“That is all nonsense. You are simply guessing at something you don’t know. No one ever saw the knife.”

“Here it is.”

Victor Danègre recoiled. The ex-inspector continued:

“There are some spots of rust upon it. Shall I tell you how they came there?”

“Well!⁠ ⁠… you have a key and a knife. Who can prove that they belong to me?”

“The locksmith, and the clerk from whom you bought the knife. I have already refreshed their memories, and, when you confront them, they cannot fail to recognize you.”

His speech was dry and hard, with a tone of firmness and precision. Danègre was trembling with fear, and yet he struggled desperately to maintain an air of indifference.

“Is that all the evidence you have?”