“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 certain 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!”

CHAPTER XXV

THE BLOOD-STAINED GLOVE

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.