In a quiet room in the usual drab and dismal atmosphere which Allerdyke was beginning to associate with police affairs, Chettle produced the personal property of the dead man, all removed, he said, from the Station Hotel, for safe keeping. "There's little to go on, Mr. Allerdyke," he said, pointing to one article after another. "You'll remember that the man represented himself as being a Norwegian doctor, who had come to Hull on private business. He may have been that--we're making inquiries about him in Christiania, where he hailed from. According to those who're in a position to speak, his clothing, linen, boots, and so on are all of the sort you'd get in that country. But he'd no papers on him to show his business, no private letters, no documents connecting him with Hull in any way: he hadn't even a visiting-card. He'd a return ticket--from Hull to Christiania--and he'd plenty of money, English and foreign. When I got down here, I helped the local police to go through everything--we even searched the linings of his clothing and ripped his one handbag to pieces. But we've found no more than I've said. However--I've found something. Nobody knows that I've found it. I haven't told the people here--I haven't even reported it to headquarters in London. I wanted you to see it before I spoke of it to a soul. Look here!" Chettle opened a square cardboard box in which certain personal effects belonging to Lydenberg had been placed--one or two rings, a pocket-knife, his purse and its contents, a cigar-case, his watch and chain. He took up the watch, detached it from the chain, and held it towards Allerdyke, who was regarding these proceedings with intense curiosity. "You see this watch, Mr. Allerdyke," he said. "It's a watch of foreign make--Swiss--and it's an old one, a good many years old, I should say. Consequently, it's a bit what we might call massive. Now, I was looking at it yesterday--late last night, in fact--and an idea suddenly struck me. In consequence of that idea, I opened the back of the watch, and discovered--that!" He snapped open the case of the watch as he spoke and showed Allerdyke, neatly cut out to a circle, neatly fitted into the case, a photograph--the photograph of James Allerdyke! And Allerdyke started as if he had been shot, and let out a sharp exclamation. "My God!" he cried. "James! James, by all that's holy--and in there!" "You recognize it, of course?" said Chettle, with a grim smile. "No doubt of it, eh?" "Doubt! Recognize!" exclaimed Allerdyke. "Lord, man--why, I took it myself, not two months ago!" CHAPTER XVIII DEFINITE SUSPICION Chettle laughed--a low, suggestive, satisfied chuckle. He laid the watch, its case still open, on the table at which they were standing, and tapped the photograph with the point of his finger.