Winter shook his head dubiously.
“If Sir Alan were shot instead of stabbed,” went on the barrister, “the first thing you would endeavour to determine would be the calibre and nature of the bullet. Why not be equally particular about the knife?”
“But this weapon has been for fifty years in Glen Tochan. Its history is thoroughly established.”
“Is it? Who made it? Whose crest does it bear? What does this motto signify? If you wanted to kill a man would you use this toy? Why was not the sword itself employed?”
“That string of questions leaves me out, Mr. Brett.”
“I am equally uninformed. I can only answer the last one. The sword is intended for suicidal purposes, the Ko-Katana for an enemy. This is a case of murder, not suicide.”
The detective wheeled sharply on his heels, thereby upsetting Charles Peace’s telescopic ladder.
“You suspect Okasaki!” he cried.
“My dear fellow! Okasaki is, say, five feet nothing. The murderer is five feet ten inches in height. Japanese are clever people, but they are not—telescopes,” and he picked up the ladder.
Winter grinned. “You always make capital out of my blunders,” he said.