Furneaux took up a little tube containing radium from a table at his hand, looked at it, and put it down again.
Hylda Prout was too distraught to see that his hand shook a little. It was half a minute before he spoke.
"Well, all that proves nothing, though it is of interest, of course," he said nonchalantly. "How long has that stiletto been lying there?"
"Since—since I entered Mr. Osborne's employment, twelve months ago."
"And you first noticed that it was gone—when?"
"On the second afternoon after the murder, when I noticed that the celt, too, was gone."
"The second—I see."
"I wondered what had become of them! I could imagine that Mr. Osborne might have given the celt to some friend. But the stiletto was so rare a thing—I couldn't think that he would give that. I assumed—I assume—that they were stolen. But, then, by whom?"
"That's the question," said Furneaux.
"Was it this same stiletto that I have described to you that the murder was done with?" asked Hylda.