Stannard and Dr. Laurier carried the lamps. The former's black eyes were hard with suspicion. Dr. Laurier, dropping the Toledo blade with a clang on the other weapons, seemed miraculously transformed: any of his patients would have recognized him as Martin held out dagger and sheath half-together.
"We found it" Martin told the doctor, "in with the other things. Is that blood — recent?"
"Very." The pince-nez edged round the blade; the long, delicate fingers touched it "I should say," he drew in his cheeks, "within the last half-hour. Of course, it may not be human blood."
"If you're anything of a pathologist?" Stannard suggested. Dr. Laurier nodded as though startled. "Then," Stannard added, "you can discover whether it's human blood in a very few minutes." "A very few minutes?"
"Yes, my dear sir. You and Ruth and Mr. Fleet are going home."
Stannard took a deep breath. He thrust out an elbow and looked at his wrist-watch. Then he smiled.
"It is two minutes to twelve," he told them. "Tune, I think, that Mr. Drake and I drew lots."
Chapter 10
A moment more, and they were all outside again in the passage between the doors: both closed now. The sheathed dagger, wrapped in a handkerchief so that he should not get blood on his clothes, had been thrust into the pocket of a dazed Dr. Laurier.
The tendency towards hysteria was mounting again.