“It is extremely sharp,” said Rankin.

“Arthur… don’t touch it!” cried Marjorie Wilde.

But Arthur Wilde had already taken the dagger, and was examining it under a wall-bracket lamp.

“This is quite interesting,” he murmured. “Handesley, come and look.”

Sir Hubert joined him, and together they bent their heads over Rankin’s treasure.

“Well?” asked Rankin carelessly.

“Well,” returned Wilde, “your service to your friend, whoever he may have been, should have been of considerable value to have merited such a reward, my dear Charles. The dagger is a collector’s piece. It is of extreme antiquity. Handesley and Doctor Tokareff will correct me if I am mistaken.”

Sir Hubert was staring at it as if, by the very intensity of his gaze, he could see back through the long perspective of its history into the mind of the craftsman who had fashioned it.

“You are right, Wilde. Of the very greatest antiquity. Obviously Mongolian. Ah, you beauty!” he whispered.

He straightened his back, and Nigel thought that he made a supreme effort to wipe away from his face and his voice all the covetousness of the ardent collector.

“Charles,” he said lightly, “you have aroused my worst passion. How dare you!”

“What does Doctor Tokareff say?” asked Rosamund suddenly.

“I should deferentiate,” said the Russian, “to zis august earning of Sir H. Handesley… and additionally of Mr. Ooilde. Nevertheless, I make a suggestion that to possess zis knife is not altogezzer enviable.”

Vassily stood motionless behind Nigel. Somehow the latter was aware of his vehement concentration. Could he understand the pedantic English of his countryman?

“What do you mean?” asked Mrs. Wilde sharply.