I made a thorough examination.

 

“Well?” said the inspector, when I had finished.

 

“I’ll spare you the technical language,” I said. “We’ll keep that for the

inquest. The blow was delivered by a right-handed man standing behind him, and

death must have been instantaneous. By the expression on the dead man’s face, I

should say that the blow was quite unexpected. He probably died without knowing

who his assailant was.”

 

“Butlers can creep about as soft-footed as cats,” said Inspector Davis. “There’s

not going to be much mystery about this crime. Take a look at the hilt of that

dagger.”

 

I took the look.

 

“I dare say they’re not apparent to you, but I can see them clearly enough.” He

lowered his voice. “_Fingerprints!_”

 

He stood off a few steps to judge of his effect.

 

“Yes,” I said mildly. “I guessed that.”

 

I do not see why I should be supposed to be totally devoid of intelligence.

After all, I read detective stories, and the newspapers, and am a man of quite