`It's a crossbow bolt from the late fourteenth century!
'My eye,' said the doctor, 'and Betty Martin. Look what's engraved down it. "Souvenir de Carcassonne, 1932." The pirate French sell 'em at little souvenir booths'
`But, Doctor said Sir. William.
The other blinked at him. `My, name,' he observed, with a sudden querulous suspicion — 'my name, sir, is Watson. Doctor Watson. And if any alleged humorist… squeaked the doctor, flourishing his satchel — `if any alleged humorist makes the obvious remark, I'll brain him. For thirty years on this force I've been hearin' nothing else. And I'm tired of it. People hiss at me round corners. They ask me for needles and four-wheelers and Shag tobacco, and have I my revolver handy?'
Laura Bitton had paid no attention to this tirade. She had grown a trifle pale, and she was standing motionless, staring down at the crossbow bolt.
She said, in a voice she tried to keep matter-of-fact:
`I know where this belongs, Mr Hadley.!
'You've seen it before?'
'It comes,' said Mrs Bitton, in a careful voice, `from our house. Lester and I bought it when we were on a walking trip in southern France.'