a public company—when some gentleman, he
left these gloves behind him! Another
gentleman and me, you see, we laid a wager of a
sovereign, that I wouldn't find out who they
belonged to. I've spent as much as seven
shillings already, in trying to discover; but,
if you could help me, I'd stand another seven
and welcome. You see there's TR and a
cross, inside.' '/ see,' he says. 'Bless you, /
know these gloves very well! I've seen dozens
of pairs belonging to the same party.' 'No?'
says I. 'Yes,' says he. 'Then you know
who cleaned 'em?' says I. 'Rather so,' says
he. 'My father cleaned 'em.'

"'Where does your father live?' says I.
'Just round the corner,' says the young man,
'near Exeter Street, here. He'll  tell you
who they belong to, directly.' 'Would you
come round with me now?' says I. 'Certainly,'
says he, 'but you needn't tell my father that
you found me at the play, you know,
because he mightn't like it.' 'All right!'
We went round to the place, and there we
found an old man in a white apron, with
two or three daughters, all rubbing and
cleaning away at lots of gloves, in a front
parlour. 'Oh, Father!' says the young man,
'here's a person been and made a bet about
the ownership of a pair of gloves, and I've
told him you can settle it.' 'Good evening,
Sir,' says I to the old gentleman. 'Here's
the gloves your son speaks of. Letters TR,
you see, and a cross.' 'Oh yes,' he says, 'I
know these gloves very well; I've cleaned
dozens of pairs of 'em. They belong to Mr.
Trinkle, the great upholsterer in Cheapside.'
'Did you get 'em from Mr. Trinkle, direct,'
says I, 'if you'll  excuse my asking the
question?' 'No,' says he; 'Mr. Trinkle always
sends 'em to Mr. Phibbs's, the haberdasher's,
opposite his shop, and the haberdasher sends
'em to me.' 'Perhaps you wouldn't object to
a drain?' says I. 'Not in the least!' says he.
So I took the old gentleman out, and had a
little more talk with him and his son, over a
glass, and we parted ex-cellent friends.

"This was late on a Saturday night. First
thing on the Monday morning, I went to the
haberdasher's shop, opposite Mr. Trinkle's,
the great upholsterer's in Cheapside. 'Mr.
Phibbs in the way?' 'My name is Phibbs.'
'Oh! I believe you sent this pair of gloves to
be cleaned?' 'Yes, I did, for young Mr.
Trinkle over the way. There he is, in the
shop!' 'Oh! that's him in the shop, is it?
Him in the green coat?' 'The same
individual.' 'Well, Mr. Phibbs, this is an
unpleasant affair; but the fact is, I am
Inspector Wield of the Detective Police, and I
found these gloves under the pillow of the
young woman that was murdered the other day,
over in the Waterloo Road?' 'Good Heaven!'
says he. 'He's a most respectable young
man, and if his father was to hear of it, it
would be the ruin of him!' 'I'm very sorry
for it,' says I, 'but I must take him into
custody.' 'Good Heaven!' says Mr. Phibbs,
again; 'can nothing be done?' 'Nothing,'
says I. 'Will you allow me to call him over
here,' says he, 'that his father may not see it
done?' 'I don't object to that,' says I; 'but
unfortunately, Mr. Phibbs, I can't allow of
any communication between you. If any was
attempted, I should have to interfere directly.
Perhaps you'll beckon him over here?' Mr.
Phibbs went to the door and beckoned, and
the young fellow came across the street
directly; a smart, brisk young fellow.

"'Good morning, Sir,' says I. 'Good
morning, Sir,' says he. 'Would you allow
me to inquire, Sir,' says I, 'if you ever had
any acquaintance with a party of the name
of Grimwood?' 'Grimwood! Grimwood!'
says he, 'No!' 'You know the Waterloo
Road?' 'Oh! of course I know the Waterloo
Road!' 'Happen to have heard of a young
woman being murdered there?' 'Yes, I
read it in the paper, and very sorry I was to
read it.' 'Here's a pair of gloves belonging
to you, that I found under her pillow the
morning afterwards!'

"He was in a dreadful state, Sir; a
dreadful state! 'Mr. Wield,' he says, 'upon
my solemn oath I never was there. I never
so much as saw her, to my knowledge, in
my life!' 'I am very sorry,' says I. 'To
tell you the truth; I don't think you are the
murderer, but I must take you to Union
Hall in a cab. However, I think it's a case
of that sort, that, at present, at all events, the
magistrate will hear it in private.'

A private examination took place, and then
it came out that this young man was acquainted
with a cousin of the unfortunate Eliza
Grimwoods, and that, calling to see this cousin a day
or two before the murder, he left these gloves
upon the table. Who should come in, shortly
afterwards, but Eliza Grimwood! 'Whose
gloves are these?' she says, taking 'em up.
'Those are Mr. Trinkle's gloves,' says her
cousin. 'Oh!' says she, 'they are very dirty,
and of no use to him, I am sure. I shall
take 'em away for my girl to clean the stoves
with.' And she put 'em in her pocket. The
girl had used 'em to clean the stoves, and, I
have no doubt, had left 'em lying on the
bedroom mantel-piece, or on the drawers, or
somewhere; and her mistress, looking round to
see that the room was tidy, had caught 'em
up and put 'em under the pillow where I
found 'em.

"That's the story, Sir.

II. THE ARTFUL TOUCH.

"One of the most beautiful things that ever
was done, perhaps," said Inspector Wield,
emphasising the adjective, as preparing us to
expect dexterity or ingenuity rather than
strong interest, "was a move of Serjeant
Witchem's. It was a lovely idea!

"Witchem and me were down at Epsom
one Derby Day, waiting at the station for the
Swell Mob. As I mentioned, when we were
talking about these things before, we are