“The dagger had been used to ‘make sure’ apparently. The murderer was taking no risks—dead men tell no tales—but—and here’s something you probably don’t know, Mr. Bathurst—that Venetian dagger had unmistakable signs of finger-prints.”
Anthony grinned. “It was the dagger, after all, Bill,” he said. Then he addressed Baddeley. “I tumbled to your letter dodge, Inspector,” he explained. “I spotted that you had some prints somewhere and were after an identification. Fire away.” He settled in his chair again. Baddeley gazed at him steadily.
“You miss a hell of a lot. I don’t think,” he muttered. “I fancy I’ve brought my samples to the right market, after all.”
Anthony dismissed the compliment with a wave of the hand. Then came as quickly to the challenging point. “Whose were they?”
Baddeley replied very quietly. “They belonged to Major Hornby, Mr. Bathurst.”
This was interesting with a vengeance.
“Really,” said Anthony. “This is very important! Have you approached the Major, or are you holding your hand?”
“I have seen the Major, and informed him of my knowledge.”
“Ah! I am curious to hear what he says.”
“His explanation is that he handled the dagger during the evening.”