“Not that I am aware,” said the Professor. “I have never had this object in my possession.”

“Well, this is strange!”

“No, Axel, it is very simple. The Icelanders often wear arms of this kind. This must have belonged to Hans, and he has lost it.”

I shook my head. Hans had never had an object like this in his possession.

“Did it not belong to some pre-adamite warrior?” I cried, “to some living man, contemporary with the huge cattle-driver? But no. This is not a relic of the stone age. It is not even of the iron age. This blade is steel⁠—”

My uncle stopped me abruptly on my way to a dissertation which would have taken me a long way, and said coolly: