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A few moments before the crime specialist had caught something behind her laugh; now he fancied a still more subtle something was hidden behind the smile.

“This blade was carried in the army of Barbarossa, at the siege of Milan,” said young Campe.

“And by one of Miss Hohenlo’s remote ancestors,” added Miss Knowles, and again came the enigmatic smile. “You should hear her tell the story. It’s really delightful. Sometimes I think she cares more for the sword than she does for the harp.”

Miss Hohenlo advanced gingerly; there was something so mincing in her manner, so entirely like the old maid of tradition, that Mr. Scanlon winked very rapidly and watched her with something like fascination. She stroked the bare blade with one small hand.

“It’s ugly,” she said. “It is rough and uncouth, much like a great mastiff reared outdoors and having no place in the house. But it has done much for the Hohenlos; it has gained them fortunes in the past; so why should I not cherish it?”

“Why not, indeed?” said Miss Knowles.