"Yes, Colonel. Boys on de streets yellin' extry papers now, all 'bout
de murder."

"Who is it? Where? When did it happen?"

"Jest 'bout a hour ago. It's a man--a Indian man whut kept a curiosity
shop--de same place where yo' an' me was lookin' at dem funny snake
candlesticks las' week."

"Singa Phut's place? Great Scott, Shag! You don't mean to tell me,
_he's_ killed, do you?"

"No, sah, Colonel! Dat Mr. Phut ain't killed. It's his partner. He's
got a funny name, too. Heah, I done brought yo' a paper," and Shag
pulled out an extra from under his vest, where he had carefully kept it
concealed until he had made sure of his master's frame of mind.

The colonel scanned the front page with its black type eagerly. Surely
enough, there had been a murder. Shere Ali, Singa Phut's partner, had
been found lying on the floor of the little curiosity shop with his
head crushed in.

"And in the dead man's hand was a ticking watch," read the colonel.

For a moment he stared at the words. Then a light seemed to come over
his face. He crushed the paper in his hand, and then spread it out to
read again the startling news, while he murmured:

"The watch of death!"




CHAPTER XI

NO ALIMONY

"Shag!" exclaimed the colonel.

"Yes, sah!"

"We're going fishing tomorrow!"

"Is we, Colonel? Den I s'pects yo'll want t' git--"

"Get everything ready, yes. We'll go again to that place where Miss
Mason found me. There's as good fish in that stream as any I didn't
catch, and I want to try my luck."

"Yes, sah, Colonel. But, scuse me, didn't yo, figger on doin' some
detectin' an' give up fishin'?" and Shag, with the freedom of an old
servant, stood looking at his master as if not quite understanding the
new twist the affairs had taken.

"That's all right, Shag. You do as I tell you. I'm going off fishing.
I may not catch anything--I may not want to after I get there. But for
a quiet place to think, give me a fishing excursion every time! And
I've got to do some tall thinking now. Get ready, Shag!"

"Yes, sah, Colonel!"

And, having put himself in a fair way, as he hoped, to solve some of
the problems connected with the Darcy case, Colonel Ashley went down to
police headquarters to learn more facts in connection with the murder
of the East Indian.

Carroll and Thong were there, and if they did not exactly welcome the
colonel as a kindred spirit they at least accorded him the respect due
a fellow craftsman in the peculiar line where talent may be found most
unexpectedly. And Carroll and Thong who, with other headquarters men,
now knew the colonel's identity, were not above learning a trick or
two, even if they had to take them from the book of their rival. For
they recognized that the colonel would be against them and the
prosecutor's detectives when it came to the trial of James Darcy.

"Well, boys, what's this I hear about another murder?" asked Colonel
Ashley when he had passed over some of his cigars, the flavor of which
the two headquarters men had been longing to taste again.

"Some Dago had his head busted in," remarked Thong. "It isn't our
case, so we don't know much about it."

"No? Who has it?"

"Pinkus and Donovan; haven't they, Carroll?"

"Yep." Carroll was too much engaged in watching the blue smoke curl
lazily upward from his cigar just then to say more.

"Like to talk with 'em about it?" went on Thong, in friendlier tones.

"If they're here, yes."

"I think they just came in," said Thong, bringing his feet down with a
bang from the table on which he had had them elevated. "Are you going
to work on that case, Colonel?"

"Oh, no. I was just interested, as Singa Phut was one concerned in
Mrs. Darcy's murder."



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