"I should think that the weapon used was a knife with a very sharp, triangular blade judging from the wound," the spruce-looking doctor explained. "The police, however, have failed to discover it."
The words of the witness held me dumbfounded.
"Have you ever met with knives with triangular blades, doctor?" inquired the coroner.
"Oh, yes!" was the reply. "One sees them in collections of mediæval arms. In ancient days they were carried almost universally in Southern Europe—the blade about nine inches long, and sometimes perforated. Along the blade, grease impregnated with mineral poison was placed, so that, on striking, some of the grease would remain in the wound. This form of knife was most deadly, and in Italy it was known as a misericordia."
I sat there listening with open mouth. Why? Because I knew where one of those curious knives had been—one with a carved handle of cracked, yellow ivory. I had often taken it up and looked at the coat of arms carved upon the ivory—the shield with the six balls of the princely house of the Medici.
"And in your opinion, doctor, the deceased came by her death from a blow from such a weapon as you describe?" the coroner was asking.
"That is my firm opinion. The wound penetrated to the heart, and death was probably almost instantaneous."
"Would she utter a cry?"
"I think she would."
"And yet no one seems to have heard any noise!" remarked the coroner. "Is that so?" he asked, turning to the police inspector.