Darcy stared at the keen knife, and then at the dead woman.

"Who owns it?" and the question snapped like a whip.

"I don't! It was left here by--"

There was a commotion at the side door, which had been opened by
Mulligan in order that the men might carry out the body of Mrs. Darcy.
There was a shuffling of feet, and a rather thick and unsteady voice
asked:

"Whash matter here? Place on fire? Looks like devil t'pay! Let me
in. Shawl right, offisher. Got a right t' come in, I have! I got
something here. 'Svaluable, too! Don't want that all burned--spoil
shings have 'em burned.

"'Lo, Darcy!" went on a young man, who walked unsteadily into the
jewelry store. "Wheresh tha' paper cutter I left for you t' 'grave
Pearl's name on? Got take it home now. Got take her home
some--someshing--square myself. Been out al'night--you know how
'tish! Take wifely home li'l preshent--you know how 'tish. Gotta
please wifely when you--hic--been out al' night. Wheresh my
gold-mounted paper cutter, Darcy?"

"Harry King, and stewed to the gills again!" murmured Pete Daley.
"Wow! he has some bun on!"

"Wheresh my paper cutter, Darcy?" went on King, smiling in a fashion
meant to be merry, but which was fixed and glassy as to his eyes.