It was long after ten when I went down to the dining room the next morning. As I took my place at the breakfast table, the housekeeper handed me a note saying that Carter had left it. It simply announced that both he and Ranville had gone to Warren's funeral, and they thought they would let me sleep. Breakfast over, I strolled out on the lawn and for a while amused myself by playing ball with the dog. Tiring of this after a while, I went up on the veranda to read a magazine. I had been reading perhaps about ten minutes when I was hailed by a voice from the walk and, glancing down, I saw the heavy, thick-set figure of the chief of police. He came up the steps and dropped into a near-by chair, wiping his face with his handkerchief as if he was warm. Under one arm he had a small package which he was handling very carefully. For a while we talked in a general way, until I began to wonder what it might be that had caused him to come to the house. At length, after taking a pipe from his pocket and which he took some time in filling, he said: “Well, Mr. Pelt, I understand that you are with one of the best detectives in the country.” I agreed to this, and he went on: “I have something here might interest you.” He took the package from under his arm and slowly but very carefully unwrapped it. There seemed to be far more paper used in wrapping than was necessary, but at length he reached the object he was after. Giving it one rather strange look, he handed it to me without a word. It was a dagger of a style and workmanship which I had never seen before. The blade was very long and extremely thin, and it came to a decidedly sharp point—a point which not only was sharp, but also very clean; the steel of which it was made was glazed a dark green, and the handle had several figures carved upon it. After I had looked it over I gave him a questioning glance. His response was quick: “After Mr. Carter called me last night I sent two men round to Warren's. Had them watch that swamp all night. They saw no one. This morning I got a lot of boys and set them to work. They went all over the place—that's what they found,” and he waved one hand at the dagger. I cast another glance at the dagger, wondering if it could have been the thing the boy said he saw the man on the wall throwing away. As if reading my thoughts, the chief said: “The doc saw this awhile ago. He thinks it's the knife that did the killing.” Realizing that the chief did not know all of my adventure of the night before, I told him of what had taken place. He seemed very startled, but then I knew that the murder itself had been a bit more than he was accustomed to. He listened, however, without a word, though he did slowly shake his head when I told of seeing the man who was searching in the swamp. But when I mentioned of being thrown from the tower of the church, he gave a sudden start. As I ended, he said quickly: