I nodded assent.  “Exactly; I have seen it there.”

“It was blunt and rusty—­a mere toy knife—­not at all the sort of weapon a man would make use of who designed to commit a deliberate murder.  The crime, if there was a crime (which we do not admit), must therefore have been wholly unpremeditated.”

I bowed my head.  “For us who knew Hugo that goes without saying.”

She leaned forward eagerly.  “Dr. Sebastian has pointed out to me a line of defence which would probably succeed—­if we could only induce poor Hugo to adopt it.  He has examined the blade and scabbard, and finds that the dagger fits its sheath very tight, so that it can only be withdrawn with considerable violence.  The blade sticks.” (I nodded again.) “It needs a hard pull to wrench it out. . . .  He has also inspected the wound, and assures me its character is such that it might have been self-inflicted.”  She paused now and again, and brought out her words with difficulty.  “Self-inflicted, he suggests; therefore, that this may have happened.  It is admitted—­will be admitted—­the servants overheard it—­we can make no reservation there—­a difference of opinion, an altercation, even, took place between Hugo and Clara that evening”—­ she started suddenly—­“why, it was only last night—­it seems like ages—­an altercation about the children’s schooling.  Clara held strong views on the subject of the children”—­her eyes blinked hard—­“which Hugo did not share.  We throw out the hint, then, that Clara, during the course of the dispute—­we must call it a dispute—­ accidentally took up this dagger and toyed with it.  You know her habit of toying, when she had no knitting or needlework.  In the course of playing with it (we suggest) she tried to pull the knife out of its sheath; failed; held it up, so, point upward; pulled again; pulled harder—­with a jerk, at last the sheath came off; the dagger sprang up; it wounded Clara fatally.  Hugo, knowing that they had disagreed, knowing that the servants had heard, and seeing her fall suddenly dead before him, was seized with horror—­the Le Geyt impulsiveness!—­lost his head; rushed out; fancied the accident would be mistaken for murder.  But why?  A Q.C., don’t you know!  Recently married!  Most attached to his wife.  It is plausible, isn’t it?”

“So plausible,” I answered, looking it straight in the face, “that . . . it has but one weak point.  We might make a coroner’s jury or even a common jury accept it, on Sebastian’s expert evidence.  Sebastian can work wonders; but we could never make—­”

Hilda Wade finished the sentence for me as I paused:  “Hugo Le Geyt consent to advance it.”

I lowered my head.  “You have said it,” I answered.

“Not for the children’s sake?” Mrs. Mallet cried, with clasped hands.

“Not for the children’s sake, even,” I answered.  “Consider for a moment, Mrs. Mallet:  Is it true?  Do you yourself believe it?”