“That knife!” gasped Leon. “Where did you get it?”
He snatched it from Don’s hand and examined it closely, his fingers trembling a little, while his whole manner betrayed both astonishment and dismay.
“Have you ever seen that knife before?” questioned the dark-haired boy.
“I—I—why, I believe I have.”
“When? Where?”
“Why, I—er—saw it last night.”
“You did? Where?”
“In the club-room.”
“Who had it?” cried Don, clutching Bentley fiercely by the shoulder.
“Don’t!” begged the other lad, squirming and dropping his cigarette. “Great Cæsar! you hurt! Your fingers feel like iron!”