"There are hardly any data," he remarked. "The watch has been
recently cleaned, which robs me of my most suggestive facts."

"You are right," I answered. "It was cleaned before being sent
to me." In my heart I accused my companion of putting forward a
most lame and impotent excuse to cover his failure. What data
could he expect from an uncleaned watch?

"Though unsatisfactory, my research has not been entirely
barren," he observed, staring up at the ceiling with dreamy,
lack-lustre eyes. "Subject to your correction, I should judge
that the watch belonged to your elder brother, who inherited it
from your father."

"That you gather, no doubt, from the H. W. upon the back?"

"Quite so. The W. suggests your own name. The date of the watch
is nearly fifty years back, and the initials are as old as the
watch: so it was made for the last generation. Jewelry usually
descends to the eldest son, and he is most likely to have the
same name as the father. Your father has, if I remember right,
been dead many years. It has, therefore, been in the hands of
your eldest brother."

"Right, so far," said I. "Anything else?"

"He was a man of untidy habits,--very untidy and careless. He
was left with good prospects, but he threw away his chances,
lived for some time in poverty with occasional short intervals of
prosperity, and finally, taking to drink, he died. That is all I