Baddeley was immediately alert. “What? Who was?”
“All of us. The conversation was general. Why do you ask?”
“Who was responsible for the turn the conversation took? Anybody in particular—think carefully—it may be of the greatest importance?”
“Well, if you ask me, Inspector, it was Bathurst—he rather fancies himself, you know, in the sleuth line. Can’t think of anybody else. Yes, I’m sure he began it.”
Baddeley nodded. “All right! Go on!”
Hornby reflected. “Where was I?”
“Talking about crime,” muttered his companion grimly. “Only talking——”
“Oh yes! Well, the conversation got pretty well going—murders and detectives and what not, and it didn’t seem likely that cards would be started for some little time—and I wandered round the drawing-room. When I got to the curio table, as it was called, my eyes fell on the Venetian dagger. I couldn’t help thinking how it fitted in with the subject of the reigning conversation. I picked it up and examined it with some interest—and the thought came to me that it might have sent more than one soul into eternity.”
The Inspector listened eagerly, and with some impatience.
“Yes, yes!” he said. “What then?”