see any harm in that."

"You probably meant none. You couldn't have known the part it had just
played in this tragic drama," said the old detective looking carefully
at the cutter which he had taken in his hand, but not so carefully that
he failed to note that the look of distress was not lifted from the
mother's face either by her daughter's words or manner.

"You have washed this?" he asked.

"No. Why should I wash it? It was clean enough. I was just going down to
give it in at the desk. I wasn't going to carry it away." And she turned
aside to the window and began to hum, as though done with the whole
matter.

The old detective rubbed his chin, glanced again at the paper-cutter,
then at the girl in the window, and lastly at the mother, who had lifted
her head again and was facing him bravely.

"It is very important," he observed to the latter, "that your daughter
should be correct in her statement as to the condition of this article
when she picked it up. Are you sure she did not wash it?"

"I don't think she did. But I'm sure she will tell you the truth about
that. Caroline, this is a police matter. Any mistake about it may
involve us in a world of trouble and keep you from getting back home in
time for your coming-out party. Did you--did you wash this cutter when
you got upstairs, or--or--" she added, with a propitiatory glance at
Mr. Gryce--"wipe it off at any time between then and now? Don't answer
hastily. Be sure. No one can blame you for that act. Any girl, as
thoughtless as you, might do that."

"Mother, how can I tell what I did?" flashed out the girl, wheeling
round on her heel till she faced them both. "I don't remember doing a
thing to it. I just brought it up. A thing found like that belongs to
the finder. You needn't hold it out towards me like that. I don't want
it now; I'm sick of it. Such a lot of talk about a paltry thing which
couldn't have cost ten dollars." And she wheeled back.

"It isn't the value." Mr. Gryce could be very patient. "It's the
fact that we believe it to have been answerable for Miss Challoner's
death--that is, if there was any blood on it when you picked it up."

"Blood!" The girl was facing them again, astonishment struggling with
disgust on her plain but mobile features. "Blood! is that what you mean.
No wonder I hate it. Take it away," she cried.

"Oh, mother, I'll never pick up anything again which doesn't belong to
me! Blood!" she repeated in horror, flinging hers