“Such, at least, is the gossip down here.  I cannot presume to keep you posted at such a distance, but thought I had better write what is in every one’s mouth.  As for the inscribed dagger which Norton has taken with him, I rely on you to inform me.  There seems to be a great deal of mystery connected with it, and I am unable even to hazard a guess as to its nature.  Fortunately, you are on the spot

“Very sincerely yours,

“Haggerty.”

“So,” remarked Kennedy, as he read over the translation of the skiagraph which he had jotted down as we picked out the letters and words, “that’s how the land lies.  Everybody seems to have appreciated the importance of the dagger.”

“Except Norton,” I could not help putting in in disgust.

“And now it’s gone,” he continued, “just as though some one had dropped it overboard.  I believe I will keep that appointment you made for me with Whitney, after all.”

Thus it happened that I found myself a third time entering Whitney’s building.  I was about to step into the elevator, when Kennedy tugged at my arm and pulled me back.

“Hello, Norton,” I heard him say, as I turned and caught sight of the archaeologist just leaving an elevator that had come down.

Norton’s face plainly showed that he was worried.

“What the matter?” asked Kennedy, putting the circumstances together.  “What has Whitney been doing?”

Norton seemed reluctant to talk, but having no alternative motioned to us to step aside in the corridor.

“It’s the first time I’ve talked with him since the dagger was stolen—­that is, about the loss,” he said nervously.  “He called me up half an hour ago and asked me to come down.”

I looked at Kennedy significantly.  Evidently it must have been just after his return to the office and receipt of the letter which I had stuck in the letter slot.

“He was very angry over something,” continued Norton.  “I’m sure it was not my fault if the dagger was stolen, and I’m sure that managing an expedition in that God-forsaken country doesn’t give you time to read every inscription, especially when it is almost illegible, right on the spot.  There was work enough for months that I brought back, along with that.  Sometimes Whitney’s unreasonable.”

“You don’t think he could have known something about the dagger all along?” ventured Craig.

Norton puckered his eyes.  “He never said anything,” he replied.  “If he had asked me to drop other things for that, why, of course, I would have done so.  We can’t afford to lose him as a contributor to the exploration fund.  Confound it—­I’m afraid I’ve put my foot in it this time.”

Kennedy said nothing, and Norton continued, growing more excited:  “Everybody’s been talking to Whitney, telling him all kinds of things—­Lockwood, the de Moches, heaven knows who else.  Why don’t they come out and face me?  I’ve a notion to try to carry on my work independently.  Nothing plays hob with scholarship like money.  You’d think he owned me body and soul, and the collection, too, if you heard him talk.  Why, he accused me of carelessness in running the Museum, and heaven knows I’m not the curator—­I’m not even the janitor!”