“My knife!” faltered Tom, astounded at such a request; and then, in a quick, hurried way—“I’m so sorry, sir, I cannot. I was looking for it just now, but I’ve lost it.”
“Lost it? Dear me! Was it a valuable knife?”
“Oh no, sir, only an old one, with the small blade broken.”
“Would you mind describing it to me?”
“Describing it, sir? Of course not. It had a big pointed blade, and a black and white bone handle.”
“And the small blade broken, you say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Had it any other mark by which you would know it? Knives with small blades broken are very general.”
“No, sir, no other mark. Oh yes, it had. I filed a T and a B in it one day, but it was very badly done.”
“Very, Thomas Blount,” said the Vicar, taking something from his breast-pocket. “Is that your knife?”