“I shall put a personal in all Monday's papers offering a reward of three pounds for any information concerning his watch. Thank Heaven, watches have numbers. That may lead us somewhere. Eames' clothes have a Colonial look to me, and his umbrella has a Toronto mark on it, but as far as I can see, the watch is our best chance to find out who he really is, and where he comes from. He entered himself as a dentist, but that pencil in his pocket was sharpened either by an artist or a draughtsman of some kind.” “What about the American?” “Aye, what about him? And what about the manager, too?” “The manager? You think he shares your opinion as to the advantages of a hotel for—let us call it working off old scores?” “I stopped on my way home to look up his record,” Pointer continued unmoved; “it's his first job of the kind. But his father was manager of the Metropole at Scarborough. There's nothing against his character so far.” “Ah, just let him wait till you have another go at him.” “The Enterprise has always been a well conducted house under him.” “Say no more,” begged O'Connor, “his guilt seems piling up with every second.” “I hope to trace that 'phone call on Monday.” “Disguised voice making you think of the manager? Sherlock Holmes putting two and two together after having looked at the answer in the back of the book.” O'Connor laid down his tool to strike an attitude. “The manager might have sent it, that's my only point so far.” “And what about the American, the one you have your eye on because you think he threw his wash-water out of the window? What else have you ag'in him?” “He recognised Eames. Or at least he knows something about him, about his death possibly. I'll bet you anything you like I'm not mistaken. His control over his face is what you'd expect from a big newspaper man, but just for a second, when he thought no one was watching, he looked down at Eames' face with—well, there was recognition of some kind in his eye, and a lot besides—a lot! I had my small looking-glass in my hand under my handkerchief and was studying him.” “The Embassy seems a good reference. Perhaps he was bluffing when he gave it you?” Pointer shook his head. “I don't think so. Mr. Beale is a somebody all right, or I'm much mistaken.” “You certainly ought to know the genuine article. You see enough of the imitation. And now I suppose some downtrodden underling of yours is keeping a skinned orb upon both these desperate criminals?” Jim got up and stretched himself. “They are that!” responded the other fervently. “Alf!” called O'Connor a little later from his opened bedroom door. “Well?” came in a muffled voice. “If it was Beale who searched those drawers why that jumbled haste? Sure he didn't need to fetch the manager till he was ready? Same brainwave applies to the manager and yourself.” Pointer made no reply.