n answer to
questions he said, in a husky and confidential voice:

"I really think our poor friend cannot be himself. He refused to
listen; he--ah--suggested that I might frighten the fish."

A keen ear might have detected a murmur from Mr. Fisher on the
subject of a white hat, but Sir John Harker struck it more
decisively:

"Fisher was quite right. I didn't believe it myself, but it's quite
clear that the old fellow is fixed on this fishing notion by now. If
the house caught fire behind him he would hardly move till sunset."

Fisher had continued his stroll toward the higher embanked ground of
the towing path, and he now swept a long and searching gaze, not
toward the island, but toward the distant wooded heights that were
the walls of the valley. An evening sky as clear as that of the
previous day was settling down all over the dim landscape, but
toward the west it was now red rather than gold; there was scarcely
any sound but the monotonous music of the river. Then came the sound
of a half-stifled exclamation from Horne Fisher, and Harold March
looked up at him in wonder.

"You spoke of bad news," said Fisher. "Well, there is really bad
news now. I am afraid this is a bad business."

"What bad news do you mean?" asked his friend, conscious of
something strange and sinister in his voice.

"The sun has set," answered Fisher.

He went on with the air of one conscious of having said something
fatal. "We must get somebody to go across whom he will really listen
to. He may be mad, but there's method in his madness. There nearly
always is method in madness. It's what drives men mad, being
methodical. And he never goes on sitting there after sunset, with
the whole place getting dark. Where's his nephew? I believe he's
really fond of his nephew."

"Look!" cried March, abruptly. "Why, he's been across already.
There he is coming back."

And, looking up the river once more, they saw, dark against the
sunset reflections, the figure of James Bullen stepping hastily and
rather clumsily from stone to stone. Once he slipped on a stone with
a slight splash. When he rejoined the group on the bank his olive
face was unnaturally pale.

The other four men had already gathered on the same spot and almost
simultaneously were calling out to him, "What does he say now?"

"Nothing. He says--nothing."

Fisher looked at the young man steadily for a moment; then he
started from his immobility and, making a motion to March to