And taking up the shafts of his grindstone he trundled down Pleasaunce Court, pausing at the corner to raise the mournful cry of his trade.
“Knives to grind? Knives to grind?”
His voice floated up in the evening air. Alleyn heard it as he rang the Lampreys’ doorbell.
“Any old knives to grind?”
CHAPTER VIII
ALLEYN MEETS THE LAMPREYS
Fox had lavished the most delicate attention on the skewer. It was tied down to a strip of cardboard and lay in a long box. Alleyn held the box under the lamp. The plated ring at the broad end of the skewer caught the light and glinted. The blade did not glint. It had had time to dry a little.
“Disgusting,” said Alleyn. He laid down the box. “Yours, Bailey. The blade has obviously been lifted by the point.”
“That’s me,” said Dr. Kantripp. “I thought it better to avoid the ring as much as possible, though of course in drawing it out—”
“Of course,” said Dr. Curtis.