"Will you produce it?" asked The Thinking Machine calmly.
"I will not," was the firm response. "I have explained that it is not to be seen by the eyes of unbelievers."
"If a charge of murder should be laid against you, would you produce it?" insisted The Thinking Machine.
"I would not."
"To avoid an arrest?"
"There is no danger of an arrest," was the still calm response. "I am connected with the Turkish delegation in Washington and I am responsible there. I am entitled to the protection of my own government. If there is any charge against me it must come that way."
There was a long silence. Hatch was bursting with questions, which were silenced by a slight gesture from The Thinking Machine. Under the peculiar circumstances the scientist realized that what Mr. Hassan had said was true. It is one of the idiosyncrasies of international law.
"You know, of course, that a woman has been murdered with that dagger, don't you?" asked the scientist.
"I have heard that a woman has been murdered."
"Do you attribute any magical properties to the weapon?"
"Oh, no."
"Just where is it at present? Would you produce it if your government ordered you to do so?"
"My government will not order me to do so."
Hatch was annoyed. All this was tommyrot. If Mr. Hassan had his dagger, then there were more than one of them in existence. Dr. Loyd had one; the reporter knew that. Whether it was a clever counterfeit he did not know; but the dagger used to kill the girl was certainly in possession of the medical examiner.
"If that dagger should ever by an chance pass out of your possession, Mr. Hassan, what would happen?" asked The Thinking Machine.
"I am sworn to protect it with my life. If it should pass out of my possession I should kill myself. It is customary and so understood in my country."
"Oh," exclaimed the scientist, suddenly. "How long will you be in Boston?"
"For several days, probably," was the reply. "Meanwhile, if I can be of any further service to you, I should do so gladly."
"How long have you been here?"
"About a week."
"Were you ever in Boston before?"
"Once, a couple of years ago, when I first came to this country."
Mr. Hassan arose and took up his hat. He had formally told Hatch and The Thinking Machine good day and was at the door when he turned back.
"I understand," he said, "that this dagger is supposed now to be in the possession of Dr. Loyd, the Medical Examiner?"
"Yes," said the scientist.
Mr. Hassan went away. Hatch sat nursing his wrath a moment, and then came the explosion. It was inevitable; a righteous protest against an insult to his intelligence and that of the eminent scientist who had become interested in the case.
"Mr. Hassan is a liar, else there are two daggers," he burst out.
"Mr. Hassan is a gentleman of the Turkish legation, Mr. Hatch," said The Thinking Machine reprovingly. "Do you know Mr. Loyd very well?"
"Yes."
" 'Phone him immediately and ask him to have that dagger secretly removed to a safety deposit vault," instructed the scientist. "Then you had better go out and work with the police to see if they yet have any clue to the girl's identity. Mr. Hassan will produce the dagger if he has it."
The remainder of that day and a part of the next Hatch spent running down the small possibilities, trying to settle some of the minor questions, which were naturally aroused in his mind. There was a result-a very definite result-and when he again appeared before The Thinking Machine, he felt that he had accomplished something.
"It occurred to me," he explained, "that there was a possibility that this man Wilkes had communicated with or advertised for this girl that was dead. I searched the want columns of three newspapers. At last I found this."
He extended a small clipping to The Thinking Machine, who took it and studied it a moment. This clipping was an advertisement for an intelligent young woman as companion and gave the street and number of the house in Cambridge where the girl had been found.
"Very good," said The Thinking Machine, and he rubbed his hands briskly together. "It looks, Mr. Hatch, as if it might be a long tedious work to establish the name of this girl. It may take weeks. I should meanwhile take that clipping and turn it over to the police, and let them make the search. I see it is dated October 19, which is four days form the time Wilkes rented the house. Yet the girl had been dead for not more than ten days. There is a lapse of time in there to be accounted for. Find out if this advertisement appeared more than once, and also get the original copy of it from the newspaper. It might be in Wilkes's handwriting. In that case it would be a substantial clue."
"Have you heard anything more about Hassan's dagger?" inquired the reporter.
"No, but he will produce it. Did you phone Dr. Loyd in reference to it?"
"I 'phoned yesterday, as you suggested, and was then informed that Dr. Loyd had left the city. I 'phoned twice this morning, but got no answer from the house. I presume he has not returned."
"No answer?" asked The Thinking Machine quickly. "No answer? Dear me, dear me!" He arose and paced back and forth across the room twice, then paused before the reporter. "That's bad, bad, bad!" he said.
"Why?" asked Hatch.
The Thinking Machine turned suddenly and entered the adjoining room. When he came out there was a new expression on his face-an expression which Hatch could not read.
"Dr. Loyd was found at 1 o'clock to-day in his home, bound and gagged," he explained shortly. "The only servant there was insensible from some drug. It was burglars. They ransacked the house from top to bottom."
"What-what does that mean?" asked Hatch, wonderingly.
Just then the door from the hall opened and Martha, the aged servant of The Thinking Machine, appeared.
"Mr. Hassan, sir," she said.
The Turk appeared in the door behind her, gravely courteous, suave, and dignified as ever.
"Ah," explained The Thinking Machine. "You have brought the dagger?"
"I talked with the Turkish Minister in Washington by telephone and he explained the necessity of my producing it," said Mr. Hassan. "I have it here to convince you."
"I thought it was in Washington?" Hatch blurted out.
"Here it is," was the Turk's response. He produced a richly jeweled box. In it lay the golden dagger. The Thinking Machine lifted it. The blade was bright and without a trace of a stain. With a quick movement The Thinking Machine twisted the handle and part of it came off. A few drops of a pungent liquid ran out on the floor.