A few moments before the crime specialist had caught something behind her laugh; now he fancied a still more subtle something was hidden behind the smile.
“This blade was carried in the army of Barbarossa, at the siege of Milan,” said young Campe.
“And by one of Miss Hohenlo’s remote ancestors,” added Miss Knowles, and again came the enigmatic smile. “You should hear her tell the story. It’s really delightful. Sometimes I think she cares more for the sword than she does for the harp.”
Miss Hohenlo advanced gingerly; there was something so mincing in her manner, so entirely like the old maid of tradition, that Mr. Scanlon winked very rapidly and watched her with something like fascination. She stroked the bare blade with one small hand.
“It’s ugly,” she said. “It is rough and uncouth, much like a great mastiff reared outdoors and having no place in the house. But it has done much for the Hohenlos; it has gained them fortunes in the past; so why should I not cherish it?”
“Why not, indeed?” said Miss Knowles.
Scanlon noted that this apartment seemed of great interest to Ashton-Kirk; the tapestries were exclaimed over and talked about; the paintings were reviewed; the carvings were gone over minutely; the curious qualities and periods of various pieces of furniture were discussed.
“But the harp,” mused the watchful Bat. “The harp seems to be the extra added attraction. It’s got something that puzzles him, and he keeps going back to it again and again.”
But it was not only the harp. The great naked sword hanging between the windows, backed by the bit of ancient tapestry, also seemed of continued interest. With a casual air, Ashton-Kirk more than once examined it; and his eyes, as Scanlon alone saw, were darting interest for all his seeming nonchalance. Once he took the weapon down and tested its weight in a sweeping stroke.
“It would take a person of some strength to use this with any effect,” said he, and his eyes were upon Miss Knowles.