“Oh, well, there isn’t much of a story to it,” and Donovan’s voice showed his disappointment.  “Phut—­I don’t know whether that’s his first or his last name—­anyhow, he had a partner named Shere Ali.  No one knows much about Ali, for he came here just recently.  Anyhow, he and Phut didn’t get along very well it seems.

“Neighbors often heard ’em scrappin’ a lot, and this afternoon they went at it again hot and heavy.  Then things quieted down, and nobody heard anything more.  Toward dark a man went in to buy a lamp.  He found the place without a light in it, stumbled over something on the floor, and there was Ali’s body, with the head busted in and this heavy candlestick near it.

“He raised the howl right off, and Pinkus and I got there as soon as we could.  Of course Phut was gone.  But we’ll get him!”

“Then you think he did it?”

“Sure he did!  Who else?”

“And the watch was in Ali’s hand?”

“Sure!  Held so tight we could hardly get it out.  In fact it was so tight that he’s cut his palm grabbin’ hold of it.  Maybe the fight was about who owned the watch, for the Dagos talked in their foreign lingo and none of the neighbors could tell what they were sayin’.”

“I see.  And the watch?  Have you it?”

“Yes, it’s here.  Going yet, too.  Hear it tick?” and Donovan held open the door of his closet.  From the place, in which hung odd coats, caps and other garments, and from the shelf on which was a collection of gruesome weapons, came an insistent ticking.

“That’s the watch,” announced the headquarters detective, reaching in for it.  “Going yet—­see?” and he held it out to Colonel Ashley.

Somewhat to the surprise of Donovan the military detective accepted the timepiece on his open palm, and so gingerly that it caused Donovan to remark: 

“You’re not as squeamish as all that, are you?  Just because it was in a dead man’s hand—­and in a woman’s?”

“Oh, not at all,” was the quick answer.  “But, as a matter of fact these East Indians are often carriers of bubonic plague, you know, and it’s very contagious.  Of course neither Shere Ali nor Singa Phut may have had the germs about them, but I am a bit squeamish when it comes to contagious diseases of that nature, and I wouldn’t like to scratch myself on that watch.”

“Scratch yourself—­on a watch?” and Donovan’s voice was plainly skeptical.

“Yes.  It may have some rough edges on it.  And I’ve read enough about germs to know the danger.  I’d advise you to be careful!”

“Ha!” laughed Donovan shortly.  “I should worry about that!  The watch don’t figure in the case, except maybe they quarreled over who owned it.”

Colonel Ashley said nothing.  He was carefully examining the watch, which he still held in the palm of the hand—­holding it as carefully as though indeed it might be laden with germs the least touch of which against a tiny scratch might produce death.