In his quick, quiet way Fleming Stone went rapidly round the room. He examined the window fixtures and curtains, the mantel and fireplace, the furniture and carpet, and came to a standstill by the library table. The dagger, which was kept in a drawer of the table, was shown to him, but though he examined it a moment, it seemed to have little interest for him.

“There’s not a clue in this room,” he said almost indignantly. “There probably were several the morning after the murder, but the thorough sweepings and dustings since have obliterated every trace.”

Somewhat abruptly he went into the large hall. Here his proceedings in the library were duplicated. “Nothing at all,” he said; “but what could be expected in a room which is a general thoroughfare?”

Then he went into the drawing-room. The other three followed, feeling rather depressed at the hopeless outlook, and a little disappointed in the great detective.

Stone glanced around the large apartment.