ard that he was ill."

"'He wasn't, Colonel Ashley. Mr. Carwell died very suddenly on the
Maraposa Golf Club links, after making a stroke that gave him the
championship."

"Heart disease or apoplexy?"

"Neither one. It was poison."

"You amaze me, Mr.--er--Mr.--"

"Bartlett. Yes, Mr. Carwell died of poison, as the autopsy showed."

"'Was he--did he--"

"That is what we want to find out," interrupted the messenger eagerly.
"The county physician says Mr. Carwell is a suicide. His daughter, Miss
Viola, can not believe it. Nor can I. There has been some talk that his
affairs are involved. As you may have known, he was somewhat of a--"

"His sporting proclivities were somewhat different from mine," said the
old detective dryly. "You needn't explain. Every man must live his own
life. But tell me more."

Thereupon Bartlett gave the details as he knew them, bearing on the
death of the father of the girl he loved.

"And she sent you to find me?" asked the detective.

"Yes. Miss Viola said you were an old friend of her father's, and if any
one could solve the mystery of his death you could. For that there is a
mystery about it, many of us believe."

"There may be. Poison is always more or less of a mystery. But just what
do you want me to do?"

"Come back with me if you will, Colonel Ashley. Miss Carwell wants you
to aid her--aid all of us, for we are all at sea. Will you? She sent
me to plead with you. I went to your New York office, and from Spotty
Morgan learned you were here. I--"

"I suppose I shall have to forgive Spotty," murmured the fisherman.

"They told me at the hotel you had come here," went on Bartlett, "so I
followed. I was lucky in finding you."

"I don't know about that," murmured the colonel, smiling. "It may be
unfortunate. Well, I am deeply shocked at my old friend's death--and
such a tragic taking off. Horace Carwell was my very good friend. He
once did me a great service, when I needed money badly, by helping me
make an investment in copper that turned out extremely well. I feel
myself under obligations to him; and, since he is no more, I must
transfer that obligation to his daughter."

"Then you'll come with me to see her, Colonel Ashley?"

"Yes. Shag, pack up! We're going back to civilization."

The colored man's face was a study. He looked at the quiet stream, at
the drooping willows, at the fish rod in his master's hand, and at the
creel. He opened his mouth and spoke:

"But, Co