E-text prepared by Al Haines
Being a Somewhat Different Detective Story
by
Author of "The Mansion of Mystery," etc.
International Fiction Library
Cleveland New York
Press Of
The Commercial Bookbinding Co.
Cleveland
1918
I. The Ticking Watch
II. King's Dagger
III. The Fisherman
IV. Spotty
V. Amy's Appeal
VI. Grafton's Search
VII. The Colonel is Surprised
VIII. The Diamond Cross
IX. Indicted
X. The Death Watch
XI. No Alimony
XII. The Odd Coin
XIII. Singa Phut
XIV. The Hidden Wires
XV. A Dog
XVI. The Colonel Wonders
XVII. "A Jolly Good Fellow"
XVIII. Amy's Test
XIX. Word From Spotty
XX. In The Shadows
XXI. Swirling Waters
XXII. His Last Case
There was only one sound which broke the intense stillness of thejewelry shop on that fateful April morning. That sound was the tickingof the watch in the hand of the dead woman.
Outside, the rain was falling. Not a heavy downpour which splashedcheerfully on umbrellas and formed swollen streams in the gutters,whence they rushed toward the sewer basins, carrying with them anaccumulation of sticks, leaves and dirt. Not a windy, gusty rain, thatmade a man glad to get indoors near a genial fire, with his pipe and abook.
It was a drizzle; a steady, persistent drizzle, which a half-heartedwind blew this way and that, as though neither element cared much forthe task in hand—that of thoroughly soaking the particular part of theuniverse in the neighborhood of Colchester and taking its own time inwhich to do it.
Early in the unequal contest the sun had given up its effort to piercethrough the leaden clouds, and had taken its beams to other places—tobusy cities, to smiling country villages and farms. Above, around,below, on all sides, soaking through and through, drizzling it, soakingit, sprinkling it, half-hiding it in fog and mist, the rain envelopedColchester—a sodden, damp garment.
Early paper boys slunk along the slippery streets, trying to protecttheir limp wares from becoming mere blotters. The gongs of the fewtrolley cars that were sent out to take the early toilers to theirtasks rang as though covered with a blanket of fog. The thud of thefeet of the milkmen's horses was muffled, and the rattle of bottlesseemed to come from afar off, as though over some misty lake.
James Darcy, shivering as he arose, silently protesting, from his warmbed, pulled on his garments audibly grumbling, the grumble becoming avoiced protest as he shuffled in his slippers along the corridor abovethe jewelry shop and went down the private stairs into the mainsales-room.
The electric light in front of the massive safe seemed to lear at himwith a bleared eye like that of a toper, who, having spent the night inconvivial company, found himself, most unaccountably, on his owndoorstep in the gray dawn.
"Raining!" murmured James Darcy, as he reached over to switch on thelight above the little table where he set precious stones into gold andplatinum of rare and beautiful designs. "Raining and cold! I wish thesteam w