‘I found something under it. I have it. I am therefore quite sure.’
‘What did you find? Let me see it.’
He plucked out of his breast a glittering thing and laid it on the bed.
‘Behold it, madam!’ Folding his arms, he watched it where it lay.
The Queen stared down at a naked dagger. A longish, lean, fluted blade; and upon the bevelled edge a thick smear, half its length.
She did not touch it, but moved her lips as if she were talking to it. ‘Do I know you, dagger? Have we been friends, dagger, old friends—and now you play me a trick?’ She turned to Des-Essars. ‘You know that dagger?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ He had seen it often, and no later than last night, and then in hand.
‘That will do,’ said she. ‘Leave me now. Send Fleming and Seton—and Carwood also. I shall rise.’
When he was gone her face changed—grew softer, more thoughtful. Now she held out her hand daintily, the little finger high above the others, and with the tips of two daintily touched the dagger. She was rather horrible—like a creature of the woods at night, an elf or a young witch, playing with a corpse. She laughed quietly to herself as she fingered the stained witness of so much terror; but then, when she heard them at the door, picked it up by the handle and put it under the bedclothes. No one was to know what she meant to do.