Major Hornby shook his head—“There’s nothing more to tell. I put the dagger back on the table and shortly afterwards started to play cards.”
Baddeley thought for a moment. His next question the Major thought surprising.
“Tell me, Major Hornby,” he said, “when you were examining the dagger, did you by any chance happen to notice if any person in the room was watching you?”
Hornby looked him straight in the eyes. “That’s very remarkable—because I did.”
“Who was it?” The Inspector’s eyes gleamed with excitement.
“Gerald Prescott!”
Baddeley pushed his chair back—then mastered his discomfiture. Hornby eyed him with cool nonchalance. “And I can tell you something else of importance. When I went to bed that night—the Venetian dagger had gone from the curio table!! Because I looked.”
CHAPTER XIII
MR. BATHURST POTS THE RED
The next morning Mary joined me in the garden—just after breakfast. She looked lovelier than ever, although it was obvious to the careful observer that she was troubled. “Bill,” she said, “you haven’t spoken to poor Mrs. Prescott since her arrival yesterday—she had all her meals in her room, you know—come and see her this morning—if only to please me. It’s been heart-breaking to talk to her. He was her only son.”
I was conscious of a certain feeling of resentment. It was absurd of her upsetting herself like this—Prescott was dead and it was all exceedingly sad and all that—but it didn’t please me to see the shadows in Mary’s face over it. I gently remonstrated with her.