“The watch isn't yours,” said the small man nonchalantly.
“It isn't, hey? Well, of all the impertinent—”
“Stop there, Jim Beckwith! You see I know you”—as the stout man turned pale and clutched at the side of the seat.
“Who are you?” he demanded hoarsely.
“Detective Green!”
The claimant lost all his braggadocio air, and stared at the detective with a terrified look.
“That isn't my name,” he managed to ejaculate.
“Very likely not,” said the detective calmly, “but it is one of your names. It is a very clever game that you and your confederate are playing. He sells the watch, and you demand it, claiming that it has been stolen from you. I was present when the watch was sold, and the reason I did not interfere was because I was waiting for the sequel. How many times have you played this game?”
“There's some mistake,” gasped the other.
“Perhaps so, but I have some doubts whether you came by it honestly.”