Puzzled, not yet able to make it out clearly, he raised himself on his elbow and looked with close attention at the mysterious object.
Suddenly he leaped from the berth, strode to the table and caught up--Rrisa's dagger.
"Allah! What's this ?" he exclaimed.

"Rrisa--he's been here--and with a knife?
--" For a second or two he stood there, staring at the _jambiyeh_ in his grip.

His powerful frame tautened; his thick, corded neck swelled with the intensity of his emotion as his head went forward, staring.
His jaw set hard.

Then with a kind of half-comprehension, he turned quickly toward the window.
Yes, there were traces on the sill, that could not be mistaken.

The Master's keen eyes detected them, under the morning sun.