“How do you know he didn’t find it?” I interrupted.
“Because I found it,” asserted the detective triumphantly.
“Indeed! And what was it?”
“The handle—or, to be more accurate, the head—of the fatal weapon.”
“Really!” I exclaimed; “you found it? Where?”
“It had fallen in between the dead man’s trousers and the folds of his shirt.”
“It must be pretty small, then.”
“It is. Look at it,” and he laid on the table a jewelled dagger-hilt about an inch and a half long.
“That!” I exclaimed contemptuously; “why, that is nothing but a toy.”