At this moment an exclamation fell from the lips of the police sergeant. He came from August Bordine's room, bearing in his hand a small dressing-case, which he held up before the eyes of the widow.
"Madam, who owns that?"
"You don't, I can tell you that."
"No. Is it yours?"
"It belongs to August."
"Your son?"
"Yes, sir."
"I thought so. And this is his, also?"
With these words the officer opened the case and took therefrom a slender dagger.
At sight of this the wrinkled face of Mrs. Bordine blanched, a fact that did not escape the notice of the keen-eyed sergeant.