“He switched off the light and sat down facing me, and again I felt his will trying to enter and conquer me.  And again I clasped the glove, and kept my mind upon it, thinking only of escape.”

You can guess how we were leaning forward, listening breathless to this narrative.  I fancied I could see her sitting there in the darkness, with Silva’s evil influence visibly about her, but held at bay by her resolute innocence, as Christian’s shield of Faith turned aside the darts of Apollyon.  It was, indeed, a battle of good and evil, the more terrible because it was fought, not with bodily weapons, but with spiritual ones.

“At last, Senor Silva rose again,” Miss Vaughan continued, “and turned on the lights, and I shivered when I met his gaze.

“‘You are defying me,’ he said, very low.  ‘But I will break you yet,’ and he clapped his hands softly together.

[Illustration:  “I knew that I was lost”]

“Mahbub appeared at the inner door, received a sharp order, and disappeared again.  A moment later, there was a little swirl of smoke from the door of his room, and a sharp, over-powering odour, which turned me faint.

“And then Senor Silva, who had been pacing, up and down the room, stopped suddenly and looked at me, his face distorted.

“‘Is it that?’ he muttered.  ‘Can it be that?’

“And he strode to the curtain which hung before his secret cupboard and swept it back.

“I knew that I was lost.  I sprang for the outer door, managed to get it open and set a foot in the hall, before he seized me.  I remember that I screamed, and then his hand was at my throat—­and I suppose I must have fainted,” she added, with a little smile, “for the next thing I remember is looking up and seeing Dr. Hinman.”

I sat back in my chair with a long breath of relief.  My tension during the telling of the story had been almost painful; and it was not until it was ended that I saw two other men had entered while Miss Vaughan was speaking.  I was on my feet as soon as I saw them, for I recognised Goldberger and Sylvester.

“Simmonds telephoned me this morning that I was needed out here again,” Goldberger explained.  “But first I want to shake hands with Miss Vaughan.”

“You have met Mr. Goldberger, Miss Vaughan,” I said, as he came forward, “but Dr. Hinman didn’t tell you that he’s the cleverest coroner in greater New York.”

“He doesn’t really think so, Miss Vaughan,” Goldberger laughed.  “You ought to read some of the things he’s written about me!  But I want to say that I heard most of your story, and it’s a wonder.  About that glove, now, Simmonds,” he added, turning to the detective.  “I’d like to see it—­and Sylvester here is nearly dying to.”

“Here it is,” said Simmonds, and took it from his pocket and passed it over.

Goldberger looked at it, then handed it to Sylvester, who fairly seized it, carried it to the door, and examined it with gleaming eyes.  Then, without a word, he took an ink-pad from his pocket, slipped the glove upon his right hand, inked the tips of the fingers and pressed them carefully upon a sheet of paper.  From an inner pocket, he produced a sheaf of photographs, laid them beside the prints, and carefully compared them.  Finally he straightened up and looked at us, his face working.