Explore "The White Glove" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Utterly prostrate for the moment, Clifford walked along the road like a man in a dream. A little time ago he had felt so strong and self-reliant, now he was plunged in a deeper gloom than ever. His mind began to clear presently, and he saw things in their true light. The cleverness and boldness and audacity of the gang he had encountered almost paralysed him. It was impossible to believe for a moment that a Cabinet Minister of high repute was in league with these scoundrels.
Suppose he went to the police and told his tale, and asked them to arrest the man who called himself Michel Rayne! Who would believe his story that he had been lured into the house of Lord Arlingbury, and drugged there, ay, and left to die a horrible death! The authorities would laugh at the whole thing. And if he had been suffocated by that poisonous gas, why the discovery of his dead body would merely have added one more to London's unsolved mysteries.