“Only a knife.”
“By heavens, I’ve seen that knife afore!” he soliloquized, as they both minutely examined the instrument by the aid of the candle’s faint and flickering flame.
The handle of the weapon was tastefully ornamented with mother-of-pearl and several beautiful and sparkling brilliants, denoting that the owner was of no ordinary rank. They held it closer to the light in order to inspect what appeared to be spots of rust on the keen but peculiar-shaped blade.
“Blood! as I’m a livin’ man.”
“And fresh blood at that,” replied the other, as he scrutinized it more closely.
“See!” was the excited exclamation.
“What?”
“Those letters,” answered the leader, as he pointed to the initials “I. H.” handsomely engraved on the hilt of the weapon.
“Wal, what of ’em?”
“Don’t yer know?”