you've got a newspaper with an account in it of a strange and
mysterious murder right here in _this_ city?"

"Yes, sah, Colonel! Right yeah in Colchester, where we done come t'
hab puffick rest an' quiet an' fishin', just laik yo' done said on de
train."

"Humph! A murder mystery right here in town. I thought I heard the
newsboys shouting something about it at the station. But I didn't
listen. Who's killed, Shag?"

"Why, Colonel, sah, it's a poor ole lady, an'--"

"Stop, Shag! Not another word! How dare you try to get me interested
in a case when I told you if you so much as breathed anything about one
I'd horsewhip you! I told you that, didn't I?"

"Deed an' yo' did, Colonel!"

The detective paced up and down the room. He reached for the little
green book. Then, as if in desperation, he turned to the shrinking
negro and went on:

"You say there's a mystery about it, Shag?"

"Yes, sah, Colonel. Yes, sah!" and he made a motion toward the paper
that was slipping from under his vest.

"Stop it!" cried the colonel. "I came here to fish and read Izaak
Walton in the shade of a big tree along some quiet brook. If you so