Explore "The White Glove" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Michel Rayne dropped helplessly into a chair. Cool, clever scoundrel as he was, he was utterly discomfited for the moment. But there was worse to come had he but known it. His scattered wits gradually began to come back to him; the first thing was to find out how much Dawlish knew. At any rate, he need not be identified with Mrs. Manton and Clifford Marsh.
"I have been away now for a week," Dawlish said. "You did not know it, but I have undergone an operation. At the present moment I am as sane as yourself. Already a full account of the Henshaw business has been submitted to the authorities; hence the fact that those detectives were in Beemor-street. Your brilliant career has come to an end, Michel Rayne."