sort
of desultory conversation, aimed at random at each member of the party,
and missing its mark each time.

It was as though a pall had been dropped over them, shutting out the
possibility of speech.

Breakfast at length over, Cleek took the situation quietly in hand, and
turning toward them in the open doorway, made his desires known.

"If you will all be so kind as to step into the library in an hour's
time," he said blandly, "I should like to reconstruct the scene of last
night's tragedy in the presence of all those who took part in it.... No,
Miss Duggan, you need not be afraid. Your father's body will have been
removed by then. But if any one of you have any knowledge whatever to
impart to me--representing, as I do, Scotland Yard in the absence of Mr.
Narkom (who is already upon his way here), I shall be only too pleased
to speak with you in the little ante-room close by. I may use that as a
sort of office, for the time being, may I not, Lady Paula? You've no
objections, I trust?"

She shook her head at him, flashing him a killing glance from under her
full lids. The flattery of his choice of her as principal of the bereft
family pleased her immensely.

"None whatever."

"Thanks very much."

Then he withdrew to the said ante-room, took out pen and paper, and
began figuring out something upon it which caused him not a little
worry, by the look of his face.

Five minutes brought a gentle tap upon the door, and without raising his
head from his work he called, "Come in."

Catherine Dowd stood in the aperture, looking more like the Mona Lisa
than he had ever seen a living person do before. There was something of
the same inscrutable smile lingering upon her lips, the same mysterious
impassivity in her quiet countenance.

"I've brought you something, Mr. Deland," she said in a soft purring
voice. "Something which I imagine has great bearings upon last night's
tragedy and which I found hidden in the left-hand curtain of the window.
It was stuck carelessly into the inner lining of the green silk, and
hung there. Here it is."

Cleek was on his feet in an instant, face alert. She handed him the
object, and then nodded at his exclamation of surprise.

"Yes. A stiletto. And in the face of the fact that Sir Andrew was
stabbed as well as shot, something of importance."

"I should think so, indeed!" Cleek's face fairly radiated excitement as
he bent over the object that lay in his open palm, touching it with