a bulky object through the narrow trap—a battered old Gladstone bag.
“Seems to be something in it,” Eden announced.
They took it with eager hands, and set it on the desk in the sunny living-room. Bob Eden joined them.
“By gad,” the boy said, “not much dust on it, is there? Must have been put there recently. Holley, here’s where your keys come in handy.”
It proved a simple matter for Holley to master the lock. The three men crowded close.
Chan lifted out a cheap toilet case, with the usual articles—a comb and brush, razors, shaving cream, tooth paste, then a few shirts, socks and handkerchiefs. He examined the laundry mark.
“D—thirty-four,” he announced.
“Meaning nothing,” Eden said.
Chan was lifting a brown suit of clothes from the bottom of the bag.
“Made to order by tailor in New York,” he said, after an inspection of the inner coat pocket. “Name of purchaser, however, is blotted out by too much wearing.” He took from the side pockets a box of matches and a half-empty packet of inexpensive cigarettes. “Finishing the coat,” he added.
He turned his attention to the vest and luck smiled upon him. From the lower right-hand pocket he removed an old-fashioned watch, attached to a heavy chain. The timepiece was silent; evidently it had been unwound for some time. Quickly he pried open the back case, and a little grunt of satisfaction escaped him. He passed the watch to Bob Eden.
“Presented to Jerry Delaney by his Old Friend, Honest
