His eyes were filled with horror.

Very slowly, and with the air of one engaged upon some interesting task, Oliver Hilditch had removed the blood-stained sheath of cotton wool from around the thin blade of a marvellous-looking stiletto, on which was also a long stain of encrusted blood.
"There is a handle," he went on, "which is perhaps the most ingenious thing of all.

You touch a spring here, and behold!" He pressed down two tiny supports which opened upon hinges about four inches from the top of the handle.

There was now a complete hilt.
"With this little weapon," he explained, "the point is so sharpened and the steel so wonderful that it is not necessary to stab.

It has the perfection of a surgical instrument.