Part 8 (1/2)

”You don't like to tell me? Look here, you black rascal! don't try to hide anything from me, do you hear? You know me, and--”

”Oh, indeedy I does know yo', Colonel! Dat's jest why I don't wan t'

tell yo'! It--it's 'bout one ob dem t'ings!”

”What things? s.h.a.g, you rascal, look here! Have you been buying a newspaper?”

”Ye--ye--yes, sah, Colonel, I has! But I done bought it fo' mahse'f.

Deed an' I wasn't goin' t' let yo' hab so much as a snift at it, Colonel! De train-boy, whut yo' gib a dollar t', he handed it t' me when I was gittin' off. It's one ob de papers gotten out right yeah in dis city, an'--”

”Well, out with it, s.h.a.g! What's in it that's so mighty interesting?”

”Er--Colonel--yo' see--yo' done tole me--”

”Oh, out with it, s.h.a.g! I'll forgive you, I suppose. What is it?”

”Well, Colonel, sah, de paper done got in it an 'count ob a strange an'

mysterious murder case, an'--”

”I knew it! I knew it! I could almost have taken my oath on it!”

cried the excitable colonel. ”Here I come to this place to have some quiet fis.h.i.+ng in the suburbs, to get a complete rest, and yet not be too far from civilization, and no sooner do I get off the train than there's a murder mystery thrust right under my nose! Right under my nose! By Gad! I knew it!”

s.h.a.g stood, resting his weight first on one foot and then on the other, his head bowed. He was trying to keep from slipping from under his vest, where he had hidden it, a newspaper, with glaring, black headlines. s.h.a.g looked timidly at his master.

Colonel Ashley paced up and down the room, pausing now and then to listen to the dash of rain against the windows, for the storm, bearing out its promise of the morning, had lasted all day, changing from a drizzle to a downpour and from a downpour to a drizzle with dismal repet.i.tion. The colonel glanced at s.h.a.g, and then, drawing from an inner pocket the little green book, read:

”Hunting is a game for princes and n.o.ble persons. It hath been highly prized in all ages. It was one of the qualifications--”

The detective snapped the book shut, and tossed it on the bed.

”s.h.a.g!” he exploded.

”Yes, sah, Colonel.”

”You've often heard me talk of fis.h.i.+ng and hunting, haven't you?”

”Deed an' I has, Colonel; many a time! Yes, sah!”

”Humph! Yes! Well, detective work is a sort of hunt, isn't it, s.h.a.g?”

”Yes, sah, Colonel. Dat's jest what it is! Many an' many a time I'se done heah yo' say yo's goin' out t' hunt dis man or dat woman!”

”Very good, s.h.a.g. And it's a sort of fis.h.i.+ng, too, isn't it?”.

”Yes, sah, Colonel! More as once I'se heah yo' say as how yo' had t'

fish an' fish an' _fish_ t' git a bit of a clew.”

”I see you remember, s.h.a.g. Well, now, you black rascal, did you say you've got a newspaper with an account in it of a strange and mysterious murder right here in _this_ city?”

”Yes, sah, Colonel! Right yeah in Colchester, where we done come t'