I showed him the knife, and told him how it had come into my possession.
"I know," he rapped. "I saw it. He was in the water not three yards from where you stood. You must have seen him. Was there nothing visible?"
"Nothing."
The woman laughed again, and again I wondered.
"A wild-fowl," I added; "nothing else."
"A wild-fowl," snapped Smith. "If you will consult your recollections of the habits of wild-fowl you will see that this particular specimen was a RARA AVIS. It's an old trick, Petrie, but a good one, for it is used in decoying. A dacoit's head was concealed in that wild-fowl! It's useless. He has certainly made good his escape by now."
"Smith," I said, somewhat crestfallen, "why are you detaining this gypsy woman?"
"Gypsy woman!" he laughed, hugging her tightly as she made an impatient movement. "Use your eyes, old man."
He jerked the frowsy wig from her head, and beneath was a cloud of disordered hair that shimmered in the sunlight.
"A wet sponge will do the rest," he said.