The man, who had been drinking tea or coffee out of a basin, put down the dish in evident concern, and stared at me more stupidly than before. “A watch!—what kin’ o’ a watch?” he huskily exclaimed. “I haena had a watch for mair nor ten years.” “The watch is a gold lever, but he says you sold it to him as a chronometer which had belonged to your uncle, a seaman.” Chisholm’s face was now pale to the very point of his nose, but that did not necessarily imply guilt on his part. I have noticed the look far oftener on the faces of witnesses than prisoners. “What? an uncle! a seaman!” he cried with great energy, turning an amazed look on his daughter. “I havena an uncle leeving—no ane. The man must be mad,” and this statement the daughter promptly supported. “Do you mean to say—can you swear that you never sold him a watch of any kind—which was rusty in the works through lying in a sea-chest?” “Certainly, sir—certainly, I can swear that. I never had a watch to sell, and I’ll tell him that to his face,” volubly answered Chisholm, whose brow now was as thick with perspiration as if he had been doing a hard day’s work since I entered. “Onybody that kens me can tell ye I’ve never had a watch, or worn ane, for ten year and mair. I wad be only owre glad if I had.” I questioned him closely and minutely, but he declared most distinctly and emphatically that the whole story of Burge was an invention. I ought to have been satisfied with this declaration—it was voluble and decided, and earnest as any statement could be—but I was not. The man’s manner displeased me. It was too noisy and hurried, and his looks of astonishment and innocence were, if anything, too marked. I left the house in a puzzled state. “What if I should have to deal with _two_ liars?” was my reflection. “How could I pit them against each other?” Back I trudged to the Office, and saw Burge at once. “I have seen the man Chisholm, and he declares that he not only did not sell you a watch of any kind, but that he has not had one in his possession for upwards of ten years.” Burge paled to a deathly hue, and I saw the cold sweat break out in beads on his temples. “I was just afraid of that,” he huskily whispered, after a horrible pause. “Chisholm’s an awful liar, and will say that now to save his own skin. There must have been something wrong about the way he got it. I was a fool to believe his story. I remember now he made me promise not to say that I had bought the watch from him, or how I got it, in case the other relatives should find out that he had taken it.” “Indeed! Then you have no witness whatever to produce as to the purchase?” I cried, after a long whistle. “None.” “Did you not speak of it to anybody?” “Not a soul but yourself that I mind of.” “Well, all I can say is that your case looks a bad one,” I said at last, as I turned to leave him. “By the by, though, what about the chain? Did you buy that from him too?”