"I gave it to Henry," said Selby deliberately.
"Did something fix that fact in your memory?"
"Do you mean that I am lying?" demanded Selby aggressively.
"Let us limit our discussion to what I am actually saying," said Burton, with the access of politeness he was apt to assume when ruffled. "I merely wanted to know what your position would be in case any question is raised in regard to that knife. But probably it never will be."
"Not just at present," said Selby, with white lips. "The fool has his hands full enough for the present with the Hadley outrage. When we are through with that, we will take up the Sprigg matter. I rather think we can keep Mr. Underwood busy for some time to come."
"You have done pretty well in that direction up to this time," said Burton, with a congratulatory smile. "I hope you will console yourself with that reflection when luck turns. We must all learn to bear reverses patiently." He smiled and bowed elaborately and left the office.
Once outside, he reflected on his folly. "I am a blessed fool as a diplomat," he said to himself. "I seem unable to deny myself the pleasure of making him angry."
The sight of Selby's curios had set his mind off on the thought of Indians, and since he had nothing else to do he turned his steps to the railway station where he had seen the Indian woman with her wares the day he arrived.
She was there again, and when Burton stopped before her she looked up with a broad smile which might have meant recognition and gratitude, or might have meant simply commercial hopes.
"How!" she said, and Burton responded "How!" Then suddenly his eye caught something that made him bend over her wares in very real interest. The burden-basket in which her goods were stowed was a net-like bag, made of flexible thongs of hide, tied together with a peculiar knotting. It made him think of the uncommon knot that he had noticed in the cords that bound Mr. Hadley and in the cord that had fastened the lilac branches together about the baby. He was sufficiently expert in Indian basketry to feel certain that it was the same knot, and that it was a peculiar and individual knot,--an adaptation of an old knot, undoubtedly, but none the less distinctly and recognizably original.