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Stevenson, Burton Egbert, 1872-1962

"The Gloved Hand"

Lester," said
Simmonds, and the prosecutor and I shook hands. I introduced him to
Swain, but Swain did not offer his hand.
"I suppose you've come to take me along?" he said, the smile still on
his lips.
"I'm afraid we'll have to."
"Would bail be considered?" I asked.
"I'm afraid not," and Blake shook his head. "It isn't a bailable offence."
I knew, of course, that he was right and that it was of no use to
argue or protest. Swain turned to me and held out his hand.
"Then I'll say good-bye, Mr. Lester," he said. "I'll hope to see you
Monday."
"You shall," I promised.
"And with good news," he added.
"Yes--and with good news."
"Can we give you a lift?" Blake asked.
"No," I said, "thank you; but I'm staying out here for the present."
I watched them as they climbed into a car--Goldberger, Blake, Simmonds
and Swain; I saw the latter take one last look at the house; then he
waved to me, as the car turned into the highroad--at least, he was
taking it bravely! The coroner's assistants climbed into a second car,
and the four or five policemen into a third. Then the reporters and
photographers piled into the others, the few stragglers who had
straggled in straggled on again, and in five minutes the place was
deserted.


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