"I told you to mind your own business, if I remember."
"And you swore at me," said the little woman; "as if a man who calls himself a gentleman----"
"Mrs. Ward, I am getting tired of this circumlocution. What is it you have to say?"
"Well, on that night you were in a fir coat."
"My usual coat in winter."
"It was the night when Mrs. Jersey was killed."
"Was it, indeed? I never noticed the coincidence."
"No. But you knew about it," said Mrs. Ward; "you threw your coat on yonder sofa. I seated myself near it by chance. There was something hard in the pocket of the coat. When you were out of the room I took the something out. There it is," and she laid an Italian stiletto on the table.
"What is that?" asked Derrington, calmly, but with an anxious face.
"That," said Mrs. Ward, touching it daintily with her finger, "is the weapon with which Mrs. Jersey was stabbed."