The view so absorbed our attention for a time that we hardly noticed our
immediate surroundings. When we did so we began to make an examination.
Gault, with characteristic curiosity, began a search in the bottom of
the old cellar. Suddenly he emerged.
"A veritable relic!" he exclaimed. "See! an old knife; and here on its
handle is a name. Can you read it?" and he handed it to me.
A minute's brisk scouring made it quite plain.
"I have it now," I said. "It is Samuel Wickham."
As I read the inscription I was startled to see the color almost
instantly leave Gault's face.
"Samuel Wickham! You don't mean It. Let me see," and he grasped the
knife from my hand.
"It is. You are right," he said. "You do not understand my interest
in this matter," he added, evidently a little embarrassed at his own
manner. "It was the name that struck me. Probably this knife belonged
to the unfortunate stranger," and he put it carefully in his pocket.
"Do you know just when the house was burned,--did Mr. Thompson say?" he
inquired, trying hard to control his excitement.
"Not exactly," I replied; "but he told me that he had a record
somewhere. You could probably ascertain from him.
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