“I replaced the camera in the position from which I had taken the previous photography; but the slide containing the plate I had exposed by flashlight I removed and put into one of my side pockets, regretting that I had not taken a second flash picture at the instant when I heard those strange sounds up in the chancel.

“Having tidied my photographic apparatus, I went to the chancel to recover my lantern and revolver, which had both—­as you know—­been knocked from my hands when I was stabbed.  I found the lantern lying, hopelessly bent, with smashed lens, just under the pulpit.  My revolver I must have held until my shoulder struck the pew, for it was lying there in the aisle, just about where I believe I cannoned into the pew corner.  It was quite undamaged.

“Having secured these two articles, I walked up to the chancel rail to see whether the dagger had returned, or been returned, to its sheath above the altar.  Before, however, I reached the chancel rail, I had a slight shock; for there on the floor of the chancel, about a yard away from where I had been struck, lay the dagger, quiet and demure upon the polished marble pavement.  I wonder whether you will, any of you, understand the nervousness that took me at the sight of the thing.  With a sudden, unreasoned action, I jumped forward and put my foot on it, to hold it there.  Can you understand?  Do you?  And, you know, I could not stoop down and pick it up with my hands for quite a minute, I should think.  Afterward, when I had done so, however, and handled it a little, this feeling passed away and my Reason (and also, I expect, the daylight) made me feel that I had been a little bit of an ass.  Quite natural, though, I assure you!  Yet it was a new kind of fear to me.  I’m taking no notice of the cheap joke about the ass!  I am talking about the curiousness of learning in that moment a new shade or quality of fear that had hitherto been outside of my knowledge or imagination.  Does it interest you?

“I examined the dagger, minutely, turning it over and over in my hands and never—­as I suddenly discovered—­holding it loosely.  It was as if I were subconsciously surprised that it lay quiet in my hands.  Yet even this feeling passed, largely, after a short while.  The curious weapon showed no signs of the blow, except that the dull color—­of the blade was slightly brighter on the rounded point that had cut through the armor.

“Presently, when I had made an end of staring at the dagger, I went up the chancel step and in through the little gate.  Then, kneeling upon the altar, I replaced the dagger in its sheath, and came outside of the rail again, closing the gate after me and feeling awarely uncomfortable because the horrible old weapon was back again in its accustomed place.  I suppose, without analyzing my feelings very deeply, I had an unreasoned and only half-conscious belief that there was a greater probability of danger when the dagger hung in its five century resting place than when it