"Dead?" echoed Sharpless.
"Dead. Stabbed through the heart."
"Oh, no," said Hubert Fane. "No, no, no, no, no!"
Uncle Hubert's tone, at the moment, was merely one of frightened skepticism. His manner indicated that the world couldn't play him a dirty trick like this.
"No, really, now!" he said, as though determined to stop such nonsense at once. "This is too much. I must really protest. Get up, my dear boy! Get up and—"
"He won't hear you," said Rich, as Hubert began to chafe at one of Arthur's wrists. "I tell you he's dead."
Then Rich reached out and touched the black handle projecting from Arthur's chest. He pressed it between his fingers.
"And I'll tell you something else," he added, his color going up.
"That's not the dagger I brought to this house."
"I shouldn't touch it, if I were you," warned Sharpless. "The police always kick up a row if you mess about with the evidence. At least, they do in the stories. Don't touch it!"