"A three-sided dagger?"

"Yes."

"I didn't know there was such a thing in town. Philemon could have
had no dagger."

"It does not seem so, but one can never tell. Simple cottages like
these often contain the most unlooked-for articles."

"I cannot imagine a dagger being among its effects," declared Mr.
Sutherland. "Where was the body of Mrs. Webb lying when you came
in?"

"Where you see it now. Nothing has been moved or changed."

"She was found here, on this lounge, in the same position in which
we see her now?"

"Yes, sir."

"But that is incredible. Look at the way she lies! Hands crossed,
eyes closed, as though made ready for her burial. Only loving
hands could have done this. What does it mean?"

"It means Philemon; that is what it means Philemon."

Mr. Sutherland shuddered, but said nothing. He was dumbfounded by
these evidences of a crazy man's work. Philemon Webb always seemed
so harmless, though he had been failing in mind for the last ten