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<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> <h2>THE BLOOD-STAINED GLOVE</h2> I do not know what it was I expected to see, as I leaped from my chair and peered over Godfrey's shoulder; but certainly it was something more impressive than the soiled and ragged object he held in his hand. It was, apparently, an ordinary rubber glove, such as surgeons sometimes use, and it was torn and crumpled, as though it had been the subject of a struggle. Then I remembered that I had seen it crushed in Miss Vaughan's unconscious fingers, and I recalled how the fingers had stiffened when Godfrey tried to remove it, as though some instinct in her sought to guard it, even in the face of death. "But I don't understand," said Simmonds, who was staring over the other shoulder. "What's that thing got to do with the finger-prints?" "Look here," said Godfrey, and held the glove so that the ends of the fingers lay in the full light. Then I saw that against the end of every finger had been glued a strip of rubber, about an inch in length and half as wide; and, bending closer, I perceived that the surface of each of these strips was covered with an intricate pattern of minute lines. "Forged finger-prints! That's a new idea in crime, isn't it, Simmonds?" and Godfrey laughed excitedly. Simmonds took the glove, got out his pocket-glass, and examined the finger-tips minutely. "You think these reproduce Swain's finger-prints?" he asked, sceptically. "I'm sure they do! You see it's the right hand; look at the thumb—you see it's a double whorl. Wait till we put them side by side with Swain's own, and you'll see that they correspond, line for line. Yes, and look at those stains. Do you know what those stains are, Simmonds? They're blood. Did you notice the stains, doctor?" "Yes," said Hinman. "I think they're blood-stains. That will be easy enough to determine." "Whose blood is it?" asked Simmonds, and I could see that even his armour had been penetrated. "Well," answered Godfrey, smiling, "science isn't able, as yet, to identify the blood of individuals; but I'd be willing to give odds that it's Swain's blood. My idea is that Silva got the blood for the finger-prints from the blood-soaked handkerchief, which Swain probably dropped when 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 evidence." "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. Godfrey 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 theory 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 I!" agreed Godfrey, "for it must have been this missing page which gave Miss Vaughan her first suspicion of the truth. Perhaps it was pure inspiration—or perhaps she knew that Silva could reproduce finger-prints. We shall learn when we hear her story. In any 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-mixture 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. "It may be simple," he said, "but that fellow's a genius, just the same. He's much too clever to be at large. We've got to get him!" "Be sure of one thing," retorted Godfrey. "You'll find it harder to catch him than it was to let him go! He won't walk into your arms. Not that I blame you, Simmonds," he added; "but I blame those muckle-headed men of yours—and I blame myself for not keeping my eyes open. Here's the glove—take good care of it. It means Swain's acquittal. And now there is one other thing I want to see before we go to bed. Suppose we make a little excursion to the roof." "To the roof? What for?" demanded Simmonds, as he wrapped the glove in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket. "You know how fond you are of fire-works!" retorted Godfrey, smiling, and started for the door. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," said Hinman, "but I'm as curious as an old woman,—and I like fire-works, too!" "Come along, then," laughed Godfrey, and led the way up the stairs. "This time we'll go as quietly as we can!" he added, over his shoulder. In the entry at the top of the stairs leading to the attic story was a heavy closed door, and Godfrey looked at it with a smile. "Do you suppose those two German servants have slept on through all this excitement?" he asked; and we found afterwards that they had! The flare of Godfrey's torch disclosed a third flight of stairs at the end of the entry, and, when we reached the foot of these and looked up, we found ourselves gazing at the stars. "Ah!" said Godfrey; "I thought so! The stage was set, ready for the curtain, and then the leading lady failed to appear. So the villain went in search of her, found her with the glove in her hand, and started to suppress her, when our timely arrival interrupted him! Gentlemen, I think I can promise you a most interesting demonstration. What did Miss Vaughan call it, Lester?" "An astral benediction," I said. "That's it!" said Godfrey, and led the way up the steps. There was a wide, hinged trap-door at the top, lying open, and we stepped through it out upon the roof. Here had been built a platform about eight feet square, with a low railing around it. I saw Godfrey's torch playing rapidly over the boards of the platform, then he marshalled us in the middle of it. "Stand here in a row," he said, "facing the west. Extend your arms to the heavens and concentrate your gaze upon that big star up yonder. Go ahead, doctor," he urged, as Hinman hesitated. "We're trying to persuade an astral visitor 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 appeared, 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 Hinman'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. Godfrey felt carefully about it for a moment, and then, with a little exclamation of triumph, found a hold for his fingers, pulled sharply, and raised a hinged section of the floor, about eighteen inches square. "Now give us the light," he said, and plunged it into the opening. In line with the little hole was an upright metal tube about a foot long, ending in a small square box. Beside the tube, a slender iron rod ran from the platform down into the box. "That's the lever that sets it off," remarked Godfrey, tapping the rod. "A pressure of the foot did it." He pulled the rod loose, seized the tube, and lifted the whole apparatus out upon the platform. "Let's take it down where we can look at it," he said, and, carrying it easily in one hand, led the way back to the library, cleared a place on the table and set it down. Then, after a moment's examination, he pulled back a little bolt and tilted the top of the box, with the tube attached, to one side. A curious mechanism lay revealed. There was a powerful spring, which could be wound up with a key, and a drum wound with filament-like wire and connected with a simple clock-work to revolve it. Two small dry-batteries were secured to one side of the box, their wires running to the drum. "Why, it's nothing but a toy catapult!" I said. "That's all," and Godfrey nodded. "It remained for Silva to add a few trimmings of his own and to put it to a unique use. Instead of a missile, he loaded it with his little aerial shell, attached to the end of this wire. Then he shot it off with a pressure of the foot; when it reached the end of the wire, the pull brought this platinum coil against the battery wires and closed the circuit. The spark fired the shell, and the drum began to revolve and pull it down. That explains, Lester, why it descended so steadily and in a straight line. The fellow who could devise a thing like that deserves to succeed! Here's health to him!" "He ought to be behind the bars," growled Simmonds. "The cleverer he is, the more dangerous he is." "Well," retorted Godfrey, "I admire him, anyway; and he isn't behind the bars yet. No doubt you'll find some of his shells to-morrow about the house somewhere, and you might amuse yourself by shooting one off every night at midnight, on the chance that he sees it and comes back to see who's stealing his thunder!" But this brilliant suggestion didn't seem to appeal to Simmonds, who merely grunted and continued his examination of the catapult. "Silva had loaded it for to-night's performance," Godfrey went on, "but, as I remarked before, the leading lady failed to answer her cue, and it remained for us to touch it off. There it is, Simmonds; I turn it over to you. It and the glove will make unique additions to the museum at headquarters. And now," he added, with the wide yawn of sudden relaxation, "you fellows can make a night of it, if you want to, but I'm going to bed." I glanced at my watch. It was half-past four. Another dawn was brightening along the east. Hinman ran upstairs, took a look at his patient, and came down to tell us that she was sleeping calmly. "She'll be all right in the morning," he assured us; "and while I don't want to butt in, I'd certainly like to hear her story. Adventures like this don't happen very often to a country doctor! May I come?" "Most surely!" I assented warmly. "I think we were very fortunate to have had you in this case, doctor." "So do I!" echoed Godfrey, while Hinman flushed with pleasure. "And don't forget, Lester, that it was I who picked him out, with nothing better than the telephone-book to guide me! That was my infallible instinct!" "Suppose we say ten o'clock, then?" I suggested, 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 chugging 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, Simmonds?" "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. "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 retreat 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 something 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 gate, "all this scheme of lies—the star, the murder, the finger-prints—what was it all about? I can't see through it, even yet." "There are still a few dark places," he agreed; "but the outlines are pretty clear, aren't they?" "Not to me—it's all a jumble." "Suppose we wait till we hear Miss Vaughan's story," he suggested. "After that, I think, we can reconstruct the whole plot. There's one foundation-stone that's missing," he added, thoughtfully. "I wonder if Miss Vaughan uses a blotting-book? It all depends upon that!" "A blotting-book?" I echoed. "But I don't see...." He shook himself out of his thoughts with a little laugh. "Not now, Lester. It's time we were in bed. Look, there's the sun!" and he led the way into the house. "I'll have you called at nine," he added, as he bade me good-night at my door. <hr style='width: 65%;' /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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