Those were the only words spoken.  The carriage rolled out to Broadway and then turned northward, making such progress as was possible along that crowded thoroughfare.  I glanced from time to time at the women opposite, and was struck by the contrast in their behaviour.  One sat quite still, her hands in her lap, her head bent, admirably self-contained; the other was restless and uneasy, unable to control a nervous twitching of the fingers.  I wondered why the maid should seem more upset than her mistress, and decided finally that her uneasiness was merely lack of breeding.  But the contrast interested me.

At Tenth Street, the carriage turned westward again, skirted Washington Square, turned into the Avenue, and stopped before the Vantine house.  Mr. Hornblower assisted the women to alight, and I led the way up the steps.  But as we reached the top and came upon the funeral wreath on the door, the veiled lady stopped with a little exclamation.

“I did not know,” she said, quickly.  “Perhaps, after all, we would better wait.  I did not realise....”

“There are no relatives to be hurt, madame,” I interrupted.  “As for the dead man, what can it matter to him?” and I rang the bell.

Parks opened the door, and, nodding to him, I led the way along the hall and into the ante-room.  Godfrey was awaiting us there, and I saw the flame of interest which leaped into his eyes, as Mr. Hornblower and the two veiled women entered.

“This is my witness,” I said to the former.  “Mr. Godfrey—­Mr. Hornblower.”

Godfrey bowed, and Hornblower regarded him with a good-humoured smile.

“If I were not sure of Mr. Godfrey’s discretion,” he said, “I should object.  But I have tested it before this, and know that it can be relied upon.”

“There is only one person to whom I yield precedence in the matter of discretion,” rejoined Godfrey, smiling back at him, “and that is Mr. Hornblower.  He is in a class quite by himself.”

“Thank you,” said the lawyer, and bowed gravely.

During this interchange of compliments, the woman I had decided was the maid had sat down, as though her legs were unable to sustain her, and was nervously clasping and unclasping her hands; even her mistress showed signs of impatience.

“The cabinet is in here,” I said, and led the way into the inner room, the two men and the veiled lady at my heels.

It stood in the middle of the floor, just as it had stood since the night of the tragedy, and all the lights were going.  As I entered, I noticed Godfrey’s gauntlet lying on a chair.

“Is it the right one, madame?” I asked.

She gazed at it a moment, her hands pressed against her breast.

“Yes!” she answered, with a gasp that was almost a sob.

I confess I was astonished.  I had never thought it could be the right one; even now I did not see how it could possibly be the right one.