"At the bottom of the pond," murmured the policeman thoughtfully. "Then it is evident that the person who ground it down threw the knife into the water, so that it shouldn't be found again.—You don't remember on what day the knife was lost, I suppose, ma'am?"
"No, I'm afraid I can't tell you that," answered Mrs. Ormond. "We missed it first last Saturday week; but we don't use it every day, so it might have been before then."
"You've no idea who could have done this?"
"None whatever. We had an idea that one of the boys might have been the culprit; but, as I said to Mrs. Ormond, I don't think a boy could have ground a knife blade down as cleverly as that."
The sergeant held the carver nearer to the lamp, and looked at it for a few moments in silence.
"I've seen some queer tools," he said, "manufactured by what's called a thieves' blacksmith, and sometimes by the men themselves—all kinds of odd contrivances, made out of the most unexpected things you can imagine, from a knitting-needle to a steel fork or a poker."
"You don't think that was done by a robber, do you?" exclaimed Mrs. Ormond, looking up from her work.
"No, ma'am; I can't see what the use of it could have been, it's so thin and fragile. Now, if it had been turned into a fine saw," the speaker continued, feeling along the edge of the blade with his finger and thumb, "it would have made me feel a bit suspicious.—I suppose, sir, you've had no cause lately to think the house has been broken into—no drawers forced, or windows opened?"
"Oh no!" answered Mr. Ormond. "Nothing of the kind."