There came another knock on the door and a voice asked:

"Is Chet in here, Colonel? I generally find him with you when he isn't
in my room and--"

Mr. Bland entered through the opened door, and from the figures of the
detective and his helper the eyes of Chet's owner went to that of the
motionless dog. Chet's master sensed something wrong, for with a cry
of his pet's name he hurried toward the stretched-out animal.

"Don't!" exclaimed the colonel, reaching out a restraining hand. "The
dog has been poisoned, and with a poison so deadly that even some of
the foam from his lips, in a tiny scratch, might cause your death.
Don't touch him with bare hands."

"Poisoned, Colonel! Chet poisoned?"

Sorrowfully enough Colonel Ashley told how it had happened, showing the
poisoned watch, but not disclosing the fact that it was the one which
had figured in the deaths of Mrs. Darcy and Shere Ali. And as nothing
had yet been made public to the effect that the watch, which had had a
part in both cases, was more than an ordinary timepiece Mr. Bland did
not connect it with these two deaths. Colonel Ashley let it be
understood that the watch was a curiosity having to do with some case
he was investigating.

"And if I had even dreamed that your dog would take it off the stool to
worry it, as he might a bone, I'd never have let him in here," said the
detective. "I can't tell you how sorry I am, Mr. Bland, for I loved
Chet almost as much as you did."

"I know--I know! And he liked you. Poor little dog! Poor little dog!"

Tenderly they bore him out, the colonel insisting that no one touch him
with ungloved hands, and a little later Chet was quietly buried.

"But what are you going to do about that watch--and all that it means?"
asked Jack Young, later, when he was about to depart to take up the
shadowing of Harry King.

"I'm going to see how it's made and try to learn whether or not Darcy
was aware of its deadly nature. If he was--"

The colonel did not finish.

"Well, I'll get on my way," said Jack, after a pause. "I'll keep in
touch with you, in case you need me."

"And don't lose sight of Harry King," was the parting admonition.
"Something just as unexpected as this may turn up in his case," and the
colonel motioned to the watch.

Left to himself, the detective looked at the timepiece on his table,
now silent in its tissue wrapping. The needle, which under the
magnifying glass was shown to be hollow, probably drawing the poison
from some receptacle inside the case, had slipped back out of sight
when the pressure was removed from the rim.

"The watch of death!" mused the colonel. "I must see how you are made
inside, and I think I'd better have a professional perform an autopsy
on you. I'll send for Kettridge. He knows all about watches, though I
question if he ever saw one like this."

The colonel was about to use his telephone when it rang and, answering
it, he was told that another visitor wished to see him.

"Who is it?" he asked the clerk downstairs.

"Mr. Aaron Grafton."

"Send him up."

Grafton was plainly nervous as he entered the room; and the colonel,
had he not been a man of experience, might have allowed this
nervousness to influence his judgment, and bring into too much
prominence the first suspicions the detective had felt regarding this
man.

"Ah, Mr. Grafton, you wish to see me?"

"Only for a moment, Colonel Ashley. I don't like to call on you thus
openly, for it might give rise to all sorts of questions, but--"

"Oh, don't let that worry you. I'm a detective, and known as such now.
And you, as the owner of a large department store, where shop-lifting
and other crimes may be committed any day, are often in need of the
services of detectives, I should say."

"I am, but--"

"Well, don't worry. If any one knows of your coming to me they will
imagine you wish to consult me about something connected with your
store. So don't let that influence you. But has anything else
happened?"

"Yes," answered Mr. Grafton, "there has."

"What?" asked the colonel.

"Well, I've come to say that I don't think I'll need your services any


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