“You have found out all about it,” said Jennie, as she finished reading the label. “Yes, it is our business to do so; but the glove has not been of much assistance to us.” “How did he say he became possessed of the glove?” asked the girl innocently. “Did she give it to him?” “No; he tore it from her hand as she was leaving him in the carriage. It seemed to me a most ungentlemanly thing to do, but of course it was not my business to tell Lord Donal that.” “So the glove has not been of much assistance to you. Tell me, then, what you have done, and perhaps I shall be the better able to advise you.” “We have done everything that suggested itself. We traced the alleged Princess from the Hotel Bristol in Pans to Claridge’s in London. I have a very clever woman in Paris who assisted me, and she found where the gloves were bought and where the dress was made. Did I read you Lord Donal’s description of the lady’s costume?” “No, never mind that; go on with your story.” “Well, Claridge’s provided carriage, coachman and footman to take her to the ball, and this returned with her sometime about midnight. Now, here a curious thing happened. The lady ordered a hansom as she passed the night-porter and shortly after packed off her maid in the cab.” “Her maid!” echoed Jennie. “Yes. The maid came down in ordinary street dress shortly after, deeply veiled, and drove away in the hansom; the lady paid her bill next morning and went to the eight o’clock Paris express, with carriage and pair, coachman and footman. Of course it struck me that it might be the lady herself who had gone off in the cab, but a moment’s reflection showed me that she was not likely to leave the hotel in a cab at midnight, and allow her maid to take the carriage in state next morning.” “That doesn’t appear reasonable,” murmured Jennie. “You made no attempt, then, to trace the maid?” “Oh yes, we did. We found the cabman who took her from Claridge’s, and he left her at Charing Cross Station, but there all trace of her vanishes. She probably left on one of the late trains--there are only a few after midnight--to some place out in the country. The lady took a first-class ticket to Paris, and departed alone next morning by the eight o’clock Continental express. My assistant discovered her and took a snapshot of her as she was walking down the boulevard; here is the picture.” The detective handed Miss Baxter an instantaneous view of one of the boulevards taken in bright sunshine. The principal figure in the foreground Jennie had no difficulty in recognizing as her own maid, dressed in that _chic_ fashion which Parisian women affect. “She seems to answer the description,” said Jennie. “So I thought,” admitted the detective, “and I sent the portrait to Lord Donal. See what he has written on the back.”