He lifted the exhibits out. The shape of the cast, the monogram on the handkerchief cried out their testimony.
Robinson grasped Howells's report and glanced over the fine handwriting.
After a time he looked up.
"There's the case against you, Mr. Blackburn, and at the least your cousin's an accessory. But why the devil did you come to me and make a clean breast of it?"
"Because," Bobby cried, "I didn't know anything about these things being here. Can't you see that?"
"That's the trouble," Robinson answered uncertainly, "I think I do see it."
"Besides," Graham said, "you're still without the instrument that caused death."
"I expect to land it in this room," Rawlins answered grimly.
He replaced the drawer and continued to fumble among the clothing it contained. All at once he called out and raised his hand. On the forefinger a tiny red stain showed.
"How did you do that?" Robinson asked.
"Something pricked me," the detective answered. "Maybe it was only a pin, but it might have been—"