e him any harm. He's out of a place
anyhow, since Mr. Carwell died, and I'll treat what you told me in
strict confidence."

"I wish you would. You know we have to be careful."

"I understand."

And this information passed again in review before the mind of the
fisherman as he took Jean Forette's card from the pack.

"I wonder if he can be a dope fiend?" mused the colonel. "It's worth
looking up, at any rate. He'd be a bad kind to drive a car. I'm glad he
isn't in my employ, and I'm better pleased that he won't take Viola out.
This dope--bad stuff, whether it's morphine, cocaine, or something else.
We'll just keep this card up in front where we can get at it easily."

The next mental card had on it the name of LeGrand Blossom.

"Curious chap, him," mused the detective. "He's very fond of the sound
of his own voice, particularly where he can get an audience, as he had
at the inquest. Well, I don't know anything about you, Mr. Blossom,
neither for nor against you, but I'll keep your card within reach, also.
Can't neglect any possibilities in cases like this. And now for some
others."

There were many cards in the colonel's index, and he ran rapidly over
them as he waited for a bite. They bore the names of many members of the
golf and yachting clubs of which Mr. Carwell had been a member. There
were also the names of the household servants, and the dead man's
nearest relatives, including his sister and Viola. But the colonel did
not linger long over any of these memoranda. The card of Viola Carwell,
however, had mentally penciled on it the somewhat mystic symbol 58 C.
H.--i6i* and this the colonel looked at from every angle.

"I really must get a book on chemistry," he mused. "I may need it to
find out what kind of dope Forette uses--if he takes any."

And thus the colonel sat in the shade, beside the quiet stream, the
little green book by his side. But he did not open it now, and though
his gaze was on his line, where it cut the water in a little swirl, he
did not seem to see it.

"Shag!" suddenly exclaimed the colonel, breaking a stillness that was
little short of idyllic.

"Yes, sah, Colonel! Yes, sah!" and the colored man awoke with a skill
perfected by long practice under similar circumstances.

"Shag, the fishing here is miserable!"

"Yes, sah, Colonel. Shall we-all move?"

"Might as well. I haven't had a nibble, and from the looks of
everything--even the evidence of Mr. Walton himself--it ought to ha