a puzzle it were, de bettah
yo' laiked it!" ventured Shag.

Colonel Ashley tried to repress a smile.

"Get to bed, you black rascal!" he said with an affectionate pat on
Shag's back. "Get to bed! What are you staying up so late for, anyhow?"

"To gib yo' a message, Colonel, sah," answered Shag. "Miss Viola done
say I was t' wait up, an', when yo' come in, t' tell yo' dat she wants
t' see you."

"Oh, all right. Where is she?"

"In de liberry, Colonel, sah!"

The detective made his way through the dimly-lighted hall, and, on
tapping at the library door, was bidden by Viola to enter.

"Still up?" he asked. "It was time for you to be asleep long ago if you
want your eyes to keep as bright as they always are."

"They don't feel very bright," she answered, with a little laugh. "They
seem to be full of sticks. But I wanted to ask you something--to consult
with you--and I didn't want to go to sleep without doing it. I want you
to read these," and she spread out before him the letters she had found
hidden in the drawer of the safe.

Colonel Ashley, in silence, looked over one document after another,
including the torn ones. When he had finished he looked across the table
at Viola.

"What do you make of it?" she asked. "I don't know," he frankly
confessed. "But we must find out if your father owed the captain
anything--for money advanced in an emergency, or for anything else. Who
would know about the money affairs?"

"Mr. Blossom. He has full charge of the office now, and access to all
the books. Aunt Mary and I have to trust to him for everything. It is
all we can do."

"Yes, I suppose so," agreed the detective. And he did not speak of the
scene of which he had recently been a witness.

"Then if you will come with me, we will go the first thing in the
morning to father's office and see LeGrand Blossom," decided Viola.
"We will ask Mr. Blossom if he knows anything about the debt between my
father and Captain Poland."

"It would be wise, I think."

And as the colonel retired that night he said, musingly:

"Another angle, and another tangle. I must read a little Izaak Walton to
compose my mind."

So he opened the little green book and read this observation from the
Venator:

"And as for the dogs that we use, who can commend their excellency to
that height which they deserve? How perfect is the hound at smelling,
who never leaves or forsakes his first scent, but follows it through so
many changes and varie