“The effort must have overcome him,” resumed Sweetwater in a voice from which he carefully excluded all signs of secret triumph, “and when James returned, as he did a few minutes later, he was evidently unable to ask questions, even if John was in a condition to answer them.  But the fallen dagger told its own story, for James picked it up and put it back on the table, and it was at this minute he saw, what John had not, the twenty-dollar bill lying there with its promise of life and comfort.  Hope revives; he catches up the bill, flies down to Loton’s, procures a loaf of bread, and comes frantically back, gnawing it as he runs; for his own hunger is more than he can endure.  Re-entering his brother’s presence, he rushes forward with the bread.  But the relief has come too late; John has died in his absence; and James, dizzy with the shock, reels back and succumbs to his own misery.  Gentlemen, have you anything to say in contradiction to these various suppositions?”

For a moment Dr. Talbot, Mr. Fenton, and even Knapp stood silent; then the last remarked, with pardonable dryness: 

“All this is ingenious, but, unfortunately, it is up set by a little fact which you yourself have overlooked.  Have you examined attentively the dagger of which you have so often spoken, Mr. Sweetwater?”

“Not as I would like to, but I noticed it had blood on its edge, and was of the shape and size necessary to inflict the wound from which Mrs. Webb died.”

“Very good, but there is something else of interest to be observed on it.  Fetch it, Abel.”

Abel, hurrying from the room, soon brought back the weapon in question.  Sweetwater, with a vague sense of disappointment disturbing him, took it eagerly and studied it very closely.  But he only shook his head.

“Bring it nearer to the light,” suggested Knapp, “and examine the little scroll near the top of the handle.”

Sweetwater did so, and at once changed colour.  In the midst of the scroll were two very small but yet perfectly distinct letters; they were J. Z.

“How did Amabel Page come by a dagger marked with the Zabel initials?” questioned Knapp.  “Do you think her foresight went so far as to provide herself with a dagger ostensibly belonging to one of these brothers?  And then, have you forgotten that when Mr. Crane met the old man at Mrs. Webb’s gateway he saw in his hand something that glistened?  Now what was that, if not this dagger?”

Sweetwater was more disturbed than he cared to acknowledge.

“That just shows my lack of experience,” he grumbled.  “I thought I had turned this subject so thoroughly over in my mind that no one could bring an objection against it.”

Knapp shook his head and smiled.  “Young enthusiasts like yourself are great at forming theories which well-seasoned men like myself must regard as fantastical.  However,” he went on, “there is no doubt that Miss Page was a witness to, even if she has not profited by, the murder we have been considering.  But, with this palpable proof of the Zabels’ direct connection with the affair, I would not recommend her arrest as yet.”