The latter grunted at last and turned away. He brought the dagger over to Blunt.
“You’re quite sure about it, sir. You identify it positively?”
“Absolutely. No doubt whatever.”
“Where was this—er—curio usually kept? Can you tell me that, sir?”
It was the secretary who answered. “In the silver table in the drawing room.”
“What?” I exclaimed.
The others looked at me.
“Yes, doctor?” said the inspector encouragingly.
“It’s nothing.”
“Yes, doctor?” said the inspector again, still encouragingly.
“It’s so trivial,” I explained apologetically. “Only that when I arrived last night for dinner I heard the lid of the silver table being shut down in the drawing room.”
I saw profound scepticism and a trace of suspicion on the inspector’s countenance.
“How did you know it was the silver table lid?”
I was forced to explain in detail—a long, tedious explanation which I would infinitely rather not have had to make.
The inspector heard me to the end.
“Was the dagger in its place when you were looking over the contents?” he asked.