down the ladder.


CHAPTER XX
cHECKMATE I
I was honestly glad to get back to the office,
next morning, for I felt the need of work—ab-
sorbing work — to take my mind off the problem
of Worthington Vaughan's death, and especially
to relieve me from the depression into which his
daughter's inexplicable conduct had plunged me.
When I thought of her, it was with impatience
and aversion, for I felt that she had deserted to
the enemy and turned her back upon the man who
loved her, in the hour of his utmost need.
As I saw it, her conduct was little short of
heartless. She had summoned her lover to her
side, and he had come; instantly and without hesi-
tation, without pausing to consider the danger to
himself, he had answered her call; in consequence
of that high devotion, he was now in prison,
charged with a dreadful crime; but, instead of
hastening to him, instead of standing by his side
and proclaiming to the whole world her belief in
his innocence, she deliberately stood aloof. It was
almost as if she herself believed in his guilt! The
world, at least, could draw no other inference.
244


THE GLOVED HAND 245
But she had done more than that. She had
abandoned herself to the fate from which he had
tried to save her. Her presence at Silva's side
could have only one meaning — she had become
his disciple, had accepted his faith, was ready to
follow him. The thought turned me sick at heart,
for her as well as for Swain, but for Swain most
of all, for he had done nothing to merit such mis-
fortune, while she, at least, had chosen her road
and was following it with open eyes. Small
wonder that I thought of her with anger and re-
sentment, yes, and with a vague distrust, for, at
the very back of my mind was the suspicion that
she had been a decoy to lure Swain to his destruc-
tion.
I threw myself feverishly into the work which
had accumulated at the office, in order to tear my
mind away from thoughts like these; but when
Mr. Royce arrived, I had to go over the case
with him, and I have seldom seen a man more
puzzled or astonished.
“I shall defend Swain, of course,” I concluded,
“and I'm hoping that something in his favour will
turn up before long, but I haven't the remotest
idea what it will be. He can't be tried till fall,
and meanwhile I'm afraid he'll have to stay in
jail.”
“Yes; I see no way of getting him out,” agreed


248 THE GLOVED HAND
first place, Miss Vaughan is in no danger. Sim.
monds had two men in the grounds watching the
house all last night, ready to interfere at the least
sign of anything wrong. That watch will be
kept up as long as Miss Vaughan remains there.”
“That's good,” he said. “I didn't know that.
But just the same, she mustn't remain there.
Even with the men on guard, you may be too
late.”
“Just what is it you're afraid of?” I asked
him, curiously. “Do you think her life's in
danger?”
“Worse than that!” said Swain thickly, his
face suddenly livid. “Oh, worse than that!”
I confess that I caught something of his horror;
but I shook myself impatiently.
“I can't believe that,” I said. “But, in any
case, our men will be at hand. At the least out-
cry, they will burst into the house. And remem-
ber, the three servants are there.”
“They cut no figure. If they didn't hear those
screams the other night, do you think they would
hear any others? You must get her away from
there, Mr. Lester,” he went on rapidly. “If she
won't come of her own accord, you must use
force.”
“But, my dear Swain,” I objected, “I can't
do that. Do you want me to kidnap her?”


250 THE GLOVED HAND
chair, slipped the note into it, and handed it to
Inc.
“There,” he said, and his face was bright with
hope. “I think that will settle it.”
I was far from sharing his certainty, but I put
the envelope in my pocket, assured myself that
there was nothing more I could do for him, and
returned to the office. Just as I was getting ready
to leave, Mr. Royce came in, a chagrined look
on his face.
“Mrs. Royce just telephoned me,” he said.
“She drove out there, as I asked her to, but
Miss Vaughan refused to see her.”
I had expected it, but the certainty that we had
failed again did not add to my cheerfulness.
“Swain wants us to kidnap her,” I said, with
a twisted smile.
“I’m not sure but that he's right,” said my
partner, and went thoughtfully away.
I went to my rooms, changed, had dinner at a
quiet restaurant, and then took the elevated for
the long trip to the Bronx. It was after eight
o'clock when I pulled the bell beside the tall gates
to Elmhurst. The gardener was evidently ex-
pecting me, for he appeared almost at once and
admitted me. Without waiting for him, I
walked up the drive toward the house. The


THE GLOVED HAND 253
Again Silva shrugged indifferently to indicate
that he was also ignorant on that point, and I
turned to Miss Waughan.
“If there is a will,” I asked, “where would it
probably be?”
“There is a safe here,” she said, “in which my
father kept his papers of value,” and she went to
the wall and swung out a hinged section of shelv-
ing. The door of a safe appeared behind it.
I approached and looked at it, then tried the
door, but it was locked.
“To open this, we must know the combination,”
I said; “ or else we shall have to get an expert.”
“I know the combination,” she broke in; “it
is . . .”
But I stopped her.
“My dear Miss Vaughan,” I laughed, “one
doesn't go around proclaiming the combination of
a safe. How do you happen to know it?”
“My father often had me open the safe for
him.”
“Does anyone else know it?”
“I do not think so.”
“Well, suppose we see what is in the safe,” I
suggested, and, as she knelt before it, turned
away. I, at least, did not wish to know the com-
bination. That Silva already knew it I accepted
as certain.


2.54 THE GLOVED HAND
I heard the twirling of the knob, and a sharp
click as the bolts were thrown back. Then I
walked to Miss Vaughan's side and knelt beside
her. The interior of the safe was divided into
the usual compartments, one of them equipped
with a Yale lock. The key was in the lock, and
I turned it, swung the little door open, and drew
out the drawer which lay behind it.
“If there is a will, it is probably here,” I said;
“let us see,” and I carried the drawer over to the
light.
Miss Vaughan followed me, but Silva had sunk
back into his chair, and was staring abstractedly
through the open door out into the darkness, as
though our proceedings interested him not at all.
Then, as I looked into the drawer, I gave a little
gasp of astonishment, for it was almost filled with
packets of bills. There were five of them, neatly
sealed in wrappers of the National City Bank,
and each endorsed to contain ten thousand dol-
lars.
“Why did your father require all this money?”
I asked, but Miss Vaughan shook her head.
“He always kept money there,” she said,
“though I never knew the amount.”
I glanced at the yogi, but his revery remained
unbroken. Then I laid the packets on the table
and dipped deeper into the drawer. There were


THE GLOVED HAND 255
two bank-books, some memoranda of securities, a
small cash-book, and, at the very bottom, an un-
sealed envelope endorsed, “Last will and testa-
ment of Worthington Vaughan.”
“Here we are,” I said, took it out, and re-
placed the rest of the contents. “Shall we read
it now?”
“Yes, I should like to read it,” she answered
quietly.
The document was a short one. It had evi-
dently been drawn by Vaughan himself, for it was
written simply and without legal phrases. It had
been witnessed by Henry and Katherine Schneider,
and was dated only a week previously — but three
days before the murder.
“Who are these witnesses?” I asked.
“They are the cook and the gardener.”
“Do you recognise your father's writing?”
“Oh, yes; there can be no question as to that."
It was a peculiar writing, and a very character.
istic one; not easy to read until one grew accus-
tomed to it. But at the end of a few minutes I
had mastered it. The provisions of the will were
simple: Elmhurst and the sum of one million dol-
lars in negotiable securities were left absolutely
to “my dear and revered Master, Francisco Silva,
Priest of the Third Circle of Siva, and Yogi of
the Ninth Degree, to whom I owe my soul's sal-


256 THE GLOVED HAND
**
vation,” the bequest to be used for the purpose
of founding a monastery for the study of the doc-
trines of Saivaism, and as an asylum for all true
believers. The remainder of his estate was left
absolutely to his daughter, to dispose of as she
saw fit. “It is, however, my earnest wish,” the
will concluded, “that my daughter Marjorie
should enter upon the Way, and accept the high
destiny which the Master offers her as a Priestess
of our Great Lord. May the All-Seeing One
guide her steps aright!”
There was a moment's silence as I finished; then
I glanced at Miss Vaughan. Her eyes were fixed;
her face was rapt and shining.
She felt my gaze upon her, and turned to face
me.
“As your attorney, Miss Vaughan,” I said, “it
is my duty to advise you that this will would prob-
ably not hold in law. I think it would be com-
paratively easy to convince any court that your
father was not of sound mind when he drew it.
You see, Señor Silva,” I added, “that there is
at once a conflict of interests.”
But Silva shook his head with a little smile.
“There is no conflict,” he said. “If Miss
Vaughan does not approve her father's wishes,
they are as though they were not!”
“I do approve them l’” the girl cried passion-


CHAPTER XXI
THE VISION IN THE CRYSTAL
SILVA laid a hand tenderly upon the bowed head,
as though in benediction, but I could have sworn
there was unholy triumph in his eyes. I caught
but a glimpse of it, for he veiled them instantly and
bowed his head, and his lips moved as if in prayer.
The kneeling figure was quivering with sobs; I
could hear them in her throat; and my heart turned
sick as I saw how she permitted his caressing
touch. Then, suddenly, she sprang erect, and,
without a glance at me, hurried from the room.
There was silence for a moment, then Silva
arose and faced me.
“You see how it is, Mr. Lester,” he said.
“Yes,” I answered drily, “I see how it is.”
I refolded the will, slipped it back into its en-
velope, restored it to the drawer, made sure that
all the packets were there, too, replaced the drawer
in the safe, closed the door, twirled the knob, swung
the shelves into place in front of it, and finally,
my self-control partially regained, turned back to
Silva.
“Well,” I said, and my voice sounded very
flat, “let us sit down and talk it over.”
258


THE GLOWED HAND 259
He wheeled his chair around to face me and
sat down. I looked at him in silence for a mo-
ment. The man was virile, dominant; there was
in his aspect something impressive and compel-
ling. Small wonder this child of nineteen had
found herself unable to stand against him!
“I know what is in your mind,” he said, at last.
“But, after all, it was her father's wish. That
should weigh with you.”
“Her father was mad.”
“I deny it. He was very sane. He found
the Way, and he has set her feet upon it.”
“What way?” I demanded. “Where does
it lead?”
“The Way of life. It leads to peace and hap-
piness.”
He uttered the words as with finality; but I
shrugged them impatiently away.
“Don’t float off into your mysticism,” I said.
“Let us keep our feet on the earth. You may
be sincere, or you may not — it is impossible for
me to say. But I know this — it is not fair to
that child to take her at her word. She doesn't
realise what she is doing. I don't know what it
is you plan for her, but before you do anything,
she must have a chance to find herself. She must
be taken out of this atmosphere into a healthier
one, until she has rallied from the shock of her


26o THE GLOWED HAND
father's death, and emerged from the shadow of
his influence. She must have time to get back
her self-control. Then, if she chooses to return,
well and good.”
“To all your “musts,' Mr. Lester,” retorted
Silva, “I can only say that I am willing. I have
not lifted a finger to detain her. But what if she
will not go?”
“Then she must be made to go.”
“Another “must' 1" he rejoined lightly. “I
would remind you that she is mistress of her own
actions. Neither you nor I can compel her to do
anything she does not wish to do. It has been
a great happiness to me that she has chosen as
she has; it would have been a great sorrow to
me had she decided differently. But I should
have acquiesced. Now it is for you to acquiesce.
After all, what claim have you upon her?”
“I admit that I have no claim,” I said, more
calmly. “But there is one who has a claim, and
to whom she is bound to listen.”
“You refer, no doubt, to that misguided young
man who is now in prison.”
“I refer to Frederic Swain, yes,” I retorted
hotly. “It is true he is in prison. And how did
he get there? By coming when she called him;
by trying to assist her.”
“Was it assisting her to kill her father?”


THE GLOWED HAND 261
queried Silva, and his lips were curled with scorn.
I paused a moment to make sure of my self-
control, for it seemed to be slipping from me.
“Señor Silva,” I said, at last, “how her father
came to his death I do not know; but I do know
that Swain had no hand in it.”
“Yet he is in prison,” he reminded me.
“Innocent men have been in prison before this.
I will get him out.”
“By what means?”
“By finding the real murderer!” I said, and
looked at him with eyes which I know were blood-
shot.
He returned my gaze steadily.
“So you think I am the murderer?” he asked,
quietly.
I got a grip of myself — I saw that I had gone
too far.
“I do not know what to think,” I answered.
“I am seeking light. In any event, Swain
merits some consideration. Miss Vaughan should,
at least, listen to what he has to say. She prom-
ised to marry him.”
“She has withdrawn that promise.”
“She has never said so.”
“She has withdrawn it in choosing as she has
chosen. They who serve in the temple of Siva
turn their backs on marriage.”


262 THE GLOVED HAND
I put the words away from me with a gesture.
“That means nothing to me,” I said. “I
know nothing of the temple of Siva. I wish to
know nothing, for mysticism repels me. But I
do know that she gave her word; I do know that she
loved him.”
“Earthly love fades and passes,” said the yogi,
solemnly. “She has given her heart to the
Master,” and he made his gesture of reverence.
There was anger in my eyes as I looked at him.
How was one to reply to such jargon?
“I would point out to you, Señor Silva,” I
said, “that Miss Vaughan is not yet of legal age,
and so not quite her own mistress.”
“Does your law interfere in matters of the
heart?” he inquired blandly; “ or in matters of
religion?”
“No,” I said, flushing at his irony; “but the
law demands that, until she is of age, she have
a guardian to protect her interests. I shall ask
that one be appointed at once.”
“To that,” said the yogi, mildly, “I have not
the least objection. In fact, Mr. Lester, I do not
know why you should tell me your plans. But,
for some reason, you seem to regard me as an ad-
versary. I am not — I am no man's adversary.
I object to nothing; I have no right to object to
anything. I am simply Miss Vaughan's friend and


THE GLOVED HAND 263
well-wisher, and seek her happiness. I should
like to be your friend also.”
“And Swain's?” I queried, a little brutally.
“The friend of all men,” said the yogi,
simply. “They are all my brothers. We are
children of the same Great Spirit.”
I was silent for a moment. Then I took
Swain's letter from my pocket.
“If you are sincere,” I said, “you can easily
prove it. I have a letter here from Swain. He
gave it to me to-day, and I promised to give it to
Miss Vaughan to-night.”
Without a word, he crossed to the bell and rang
it. The maid answered.
“Mr. Lester has a letter which you will give
to your mistress,” he said.
“And you will wait for an answer,” I added.
The girl took the letter and went away. Silva
sat down again, and when I glanced at him, I saw
that his eyes were closed. Five minutes passed,
and the girl appeared again at the door.
“Miss Vaughan says there is no answer, sir,”
she said, and let the curtain fall into place again.
I made a gesture of despair; I felt that the game
was lost.
“After all, Mr. Lester,” said Silva, kindly,
“what is this fate that you would prepare for her?
You seek her marriage with a young man who,


264 THE GLOWED HAND
when I saw him, appeared to me merely common.
place. Admitting for the moment that he is in-
nocent of this crime, you would nevertheless con-
demn her to an existence flat and savourless, dif-
fering in no essential from that of the beasts of
the field.”
“It is the existence of all normal people,” I
pointed out, “and the one which they are hap.
piest in.”
“But Miss Vaughan would not be happy. She
has too great a soul; that young man is not worthy
of her. You yourself have felt it!”
I could not deny it.
“Few men are worthy of a good woman,” I
said lamely.
“Faugh! Good woman!” and he snapped his
fingers. “I abhor the words! They are simply
cant! But a great woman, a woman of insight,
of imagination — ah, for such a woman the Way
that I prepare is the only Way. There she will
find joy and inspiration; there she will grow in
knowledge; there she will breathe the breath of
life! Mr. Lester,” and he leaned forward sud-
denly, “have you the courage to consult the
sphere?”
“What do you mean?”
“You saw how I spent the White Night of
Siva,” and he made his gesture of reverence.


THE GLOVED HAND 265
“Will you gaze for an hour on the crystal?”
“For what purpose?”
“I do not know what may be revealed to you,”
he answered. “That is in the keeping of the
Holy One. Perhaps nothing; perhaps much.
Will you make the trial?”
His eyes were distended with excitement, his
lips were trembling with eagerness.
“I feel that it will not be in vain!” he added.
There was something compelling in his gaze.
After all, why not? I struggled to my feet.
With a strange smile, he held back the curtain,
and I passed before him into the hall and up the
stairs. As I hesitated at the top, he opened the
door into the entry, and again my senses were as-
saulted by a heavy, numbing odour. In the middle
of the room the crystal sphere glowed softly.
“Take your place upon the couch,” he said;
“sit thus, with your legs crossed, and your hands
folded before you. But first, listen to me. There
is in this no magic; this sphere is merely a
shell of crystal, in which a small lamp burns.
It serves only to concentrate the mind, to enable
it to forget the world and to turn in upon itself.
The visions which will come to you, if any come,
will come from within and not from without.
They will be such visions as the Holy One may will;
and by the Holy One I mean that Spirit which


THE GLOVED HAND 267
Europe, Asia, the broad Pacific swung below me;
then land again — America! I saw great moun-
tains, broad plains, and mighty rivers.
The motion ceased. I was gazing down upon
a great city, built upon a narrow spur of land
between two rivers, a city of towering buildings
and busy streets; then upon a single house, set
in the midst of lofty elms; then I was in a room,
a room with books against the walls, and a door
opening upon a garden. From the garden the
light faded, and the darkness came, and a clock
somewhere struck twelve. Then, suddenly, at the
door appeared two white-robed figures, an old man
and a girl. The man was talking violently, but the
girl crossed the room without a backward glance,
and passed through a door on its farther side.
The man stood for a moment looking after her,
then flung himself into a chair, and put his hands
before his face.
With creeping flesh, I looked again at the outer
door, waiting who would enter. And slowly,
slowly, the drapery was put aside, and a face
peered in. I could see its flashing eyes and work-
ing mouth. A hand, in which a knife gleamed,
was raised cautiously to the cord, and when it was
lowered, it held a piece of the cord within its
grasp. I could see the eager fingers fashioning
a knot; then, with head bent, the figure crept for-


27o THE GLOWED HAND
me silently; he unlocked the gate with a key which
he carried in his hand, and pulled it open.
“Good-night, Mr. Lester,” he said. “The
sphere is at your service should you desire again
to test it. Think over what I have said to you.”
“Good-night,” I answered, and stepped through
into the road.
The gate swung shut and the key grated in the
lock. Mechanically I turned my steps toward
Godfrey's house; but I seemed to be bending under
a great burden — the burden of the vision.


CHAPTER XXII
THE SUMMONS
I was confused and shaken; I had no idea of the
hour; I did not know whether that vision had
lasted a minute or a thousand years. But when I
blundered up the path to Godfrey's house, I found
him and Simmonds sitting on the porch together.
“I had Godfrey bring me out,” said Simmonds,
as he shook hands, “because I wanted another
look at those midnight fireworks. Did you come
up on the elevated?”
“Yes,” I answered; and I felt Godfrey turn
suddenly in his chair, at the sound of my voice,
and scrutinise my face. “I had dinner in town
and came up afterwards.”
“What time was that?” asked Godfrey,
quietly.
“I got up here about eight o'clock. I had an
engagement with Miss Vaughan.”
“You have been with her since?” -
“With her and Silva,” and I dropped into a
chair and mopped my face with my handkerchief.
“The experience was almost too much for me,”
I added, and told them all that had occurred.
271


272 THE GLOWED HAND
They listened, Godfrey motionless and intent,
and Simmonds with a murmur of astonishment
now and then. -
“I’m bound to confess,” I concluded, “that
my respect for Silva has increased immensely.
He's impressive; he's consistent; I almost believe
he's sincere.”
“Have you considered what that belief im-
plies?” asked Godfrey.
“What does it imply?”
“If Silva is sincere,” said Godfrey, slowly; “if
he is really what he pretends to be, a mystic, a
priest of Siva, intent only on making converts to
what he believes to be the true religion, then our
whole theory falls to the ground, and Swain is
guilty of murder.”
I shivered a little, but I saw that Godfrey was
right.
“We are in this dilemma,” Godfrey continued,
“either Silva is a fakir and charlatan, or Swain
is a murderer.”
“I wish you could have witnessed that horrible
scene, as I did,” I broke in; “it would have shaken
your confidence, too! I wish you could have seen
his face as he glanced back over his shoulder! It
was fiendish, Godfrey; positively fiendish! It
made my blood run cold. It makes it run cold
now, to remember it!”


THE GLOVED HAND 273
“How do you explain all that crystal sphere
business, anyway?” asked Simmonds, who had
been chewing his cigar perplexedly. “It stumps
me.”
“Lester was hypnotised and saw what Silva
willed him to see,” answered Godfrey. “You’ll
remember he sat facing him.”
“But,” I objected, “no one remembers what
happens during hypnosis.”
“They do if they are willed to remember.
Silva willed you to remember. It was cleverly
done, and his explanation of the origin of the
vision was clever, too. Moreover, it had some
truth in it, for the secret of crystal-gazing is that
it awakens the subjective consciousness, or Great
Spirit, as Silva called it. But you weren't crys-
tal-gazing, to-night, Lester — you were simply
hypnotised.”
“You may be right,” I admitted; “I remember
how his eyes stared at me. But it was wonderful
-— I'm more impressed with him than ever.”
“It isn't the fact that he hypnotised you that
bothers me,” said Godfrey, after a moment.
“It's the fact that he has also hypnotised Miss
Vaughan.”
The words startled me.
“You think that's the reason of her be-
haviour?” I asked, quickly.


THE GLOVED HAND 275
worship are inconceivably disgusting. That is the
sort of destiny Miss Vaughan has chosen.”
My hands were clammy with the horror
of it.
“We must save her l’” I said, hoarsely. “Of
course she doesn't know — doesn't suspect! We
must get her away from Silval"
“Undoubtedly we must do something,” God-
frey agreed. “I don't know how we can get her
away from Silva, but we might get Silva away
from her. Couldn't you arrest him on suspicion
and keep him locked up for two or three days,
Simmonds?”
“I might,” Simmonds grunted.
“And while he's away, you can work with her,
Lester; take Mrs. Royce to see her, give her a
hint of what Saivaism really is — or get Mrs.
Royce to. If that doesn't have any effect, we can
try stronger measures; but I believe, if we can
get her away from Silva's influence for a few
days, she will be all right again.”
“I hope so,” I agreed, “but I'm not at all
certain. She didn't behave like a hypnotised per-
son, Godfrey; she seemed to be acting of her own
free will. I couldn't see that Silva was trying to
influence her in any way. She said she was try-
ing to carry out her father's wish. And it cer-
tainly was his wish — the will proves that. If


276 THE GLOVED HAND
anybody is hypnotising her, I should say it was
he.”
“Well, I can't arrest him,” said Simmonds,
with a grin.
“Her father's wishes may have had some
weight with her at the outset,” admitted Godfrey,
“but they couldn't have driven her to the length
to which she has gone. And about the will. If
Vaughan had not been killed, if he had been found
insane, the will would have been at once invali-
dated. Don't you get the glimmer of a motive
for his murder there, Lester?”
“It can be invalidated now, if Miss Vaughan
contests it,” I pointed out.
“Yes; but unless she does contest it, it will
stand. But if Vaughan had been declared in-
sane, the will could never have been probated—
no contest would have been necessary. Do you
see the difference?”
“I see what you mean; but I don't think it
amounts to much. Silva declares that if Miss
Vaughan contests the will, he will not defend it.”
“But he knows perfectly well that she will not
contest it. The surest way to prevent a contest is
by adopting just such an attitude. Besides, if
we don't save her, he'll get her share, too.
Vaughan's estate and Vaughan's daughter and
everything else that was Vaughan's will disappear


THE GLOVED HAND 279
he'd be glad to get rid of the girl, but that she
really is obsessed by the idea of carrying out her
father's wish. If that's the case, Silva is rather
up a tree.”
“That's where we'd better be getting,” broke
in Simmonds, who had taken out his watch and
held it up to the light. “It's nearly twelve
o'clock, and I don't want to miss the fireworks.
Besides, you fellows don't gain anything by all
this jawing. You've been at it for an hour, and
you're more tangled up now than when you started.
My motto with a case of this kind is just to sit
quiet and watch it; and pretty soon the rat thinks
the coast is clear, and pokes out his head, and you
nab him.”
“There's a good deal in that,” agreed Godfrey,
with a little laugh. “I admit that our arguing
doesn't seem to lead anywhere. Come along,”
and he led the way out among the trees.
“Now take these fireworks,” went on Sim-
monds, in a low tone, when we were sitting side
by side on the limb. “I don't understand what
they mean; but they must mean something. Am
I laying awake nights worrying about them? Not
me! I'm just going to keep on watching till I find
out what the meaning is. I know you're a great
fellow for theory and deduction, and all that sort
of thing, Godfrey, and I know you've pulled off


28O THE GLOVED HAND
some mighty clever stunts; but, after all, there's
nothing like patience.”
“Yes — ‘it’s dogged as does it,’” agreed God.
frey. “Patience is a great thing. I only wish
I had more of it.”
“It would be a good thing,” assented Sim-
monds, candidly; and then we fell silent, gazing
out into the darkness.
“Surely,” said Godfrey, at last, “it must be
twelve o'clock.”
Simmonds got out his watch and flashed upon
it a ray from his electric torch.
“Yes,” he said, “it’s four minutes after.”
I felt Godfrey's hand stiffen on my arm.
“Then there's something wrong,” he whis-
pered. “You remember, Lester, what happened
the other time that light failed to appear. A man
was murdered!”
The darkness into which I stared seemed sud-
denly to grow threatening and sinister, full of
vague terrors. Even Simmonds grew uneasy, and
I could feel his arm twitching.
Godfrey put his foot on the ladder, and began
to descend. Simmonds and I followed him
x * x
silently.
“I’m going over the wall,” he said, when we
were on the ground. “Something's wrong, and
we've got to find out what it is.”


THE GLOWED HAND 28 I
“How will we get down?” asked Simmonds.
“There's no ladder there.”
Godfrey considered a moment.
“We can stand on the top of the wall,” he
said, at last, “and lift this ladder over. It won't
be easy, but it can be done. Go ahead, Lester,
and be careful of the glass.”
I mounted the ladder, felt cautiously along the
top of the wall and found a place where I could
put my feet; Simmonds followed me, and then
came Godfrey. His was the difficult part, to draw
up the ladder and lower it again. As for me,
it was all I could do to keep from falling. I felt
absurdly as though I were standing on a tremulous
tight-rope, high in the air; but Godfrey managed
it somehow and started down.
And at that instant, there shrilled through the
night the high, piercing note of a police-whistle.
It rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell; and
then came poignant silence. The sound stabbed
through me. Without hesitation or thought of
peril, I let myself go and plunged downward into
the darkness.


THE GLOVED HAND 283
and stood aside for his superior officer to lead the
way.
“What's wrong?” Simmonds asked.
“I don't know — but the girl showed a light
at her window.”
“You heard nothing?”
“Not a sound.”
Simmonds hesitated. No doubt the same
thought occurred to him as to me; for the lawyer-
Tartarin in me suggested that we scarcely had
warrant to break our way into a sleeping house in
the middle of the night.
But no such doubts seemed to disturb Godfrey.
Without a word, he caught the torch from Sim-
monds's hand, and passed through the doorway.
Simmonds followed, I went next, and the two
other men came last, their torches also flaring.
Three beams of light flashed about the library and
showed it to be empty. One of them — God-
frey's — lingered on the high-backed chair, but
this time it had no occupant.
Then Godfrey switched on the light, passed into
the hall and switched on the light there. The
hall, too, was empty, and only the ticking of a tall
clock disturbed the silence. I was faltering and
ready to turn back, but, to my amazement, God-
frey crossed the hall at a bound and sprang up
the stair, three steps at a time.


THE GLOWED HAND 285.
seated cross-legged on the divan, his hands folded,
his eyes fixed in meditation, was Silva.
We all stood for a moment staring at him, then
Godfrey passed his hand dazedly before his eyes.
“You two men stay on guard here,” he said.
“One of you keep your torch on this fellow, and
the other keep his torch on the floor. There's a
cobra around somewhere.”
An arc of light swept shakingly across the floor,
as one of the men turned his torch toward it. But
I saw no sign of Toto.
“Lester, you and Simmonds come with me,”
Godfrey added, stepped back into the hall, and
tapped at the door of Miss Vaughan's bedroom.
There was no response, and he tapped again.
Then he tried the door, found it unlocked, and
. it. He sent a ray of light skimming about
e room; then he found the switch, turned on the
lights, and entered. -
The room was empty, as were the dressing-
room and bath-room adjoining. The covers of the
bed had been turned back, ready for its occupant,
but the bed was undisturbed.
Godfrey glanced about the room again, a sort
of frenzied concentration in his gaze, and then
went out, leaving the lights burning. It took but
a moment or two to look through the other suites.
They were all empty.


288 THE GLOVED HAND
— a scream piercing, unearthly, of terror unspeak-
able. -
I saw the Thug spring into the air, his face dis-
torted, his mouth open — I saw him tearing at
something that swung from his neck—something
horrible, that clung and twisted.
He tore the thing loose — it was only an instant,
really, but it seemed an age — and, still shrieking,
flung it full at us..
I was paralysed with terror, incapable of move-
ment, staring dumbly—but Godfrey swept me
aside so sharply that I almost fell.
And that foul shape swished past us, fell with
a thud, and was lost in the darkness.
* – º –


CHAPTER XXIV
KISM ET |
WoRDs cannot paint the nauseating horror of that
moment. Fear — cold, abject, awful fear—
ran through my veins like a drug; my face was
clammy with the sweat of utter terror; my hands
clutched wildly at some drapery, which tore from
its fastenings and came down in my grasp. . . .
Three shafts of lights swept across the floor, and
almost at once picked up that horrid shape. It
was coiled with head raised, ready to strike, and
I saw that one side of its hood had been shot away.
I have, more than once, referred to Simmonds
as hard-headed and wanting in imagination — not
always, I fear, in terms the most respectful. For
that I ask his pardon; I shall not make that mistake
again. For, in that nerve-racking moment, he
never lost his coolness. Revolver in hand, he
crept cautiously forward, while we others held
our breath; then the pistol spoke, one, twice, thrice,
and the ugly head fell forward to the floor.
At the same moment, Godfrey sprang to the
door from which volumes of heavy, scented smoke
still eddied, and disappeared inside.
289


292 THE GLOWED HAND
with a full inhalation, and a spot of colour crept
into either cheek.
“Thank God!” said Godfrey, in a voice that
was almost a sob. “Now, Simmonds, go out and
bring that Irish girl, and send one of your men
to 'phone for Hinman.”
Simmonds sent one of his men scurrying with
a word, and himself dashed up the stairs to the
other floor. He was back in a moment, almost
dragging the frightened girl with him. Her
teeth were chattering and she started to scream
when she saw that still form on the bed, but Sim-
monds shook her savagely.
“There's nothing to be afraid of,” Godfrey as-
sured her. “Your mistress isn't dead — she'll
soon come around. But you must get her un-
dressed and to bed. And then keep bathing her
face with cold water till the doctor comes. Un-
derstand?”
“Ye —yes, sir,” faltered the girl. “But —
—ohl” and a burst of hysterical sobbing choked
her.
Simmonds shook her again.
“Don’t be a fool, Annie Crogan!” he said.
“Get hold of yourself!”
Godfrey stepped off the bed and picked up one
of the limp wrists.
“Her pulse is getting stronger,” he said, after


THE GLOWED HAND 293
a moment. “It will soon — hello, what's this l’’
Clasped tight in the slender fingers was some-
thing that looked like a torn and crumpled rubber
glove. He tried to unclasp the fingers, but when
he touched them, they contracted rigidly, and a low
moan burst from the unconscious girl. So, after
a moment, he desisted and laid the hand down
again.
“You understand what you're to do?” he asked
the maid, and she nodded mutely. “Then come
along, boys,” he added, and led the way back to
the hall. His face was dripping with perspiration
and his hands were shaking, but he managed to
control them. “And now for Señor Silva,” he
said, in another tone, taking the torch from my
hand. “I fear he will have a rude awakening.”
“He sat there like a statue, even when I shot
the snake,” remarked Simmonds. “He’s a won-
der, he is.”
“Yes,” agreed Godfrey, as he stepped into the
entry, “he's a wonder.” Then he stopped,
glanced around, and turned a stern face on Sim-
monds. “Where's the man I left on guard
here?” he asked.
“Why,” faltered Simmonds, “I remember now
— he helped us carry the young lady. But we
were all right there in the hall — you don't
ūncan .”


THE GLOWED HAND 295
back. The black lips were parted over the ugly
teeth, and the eyes had rolled upward till they
gleamed, two vacant balls of white. At the side
of his neck, just under the jaw, was a hideous
swelling.
Godfrey's torch ran over the body from head
to foot, and I sickened as I looked at it.
“I’m going out,” I said. “I can't stand this l’”
and I hurried to the open window.
Godfrey joined me there in a moment.
“I’m feeling pretty bad myself,” he said, put-
ting the torch in his pocket and mopping his shin-
ing forehead. “It's plain enough what hap-
pened. I caught a glimpse of Miss Vaughan on
the floor there, realised that we couldn't do any-
thing with the snake in the way, and shot at it,
but I only ripped away a portion of the hood, and
the thing, mad with rage, sprang upon the Hindu.
Nothing on earth could have saved him after it
got its fangs in his neck. Ugh !”
He shivered slightly, and stood gazing for a mo-
ment down into the garden. Then he turned back
to me with a smile.
“It's a good night's work, Lester,” he said,
“even if we don't catch Silva. I fancy Miss
Vaughan will change her mind, now, about be-
coming a priestess of Sival"
“But, Godfrey,” I asked, “what happened?


296 THE GLOVED HAND
What was she doing in there? What . . ."
He stopped me with a hand upon my arm.
“I don't know. But she'll tell us when she
comes around. I only hope they'll get Silva.
That would make the victory complete.”
He paused, for the hum of a motor-car came up
the drive, and an instant later we caught the glare
of the acetylenes. Then a voice hailed us.
“Hello, there,” it called. “Shall I come
up? 5 *
“Is it you, doctor?” asked Godfrey, leaning
Out.
{{ Yes.”
“Come right up, then, to Miss Vaughan's
room.”
We met him at the stair-head.
“Oh, it's you!” he said, recognising us.
“What has happened now?”
“It's Miss Vaughan — she's been half-suffo-
cated. But how did you get in?”
“The gates were open,” Hinman answered,
“so I drove right through. Is Miss Vaughan in
here?” and when Godfrey nodded, he opened the
door and closed it softly behind him.
“Open!” repeated Godfrey, staring at me.
“Open! Then that is the way Silva went!”
“Yes, yes,” I agreed. “He had the key. It
was he who let me out.”


THE GLOWED HAND 297
“And locked the gate after you?”
“Yes — I heard the key turn.”
Without a word, Godfrey hurried down the
stairs. At the foot we met Simmonds.
“We’ve searched the grounds,” he said, “but
haven't found anyone. I've left my men on
guard. I 'phoned for some more men, and noti-
fied headquarters.”
“He’s not in the grounds,” said Godfrey. .
“He went out by the gate,” and he told of Hin-
man's discovery.
“I’ll stretch a net over the whole Bronx,” said
Simmonds. “I don't see how a fellow dressed as
he is can get away,” and he hastened off to do
some more telephoning.
“Well, wc can't do anything,” said Godfrey,
“so we might as well rest awhile,” and he passed
into the library and dropped into a chair.
I followed him, but as I sat down and glanced
about the room I saw something that fairly jerked
me to my feet.
A section of the shelving had been swung for-
ward, and behind it the door of the safe stood
open.
In an instant, I had flung myself on my knees
before it, groped for the locked drawer, pulled it
out, and hurried with it to the table.
The five packets of money were gone.


THE GLOVED HAND 299
“Well, he lessened his chance of escape by just
that much. Every minute he spent before that
safe was a minute lost. Ah, here's Simmonds.
What do you think of that, Simmonds?” he
added, and pointed to the safe. “Señor Silva
stopped on his way out to gather up fifty thousand
dollars in cash to pay his travelling expenses.”
Simmonds walked over to the safe and looked
at it.
“Fifty thousand?” he repeated. “But
Vaughan must have been a fool to keep that much
money here.”
“Oh, I don't know. It's a fireproof safe, and
mighty well concealed.”
“I’ll tell you what I think,” I said; “I think he
intended to give the money to Silva. He was go-
ing to give him a million — left him that in his
will, you know.”
“So Silva was only taking what belonged to
him, eh?” and Godfrey laughed. “Well, I
hope you'll get him, Simmonds.”
It was at this moment that Dr. Hinman entered,
a curious, repressed excitement in his face, and
his eyes shining strangely.
“How is she, doctor?” Godfrey asked.
“She’ll be all right in the morning. She is
still pretty nervous, so I gave her a sleeping-
draught and waited till it took effect.”


3oo THE GLOWED HAND
Godfrey looked at him more closely.
“Did she tell you anything?” he asked.
“Not much,” said Hinman; “I wouldn't let her
talk. But she told me enough to let me guess one
thing — she's the bravest girl I ever knew or
heard of !”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” cried Hinman, his eyes glowing
more and more, “that she stayed in this house and
faced the deadliest peril out of love for that man
Swain; I mean that, if he's cleared, as he's cer.
tain to be now, it will be she who clears him; I
mean that, if the real murderer is brought to
justice, it will be because of the evidence she stayed
here to get, and did get!”
His voice had mounted shrilly, and his face
was working as though he could scarcely keep
back the tears.
“Wait a minute, doctor,” broke in Godfrey.
“Don’t go too fast. What evidence?”
For answer, Hinman flipped something through
the air to him. Godfrey caught it, and stared at
it an instant in bewilderment; then, with a stifled
exclamation, he sprang to the light and held the
object close under it.
“By all the gods!” he cried, in a voice as shrill
as Hinman's own. “The finger-prints l’”


THE GLOVED HAND 303
he fled from the arbour, and which Silva picked
up and dropped beside the chair, after he was
through with it, as an additional bit of evi-
dence.”
“That's reasonable enough,” agreed Hinman,
with a quick nod, “but what I can't understand is
how he made these reproductions.”
Godfrey sat down again and contemplated the
glove pensively for some moments. Then he
turned to me.
“Where is that book of finger-prints you spoke
about, Lester?” he asked.
I went to the book-case and got it out. God-
frey took it and began to turn the pages quickly.
“Swain's name is in the index,” I said, and
he glanced at it, and then turned to the place where
the page had been.
“Which reminds me,” said Hinman, with a
rueful smile, “that I concocted a very pretty the-
ory to account for that missing page. I felt quite
chesty about it! I'm glad it didn't throw Miss
Vaughan off the scent!”
“So am Il " agreed Godfrey, “for it must
have been this missing page which gave Miss
Vaughan her first suspicion of the truth. Per-
haps it was pure inspiration — or perhaps she
knew that Silva could reproduce finger-prints.
We shall learn when we hear her story. In any
r


3o4 THE GLOVED HAND
event, it's a clever trick — and easy enough when
you know how !”
“Like standing the egg on end,” I suggested.
“Precisely. Every trick is easy when you
work it backwards. But just think, Simmonds,”
he added, “what problems the police will have to
face, if gloves like these become fashionable
among cracksmen! ”
Simmonds groaned dismally.
“You haven't told us yet how it's done,” he
said.
I bit back a smile, for Simmonds's tone was that
of pupil to master.
“Well,” said Godfrey, slowly, “it might be
done in several ways. The first thing is to get
a good set of the prints to be reproduced. That
Silva got from this album. The moulds might
be made by cutting them in wood or metal; but
that would take an expert — and besides, I fancy
it would be too slow for Silva. He had a quicker
way than that—perhaps by transferring them to
a plate of zinc or copper and then eating them
out with acid. Once the mould is secured, it is
merely a question of pressing india-rubber-mix.
ture into it and then heating the rubber until it
hardens — just as a rubber-stamp is made. The
whole process would take only a few hours.”
Simmonds drew a deep breath.


THE GLOVED HAND 307
Go ahead, doctor,” he urged, as Hinman hesi-
tated. “We’re trying to persuade an astral vis-
itor to pay us a call, and it takes team-work.”
We stood silent a moment, with our arms above
our heads, and I could hear Godfrey shifting his
feet cautiously along the boards of the floor.
“What's that!” cried Simmonds, for, from the
darkness at our feet, had come a soft whirr as of
a bird taking flight.
“Look!” cried Hinman. “Look!”
High above our heads a point of flame ap-
peared, brightened and burned steel-blue. For a
moment it hung there, then it grew brighter and
brighter, and I knew that it was descending.
Lower and lower it came, until it hovered in the
air just above us; then it burst into a million sparks
and vanished. - -
For a moment, no one spoke; then I heard Hin-
man's voice, and it was decidedly unsteady.
“What is this, anyway?” he demanded.
“The Arabian Nights?”
“No,” said Godfrey, and in his voice was the
ring of triumph. “It's merely a device of one
of the cleverest fakirs who ever lived. Take the
torch, Simmonds, and let us see how it works.”
He dropped to his knees, while Simmonds
lighted him, and I saw that there was a hole in
the floor about three inches in diameter. God-


-> THE GLOWED HAND 3 II
nothing better than the telephone-book to guide
me! That was my infallible instinct!”
“Suppose we say ten o'clock, then?” I sug-
gested, smiling at Godfrey's exuberance — but
then, I was feeling rather exuberant myself!
“I’ll be here! ” said Hinman. “And thank
you,” and a moment later we heard his car chug-
ging away down the drive.
We listened to it for a moment, then Godfrey
yawned again.
“Come along, Lester,” he said, “ or I'll go to
sleep on my feet. Can I give you a bed, Sim-
monds?”
“No, thanks,” said Simmonds. “I'm not
ready for bed. I'm going to comb this whole
neighbourhood, as soon as it's light. Silva can't
escape — unless he just fades away into the air.”
“You've found no trace of him?”
“I’ve had no reports yet,” and Simmonds
walked beside us down the drive to the gate;
“but my men ought to be coming in pretty soon.
There's a thick grove just across the road, where
he may be hiding. . .”
He stopped, for a man was hastening toward
us, carrying under one arm a small white bundle.
Simmonds quickened his pace.
“What's that you've got?” he asked.
The man saluted.


3 I2 THE GLOVED HAND
“I found it just now, sir, in the bushes near the
gate. Looks like a dress.”
Simmonds unrolled it slowly. It was the robe
of the White Priest of Siva.
Godfrey looked at it and then at Simmonds,
whose face was a study. Then he took me by the
arm and led me away.
“I'm afraid Simmonds has his work cut out
for him,” he said, when we were out of earshot.
“I thought so from the first. A fellow as clever
as Silva would be certain to keep his line of re-
treat open. He's far away by this time.”
He walked on thoughtfully, a little smile on his
lips.
“I’m not altogether sorry,” he continued. “It
adds an interest to life to know that he's running
around the world, and that we may encounter him
again some day. He's a remarkable fellow,
Lester; one of the most remarkable I ever met.
He comes close to being a genius. I'd give some.
thing to hear the story of his life.”
That wish was destined to be gratified, for,
three years later, we heard that story, or a part
of it, from Silva's lips, as he lay calmly smoking
a cigarette, looking in the face of death, and
without flinching. Perhaps, some day, I shall tell
that story.
“But, Godfrey,” I said, as we turned in at his


CHAPTER XXVI
THE MYSTERY CLEARS
GoDFREY's powers of recuperation have aston-
ished me more than once, and never more so than
when I found him at the breakfast-table, as fresh
and rosy as though he had had a full night's sleep.
But even I felt better by the time the meal was
over. It is wonderful what a cup of coffee can
do for a man!
“I 'phoned a message to Swain, as soon as I
was up,” Godfrey said, “telling him, in your
name, that we had the evidence to clear him, and
that Miss Vaughan was safe.”
“I must go down to him,” I said, “and start
proceedings to set him free. I'll get Simmonds to
go with me before Goldberger, and then before
the magistrate. We ought to get an order of re-
lease at once.”
“You’ve got something to do before that,”
Godfrey reminded me. “We're to hear Miss
Vaughan's story at ten o'clock. I'm taking it for
granted,” he added, with a smile, “that I'll be
welcome, as well as Hinman.”
“That doesn't need saying,” I retorted, and ten
3I4


THE GLOWED HAND 3I 5
minutes later, we were on the way to Elmhurst.
There was a man on guard at the library door,
but he allowed us to pass when we gave our names,
having evidently had his instructions from Sim-
monds. In answer to Godfrey's question, he said
that, so far as he knew, no trace had been found
of Silva.
We went on into the room, and found that some
one, Simmonds presumably, had closed the safe
and swung the section of shelving back into place
before it. It was not locked, however, and I
opened it and went through its contents carefully,
with the faint hope that the money might have
been thrust into some other compartment. But I
foºnd no trace of it, and was replacing the con-
tents, when a voice at the threshold brought me
to my feet.
“Mr. Lester! ” it said, and I turned to behold
a vision which made me catch my breath — a
vision of young womanhood, with smiling lips and
radiant eyes — a vision which came quickly to-
ward me, with hands outstretched.
“Miss Vaughan' " I cried, and took the hands
and held them.
“Can you forgive me?” she demanded.
“For What?”
“For treating you so badly! Oh, I could see
what you thought of me, and I longed to tell you


318 THE GLOVED HAND
monds, red to the ears. “It was really Godfrey
there, and Mr. Lester. They were worried to
death.”
“We were rather worried,” Godfrey admitted;
“especially after we saw you at that midnight fire-
works party.”
“You saw that?” she asked quickly; “but
how. .”
“Oh, we had seen the show every night for
a week. It was its failure to come off last night
which first told us something was wrong.”
“Well,” said Miss Vaughan, with a deep
breath, sitting down again and motioning us to fol-
low her example, “it seems to me that you have a
story to tell, too! But I'll tell mine first. Where
shall I begin?”
“Begin,” I suggested, “at the moment when
you first suspected the plot.”
“That was when you were telling me of Fred's
arrest. When you told me of the handkerchief
and then of the finger-prints, I knew that some-
one was plotting against him. And then, quite
suddenly, I thought of something.”
“You jumped up,” I said, “as though you
were shot, and ran to the book-case over there and
got down that album of finger-prints, and found
that Swain's were missing. That seemed to up-
set you completely.”


320 THE GLOWED HAND
I sat at the table yonder, under the light, with the
book of prints before us. Mahbub was placed at
a little table in the far corner, with his back to us,
and Señor Silva proceeded to hypnotise him. It
took only a moment, for he could hypnotise Mah-
bub by pointing his finger at him. He said
Mahbub was a splendid subject, because he had
hypnotised him hundreds of times, and had him
under perfect control. Then he placed an ink-
pad on the table in front of him — nothing else.
My father wrote his name and the date upon the
top sheet of a pad of paper, and Señor Silva
placed it before Mahbub. Then he sat down with
us, selected a page of prints, and asked us to con-
centrate our minds upon it. At the end of a
few moments, he asked me to bring the pad from
before Mahbub. I did so, and we found the
prints upon it to be identical with those on the
page we had been looking at. My father touched
them with his finger and found that they were
fresh, as the ink smeared readily. His name was
on the corner of the page, where he had written
it. There could be no doubt that in some way
Mahbub had been able to duplicate the prints.
“Señor Silva repeated the experiment with an-
other set of prints and then with another. I think
there were six altogether, and every one of them
was successful.”


324 THE GLOVED HAND
She nodded.
“With Swain as the murderer?”
“How did you know?” she asked, astonished.
“Because he induced the same vision in me the
next evening. But don't let me interrupt.”
“I don't know how long the séance lasted,”
she continued; “some hours, I suppose, for it
was dark when I again realised where I was.
And after dinner, there was another; and then at
midnight he led me to the roof and invoked what
he called an astral benediction — a wonderful,
wonderful thing. . .”
Godfrey smiled drily.
“You were overwrought, Miss Vaughan,” he
said, “and straight from a spell of crystal-gaz-
ing. No wonder it impressed you. But it was
really only a clever trick.”
“I realise, now, that it must have been a trick,"
she agreed; “but at the time it seemed an unques-
tionable proof of his divine power. When it was
over, I had just sufficient strength of will remain-
ing to tear myself away from him and gain my
own room and lock the door.”
“You mean he tried to detain you?”
“Not with his hands. But I could feel his
will striving to conquer mine. Even after I was
in my room, I could feel him calling me. In the
morning, I was stronger. I lay in bed until nearly


THE GLOVED HAND 325
noon, trying to form some plan; but I began to
fear that I must give it up. I realised that, after
a few more nights like the night before, I should
no longer have a will of my own — that what I
was pretending would became reality. I decided
that I could risk one more day—perhaps two;
but I felt very weak and discouraged. You see,
I did not know what to look for, or where to look.
I wanted evidence against him, but I had no idea
what the evidence would be. I wanted to search
his room, but I had not been able to, because he
was scarcely ever out of it, except when he was
with me; and, besides, Mahbub was always squat-
ting in the little closet next to it.
“I got up, at last, and after breakfast he met
me here in the library. He suggested another
séance, but I pleaded a headache, and he walked
with me about the grounds. I remembered that
you were to come in the evening, Mr. Lester, and
I determined to leave you with him, on some pre-
text, and search his room then. I told him you
were coming, that I had asked you to take charge
of my affairs; and it was then he told me of the
legacy he believed my father had left him, add-
ing that whether the legacy should stand or not
was entirely in my hands. Then I began to feel
his influence again, and managed to excuse myself
and go indoors.


326 THE GLOWED HAND
“You know what happened in the evening, Mr.
Lester. As soon as I left you, I flew to his room,
determined to search it at any cost. But I was
scarcely inside, when I heard the outer door open,
and I had just time to get behind the curtains in
one corner, when someone entered. Peering out,
I saw that it was Mahbub. He looked about for
a moment, and then sat down on the divan, folded
his feet under him, and fell into a contemplation
of the sphere. I scarcely dared to breathe. I
was always afraid of Mahbub,” she added; “far
more so than of Señor Silva. About Señor Silva
there was at least something warm and human;
but Mahbub impressed me somehow as a brother
to the snake, he seemed so cold and venomous.”
“You knew he was dead?” I asked, as she
paused.
“Yes; Annie told me,” and she shuddered
slightly.
“The cobra, too, is dead,” added Godfrey.
“I agree with you, Miss Vaughan. There was a
kinship between them — though the cobra turned
against him in the end. How long did he sit
there?”
“I do not know — but it seemed an age to me.
Finally, in despair, I had made up my mind to
try to steal away, when I heard steps in the entry.
Mahbub slipped from the divan and disappeared


328 THE GLOVED HAND
a pile of rubber gloves. I couldn't understand.
I picked up one of the gloves and looked at it,
but it was just an ordinary glove. Then farther
back, I saw some others — their finger-tips were
stained with ink— and then another, lying by it.
self. I looked at it, I saw the patches on the
finger-tips — I saw the stains — and then I under-
stood. I do not know how I understood, or why
— it was like a flash of lightning, revealing every-
thing. And then, as I stood there, with the glove
in my hand, I heard Señor Silva returning.”
She paused a moment, and I could see the shiver
which ran through her at the recollection.
“It was not that I was afraid,” she said; “it
was that I seemed to be lost. I let the draperies
fall, ran to the divan and sat down before the
sphere. I could think of nothing else to do. I
can still see his astonished face when he entered
and found me sitting there.
“‘I was waiting for you,' I said, trying to smile.
‘You remember I was to have another lesson to-
night.”
“‘Yes,’ he said, and looked at me, his eyes
kindling.
“I was trembling inwardly, for suddenly I
began to fear him; I knew that I must keep my
head, that I must not yield to his will, or I would
be swept away.


THE GLOVED HAND 329
“‘I thought Mr. Lester would never go,' I
said.
“He came to the divan and sat down close beside
me, and looked into 1.ly eyes.
“‘Did the time really seem so long?' he asked.
“‘It seemed very long,' I said.
“He gazed at me for another moment, then
rose quickly and turned off the light.
“‘Sit where you are,' he said, ‘and I will sit
here. Fix your eyes upon the sphere and your
mind upon the Infinite Mind — so shall great
wisdom come to you.’
“I felt my will crumbling to pieces; I closed my
eyes and crushed the glove within my hand, and
thought of this man's villainy and of the part I
must play, if I were to defeat him. His voice
went on and on, but gradually I ceased to hear it
— I was thinking of the glove, of escape, of
Fred. . . .”
Yea, love is strong, I told myself, and it giveth,
to the dove the wisdom of the serpent, else how
had this child come victorious from such an or-
deal!
“I do not know how long I sat there,” Miss
Vaughan continued, “but Señor Silva rose sud-
denly with an exclamation of impatience and
switched on the light.
“‘There is something wrong,” he said, com-


THE GLOVED HAND 333
the worst blow that has ever been struck at the
police l’”
“You mean the prints agree with the photo-
graphs?” asked Godfrey, going to his side.
“Absolutely!” said Sylvester, and mopped his
face with a shaking hand.


338 THE GLOVED HAND
Godfrey's face was glowing with the sort of cre.
ative fire which, I imagine, illumines the poet's
brow at the moment of inspiration. -
“Where did you first meet Silva?” he asked.
“In Paris.”
“What was he doing there?”
“He was practising mysticism. My father
went to consult him; he was much impressed by
him, and they became very intimate.”
“And Silva, of course, at once saw the possi-
bilities of exploiting an immensely rich old man,
whose mind was failing. So he comes here as
his instructor in Orientalism; he does some very
marvellous things; by continued hypnosis, he gets
your father completely under his control. He se.
cures a promise of this estate and a great en-
dowment; he causes your father to make a will in
which these bequests are specifically stated. Then
he hesitates, for during his residence in this house,
a new desire has been added to the old ones. It
had not often been his fortune to be thrown in
daily contact with an innocent and beautiful girl,
and he ends by falling in love with you. He
knows of your love for Swain. He has caused
Swain to be forbidden the house; but he finds you
still indifferent. At last, by means of his own en-
treaties and your father's, he secures your consent
to become his disciple. He knows that, if once you


340 THE GLOVED HAND
of jealousy why he must act at once. If your father
is found to be insane, the will drawn up only three
days before will be invalid. Silva will lose every-
thing — not only you, but the fortune already
within his grasp.
“He hurries to the house and tells your father
of the rendezvous. Your father rushes out and
brings you back, after a bitter quarrel with Swain,
which Silva has, of course, foreseen. You come
up to your room; your father flings himself into
his chair again. It is Silva who has followed you
— who has purposely made a noise in order
that you might think it was Swain. And he
carries in his hand the blood-soaked handker-
chief which Swain dropped when he fled from
the arbour.
“Up to this point,” Godfrey went on, more
slowly, “everything is clear — every detail fits
every other detail perfectly. But, in the next
step of the tragedy, one detail is uncertain—
whose hand was it drew the cord around your
father's throat? I am inclined to think it was
Mahbub's. If Silva had done the deed, he would
probably have chosen a method less Oriental; but
Mahbub, even under hypnotic suggestion, would
kill only in the way to which he was accustomed—
with a noose. Pardon me,” he added, quickly,
as she shrank into her chair, “I have forgotten


THE GLOVED HAND 343
lowed to pass. A guard showed us into a bare
waiting-room, and Godfrey hastened away to ex-
plain our errand to the warden.
“Won't you sit down?” I asked, but my com-
panion shook her head, with a frightened little
smile, and paced nervously up and down, her
hands against her heart. How riotously it was
beating I could guess — with what hope, what
fear.
There was a quick step in the corridor, and
she stood as if turned to stone.
Then the door was flung open, and, with radi-
ant face, she walked straight into the outstretched
arms of the man who stood there. I heard her
muffled sob, as the arms closed about her and she
hid her face against his shoulder; then a hand
was laid upon my sleeve.
“Come along, Lester,” said Godfrey softly.
“This case is ended !”
THE END
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vu º f : .