“Mr. Carleton might perhaps judge of that point. As he first discovered the dagger, and picked it up from the floor, he can perhaps say if it lay in or near the stains on the carpet.”
Everybody looked at Schuyler Carleton. But the man had reached the limit of his endurance.
“I don’t know!” he exclaimed, covering his white face with his hands, as if to shut out the awful memory. “Do you suppose I noticed such details?” he cried, looking up again. “I picked up the dagger, scarce knowing that I did it! It was almost an unconscious act. I was stunned, dazed, at what I saw before me, and I know nothing of the dagger or its blood-stains!”
Truly, the man was almost frenzied, and out of consideration for his perturbed state, the coroner asked him no more questions just then.
“It seems to me,” observed Rob Fessenden, “that the nature or shape of the stains on the dagger handle might determine this point. If they appear to be finger-marks, the weapon must have been held by some other hand. If merely stains, as from the floor, they might be considered to strengthen Doctor Hill’s theory.”
The Venetian paper-cutter was produced and passed around.
None of the women would touch it or even look at it, except Kitty French. She examined it carefully, but had no opinion to offer, and Mr. Benson waited impatiently for her to finish her scrutiny. He had no wish to hear her remarks on the subject, for he deemed her a mere frivolous girl, who had no business to take any part in the serious inquiry. All were requested not to touch the weapon, which was passed round on a brass tray taken from the library table.
Schuyler Carleton covered his eyes, and refused to glance at it.
Tom Willard and Robert Fessenden looked at it at the same time, holding the tray between them.
“I make out no finger-prints,” said Tom, at last. “Do you?”