in New York outside of my most
confidential man who could have done that," observed the colonel, as he
slowly reeled up his line. "One reason why the clerks in my office could
not give you my address was because they did not have it. So Spotty, who
must just have finished his bit, told."

"But please don't hold that against him," urged Bartlett. "If he
violated a confidence--"

"He did, in a way, yes," observed the disciple of Izaak Walton. "But I
shall have to forgive him, I suppose. It must have been rather a strong
reason that induced him to tell you where I had gone."

"It was, Colonel Ashley, the strongest reason in the world. It is to
help clear up the mystery--"

"Stop!" fairly shouted the colonel. "If it's a detective case I don't
want to hear it! Not a word! Shag, show this gentleman the door--I beg
your pardon, I didn't mean to be rude," went on the colonel with his
usual politeness. "But I really can not listen. I came here to rest and
fish, not to take up new detective cases. You know where my office is.
They will attend to you there. I have given up business for the time
being."

"And yet, Colonel Ashley, the person who sent me will have no one but
you. She says you are the only one who can get at the bottom of the
puzzling case."

In spite of himself the colonel's face lighted up at the words "puzzling
case," but as his eyes fell on the creel containing his fish he turned
aside. "No," he said, "I am sorry, but I can not listen to you. Shag,
kindly--"

Harry Bartlett was not a successful business man for nothing. He knew
how to make an appeal. "I came to see you at the request of Miss Viola
Carwell," he said slowly. "She sent me to find you--told me not to come
back to her without you. A change came over the colonel's face at the
mention of Viola's name.

"You came from her--from the daughter of Horace Carwell?" he asked
quickly.

"I did," answered Bartlett.

"Well, of course, that might make a difference. I hope my old friend is
not in trouble--nor his daughter," and there was a new quality in the
voice.

"Mr. Carwell's troubles are all over--if he had any," returned Bartlett
simply.

"You mean--"

"He is dead."

The colonel uttered an exclamation.

"Pardon my rather brusk reception of you," he apologized. "I did not
know that. Was it recently--suddenly?"

"Both recently and suddenly."

"I did not know that I seldom read the papers, and have not looked at
one lately. I had not he