"We have the law and the right on our side."
"You have not," retorted Mrs. Bordine. "I haven't heard you read a
search-warrant."
"It's not necessary."
At this moment an exclamation fell from the lips of the police sergeant.
He came from August Bordine's room, bearing in his hand a small
dressing-case, which he held up before the eyes of the widow.
"Madam, who owns that?"
"You don't, I can tell you that."
"No. Is it yours?"
"It belongs to August."
"Your son?"
"Yes, sir."
"I thought so. And this is his, also?"
With these words the officer opened the case and took therefrom a slender
dagger.
At sight of this the wrinkled face of Mrs. Bordine blanched, a fact that
did not escape the notice of the keen-eyed sergeant.
"So, ho!" he exclaimed.
"Ah, ha!" uttered the second one, with a grunt.
"Now, what does this mean?" Mrs. Bordine finally gasped.
"Exactly what I would ask," returned the sergeant. "I've no doubt you
will deny that this natty little weapon belongs to your son."
The eyes of the police sergeant regarded the widow fixedly.
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