“That was hers,” went on the jeweler.  “It must have been taken from her safe, for she had refused many offers to sell it.  And now—­”

“Now Harry King has it!” exclaimed Colonel Ashley.  “I think this will bear looking into!”

CHAPTER XIII

SINGA PHUT

Mr. Kettridge, his eyes big with unconcealed wonder as he looked at the odd coin, was eager to accost Harry King at once and demand to know whence the roysterer had obtained it.  In, fact, the jeweler half arose from his chair, to approach the three swaggering men in the cafe section of the grill, when Colonel Ashley laid a restraining hand on the shoulder of his new friend.

“It won’t do now,” he said gently.

“Why not?  I’ve got to find out how he came by that coin!  It’s a rare and valuable one I tell you.  It’s worth all of a thousand dollars to a collector.  Lots of them would be glad to pay more.  Its catalogue price is a thousand.  And now this drunken fool has it!  He must—­Colonel, don’t you see what this means?”

“Yes, Mr. Kettridge, I can very easily see what it might mean.  But King is in no condition now to approach on such a subject.  There is a saying that when the wine is in the wit is out, and it is generally held, by some detectives, that then is the proper time to approach a subject for information that would otherwise be withheld.  But King is in a sarcastic mood now, and sufficiently able to take care of himself to be very suspicious if we began to question him, even under the guise of friendship.”

“I suppose so,” agreed the jeweler, “and yet—­”

“Oh, I wish I hadn’t got into this!” suddenly exclaimed Colonel Ashley, with almost a despairing gesture.  “I started out for some quiet fishing, which I very much needed, for I am getting too old for this sort of thing.  I ought never to have undertaken it!  I’m almost resolved to give it up.  I believe I will!” he said suddenly, slapping his hand on the table, at the sound of which a waiter hurried up.

“No—­nothing now,” went on the colonel, waving the man away.  “Yes, I’ll give this case up!” he went on, with a sigh.  “In the morning I’ll get Shag to lay out my rods and we’ll go fishing.  I was foolish to let myself be dragged into this.  It would have been all right five years ago.  But now—­well, I’m through—­that’s all!”

Mr. Kettridge regarded his companion with amazement.

“But what can we do without you?” he asked.  “Oh, I’ll send you one of my best men,” was the answer.  “I’ll wire for Kedge.  You can rely on him.  He’s solved more cases like this than I can remember.  Yes, I’ll send for Kedge.  This is no place for me.  I’m too old.”

“Too old, Colonel?”

“Yes, too old!  And I’ve grown too fond of fishing.  Yes, I’ll let Kedge finish this up.  And yet—­”

The detective seemed to muse for a moment.  Then he went on, half murmuring to himself.