He turned to the captain of the guard, who was standing close beside him.
"Will this dagger explain the mystery, think you, my son?" he asked, handing a small weapon to the soldier. "I picked it up just now."
The guard—he was but a young man—took the dagger from His Eminence's hand, and looked at it attentively. Those who were nearest to him noticed that he suddenly started, and that the hand which held the narrow pointed blade trembled visibly.
"Your Grace's dagger!" he said at last, handing the weapon to Wessex. "It has Your Grace's arms upon the hilt."
Dead silence followed these simple words. The Duke seemed half dazed, and mechanically took the dagger from the captain's hand; the blade still bore on it the marks of Don Miguel's blood.
"Yes! it is my dagger," he murmured mechanically.
"But no doubt Your Grace can explain . . ." suggested His Eminence indulgently.
Wessex was about to reply when one of the guard suddenly interposed.
"I seemed to see a woman flying through the gardens just now, captain," he said, addressing his officer.
"A woman?" asked His Eminence. "What woman?"