"That evidence will be taken on oath in due course," said the coroner, dryly official, and the examination of Miss Prout went on after the incident.
"And now as to the dagger," resumed the Treasury solicitor, "tell us of that."
She described it, its shape, the blunt edges of the long and pointed blade, the handle, the label on it with the date. It was Saracen, and it, too, like the celt, had once been used, in all probability, in the hands of wild men in shedding blood.
"And you are sure of the date when you first missed it from its place in the museum?"
"It was on the third day after the murder"—and Hylda Prout's glance traveled for an instant to the veiled, bent head of Rosalind, as it seemed to droop lower after every answer that she gave.
"And you are unable to conceive how both the dagger and the celt could have vanished from their places about that time?"
"Yes, I conceive that they were stolen," she said—"unless Mr. Osborne made them a present to some friend, for I have known him to do that."
"'Stolen,' you say," the Treasury man remarked. "But you have no grounds for such a belief? You suggest no motive for a thief to steal these two objects and no other from the museum? You know of no one who entered the room during those days?"
"No, I know of no one—except Inspector Furneaux, who seems to have entered it about six o'clock on the evening of the murder."
The coroner looked up sharply from his notes. This was news to the court.