“Straightforwardness, first of all. I’m going at once, either to Miss Prall or to Mrs Everett, and make them come across with something definite. If they don’t know anything,—I’ll find that out, at least.” “Go first to my aunt, then. I’ll go with you,—come along. Get all you can out of her, I’m not in the least afraid!” The two men went up to the Prall apartment and Bates opened the door with his own key. “Here’s Mr Detective, Aunt Letty,” he said, trying to speak lightly; “he wants a little chatter with you.” Miss Prall looked up from her book. “Be seated, Mr Gibbs,” she said, with quiet dignity. “How do you do?” “How do you do?” the detective returned, not quite at ease, in the presence of her forbidding manner. “I’m sorry to intrude——” “Then don’t,” interrupted Letitia, her large, strong face frowning at him. “Why make us both sorry?” “Because it must be done.” Gibbs gathered firmness from her own attitude. “This matter of the murder of Sir Herbert Binney is of sufficient importance not to wait on convenience or pleasure.” “Quite right. And what have you done? Nothing, as usual? When one remembers that the crime occurred nearly a week ago, and no steps have yet been taken to apprehend the criminal——” “Pardon me, Miss Prall, many steps have been taken, and they have led in a definite direction.” “Good gracious, where!” The spinster was startled out of her calm and a look of concern spread over her face. “First, tell me if you have any suspicions?” “I have not, but if I had I’d never tell you, so long as they were merely suspicions. If I could prove them, I’d tell quick enough!” “But I may help you to prove them—or disprove them.” “That’s just it; if you disprove them, I’m covered with shame and confusion at having hinted them.” “All right, I’ll do the hinting. Or, rather, I’ll speak right out. What did you do with the paper-cutter from your library table,—I see there is an empty sheath still there?” “That?” and Miss Prall glanced casually at the sheath in question. “The paper-knife was broken and I gave it to Sir Herbert Binney, who had promised to get it mended for me at some specialty place he knew of. Why?” “Because that was, probably, the weapon that killed him.” If Gibbs had expected any sudden telltale blush or confusion on Miss Prall’s part, he must have been disappointed, for she only said: “Indeed! How could that happen?” “I don’t know, but the knife has been found, in peculiar circumstances, and I’d like to know just when you gave it to him to get it mended.” “Oh, I don’t know; several days before his death. Perhaps four or five days, or a week. Go on.” “The knife,—if that was the one,—was driven into the body in such a way as to make it likely that the hand that thrust it was the hand of some one experienced in surgical lore——” “Hah!” the exclamation given by Miss Prall was full of meaning. It seemed to imply a sort of triumphant surprise, a welcome knowledge, a looked-for and longed-for state of things.