Some time went by before the manager returned.
“I can't trace the watch in the least. I think that mark must be a mistake, or a joke, though it's our own mark right enough.” He was obviously puzzled.
“Could it be a watch you lent a customer in place of one left to be mended? Or what about your branch establishment in Bond Street?”
The manager left him alone again and returned to say that he thought the Chief Inspector's suggestion highly probable, but that they had no record, even so, of the watch on their books. He recommended him to try their branch.
Pointer thanked him and took another taxi.
At Bond Street he found that the manager had 'phoned, and he was shown at once into a little room where he found a salesman waiting for him.
“Chief Inspector Pointer? We've been going over our books. I think I may be able to help you.”
The police-officer handed him his treasure. The man opened the case.
“Yes, this is a watch I let a young gentleman have”—he laid it down and ran his finger along a ledger—“last Saturday morning. As a rule, we furnish no watches to our customers, but in this case we supplied him with one as a makeshift for his own very valuable repeater.”
“Was this the young gentleman?” Pointer held out Eames' photo. The salesman identified him after a long scrutiny. “He wore a brown tweed suit and a soft brown felt hat.”