The merchant peered at the silver-plated pocket watch perched in his customer’s hand. He had check the item carefully. There were no inscriptions, no engravings, not even a set of initials to suggest it ever belong to anyone but the down on his luck gentleman who had sold it to him.
“How can you tell?” the merchant asked.
“’Cause it used to be mine. Lawson won it in a bet. He’d never sell it.”
The merchant thought of the stranger from who he had purchased the watch.
“Maybe he needed the money?” he suggested.
“Lawson?” The customer tapped the silver case. “He’d eat his own shirt before he’d let go of this.”
“You sure?” the merchant asked, loath to admit he had been snookered.
“Positive.”
“Well, the fellow who sold it to me might still be in town. I haven’t even had a chance to lock that watch up yet.”
“We might have a chance to lock him up then. Come on.”
Merchant and customer dashed for the door, one to track down a charlatan, the other to find the sheriff.