not lessen when I felt its edge. The thing was diabolically sharp.
I took it with me to show my neighbor, whom I found giving his order
to the boots; it seemed that it was barely midnight, and that he had
only just come in when the clatter took place in my room.

"Hillo!" he cried, when the man was gone, and I produced my trophy.
"Why, what the mischief have you got there?"

"My caller's card," said I. "He left it behind him. Feel the edge."

I have seldom seen a more indignant face than the one which my new
acquaintance bent over the weapon, as he held it to the light, and
ran his finger along the blade. He could have not frowned more
heavily if he had recognized the knife.

"The villains!" he muttered. "The damned villains!"

"Villains?" I queried. "Did you see more than one of them, then?"

"Didn't you?" he asked quickly. "Yes, yes, to be sure! There was
at least one other beggar skulking down below." He stood looking at
me, the knife in his hand, though mine was held out for it. "Don't
you think, Mr. Cole, that it's our duty to hand this over to the
police? I - I've heard of other cases about these Inns of Court.
There's evidently a gang of them, and this knife might convict the
lot; there's no saying; anyway I think the police should have it.
If you like I'll take it to Scotland Yard myself, and hand it over
without mentioning your name."

"Oh, if you keep my name out of it," said I, "and say nothing about