"Ah," said the detective, going up to the door, "here is the very coat
you wore when you killed that poor fellow wonder what you have in the
pockets," and he plunged his hand into them in turn. There were an old
theatre programme and a pair of brown gloves in one, but in the second
pocket Mr. Gorby made a discovery--none other than that of the missing
glove. There it was--a soiled white glove for the right hand, with
black bands down the back; and the detective smiled in a gratified
manner as he put it carefully in his pocket.

"My morning has not been wasted," he said to himself. "I've found out
that he came in at a time which corresponds to all his movements after
one o'clock on Thursday night, and this is the missing glove, which
clearly belonged to Whyte. If I could only get hold of the chloroform
bottle I'd be satisfied."

But the chloroform bottle was not to be found, though he searched most
carefully for it. At last, hearing Mrs. Sampson coming upstairs again,
he gave up the search, and came back to the sitting-room.

"Threw it away, I suspect," he said, as he sat down in his, old place;
"but it doesn't matter. I think I can form a chain of evidence,
from what I have discovered, which will be sufficient to convict him.
Besides, I expect when he is arrested he will confess everything; he
seems to feel remorse for what he has done."

The door opened, and Mrs. Sampson entered the room in a state of
indignation.

"One of them Chinese 'awkers," she explained, "'e's bin a-tryin' to git