"No, I don't, sir. Maybe, of course, but I doubt it. A man don't use a knife when his fists will do, as a rule. And look you here, sir," said the sergeant, leaning forward to place his broad hand for a moment upon the Doctor's knee--"when you find a fine old gentleman with a bald crown or a 'spectable old lady with a bag and umbrella, tipped over neat in a corner, you may put it down to robbery; for you won't find anything in their pockets, I'll wager. But you find a good-looking fellow with a ha'porth of rat poison inside of him that he didn't put there himself, or a young woman stabbed that's as handsome as that one"--jerking his head toward the door--"and you won't go far wrong if you put it down to jealousy." The Doctor sat silently pondering. The sergeant slowly filled his glass again. "You've examined her dress, of course, sir? Anything in the pockets?" "Nothing--absolutely nothing!" "Nothing torn? No appearance of having been robbed?" "No. Merely the cut where the blow was given." "Just so, sir. About the weapon--an ordinary knife, should you say?" "No; from the appearance and general character of the wound it was caused by a two-edged blade." "H'm! Sort of dagger--stiletto kind of thing?" queried the sergeant. "I should say so." The sergeant gave a prolonged whistle, with an air of intense satisfaction. "Supports my idea, you see, sir. A man going about with a dagger in his pocket usually means to use it. A case of jealousy--that's what it is! It's surprising, I'm sure, the way a man will put his neck into a rope if there's a woman t'other side of it. You wait till this young woman comes round, and you'll find that that's about the size of it. The work of some hot-headed young fool she's thrown over, I expect; or, maybe, she's bolted from her husband, and it's a case of elopement. Shouldn't wonder, for the handsomer they are the more mischief they get up to. That's my experience." "I hope you are mistaken," said the Doctor, rising and looking thoughtfully at the fire. "I hope you are, but we shall see. Fill your glass, sergeant!" "Thank you, sir, I am sure." The sergeant obediently filled his glass for the fourth time, and held it critically between his eye and the light. "Well, we shall see, as you say. When do you fancy you'll be able to speak to her, may I ask?" "Impossible to say. She may be sensible to-morrow, or the shock may cause a fever, in which case her condition may become highly dangerous. I can't possibly say." "Pity there isn't something about her by which she might be identified," mused the sergeant, thoughtfully. "But it'll all be in the papers to-morrow, and it will be odd if it doesn't catch the eye of some one who knows her. But she's French, if I don't mistake, or at any rate, not English."