“Well?” asked Dunk, after a pause, during which Andy had sat staring at the fireplace. A blaze had been kindled there, but it had died down, and now there was only a mere flicker.
“Are you sure you left your watch on that pile of handkerchiefs?” asked Andy, slowly.
“Dead sure. I remember it because I thought at the time that I was a chump to treat that ticker the way I did, and I made up my mind I’d get a good chain for it and have my watch pocket lined with chamois leather. That’s what made me think of it—the softness of the handkerchiefs. Why, Andy, you can see the imprint of it plainly enough.”
“Yes, I guess you’re right.”
“And it’s gone.”
“Right again.”
“Were you in the room all the time I was out?”
“Most all the while. I went to get a new electric lamp for the one that had burned out.”
“Was anyone here besides you?”
Andy hesitated. Then he answered: