Braceway passed the stuff back to him. It was a part of the Withers jewelry.
"You see, Mr. Braceway," added the Jew, "all this business, this murder and everything, will cost me money. This jewelry, it is stolen goods. Chief Greenleaf leaves it here for the present, as a decoy. Perhaps, somebody might try to reclaim it. That's what he thinks. As for me, I don't think so. It is a dead loss."
He sighed and rearranged the articles in their envelopes.
"Yes," agreed the detective; "it's hard luck. You've got every reason to be interested in running down the truth in this mix-up. I wish you could tell me where you think you saw this man—the time he had neither the gold tooth nor the brown beard."
"Be patient, my friend—Mr. Braceway. By tomorrow I may remember. I shall work hard—the association of ideas! It is a great system."
Braceway thanked him and was about to leave the shop. He had already formed a new plan. He turned back to the pawn broker.
"By the way," he said, "I'm going to Washington tomorrow. If you should remember, if the association of ideas produces anything, I wonder if you'd wire me?"
"Certainly. Certainly."
The detective wrote on a slip of paper: S. S. Braceway, Willard Hotel. He handed it to Abrahamson.
"Wire me that address, collect," he directed.