of going away. He came out again on the front platform, accompanied by
a boy--one, seemingly, who ran errands and delivered telegrams when any
came to disturb the peaceful solitude of Pompey.

"I must see that note!" murmured Colonel Ashley, as he saw one handed
to the boy. "If he goes in the direction I think he will, I'll get it
too! I think I know the lady to whom it is addressed."

The boy talked with the man a little, nodded his head as if
understanding, and then started off up the tracks, toward a path that
led across a field and toward a cluster of village houses.

"Just as I thought," the colonel whispered to himself.

Keeping the tool-house between himself and the man now nervously pacing
the platform, the colonel walked rapidly away from the station, in the
direction taken by the boy.

The boy's legs were short and vigorous, the colonel's long and no less
muscular, and, thanks to his devotion to Walton, which had taken him
tramping many miles over hilly trails, as well as across level meadows,
the old detective was soon able to overtake the lad, and at a point
impossible of observation from the station.

"I say!" called the colonel.

The boy stopped, and looked back questioningly.

"Did you tell him where the best fishing was?" asked the colonel.

"Fishing? Who?"

"The gentleman who gave you that note. Is it possible he didn't
mention fishing?"

"Naw! He didn't say nothin' about it. He just give me this letter,
and--"

"Very likely he forgot about the fishing part," and the detective
smiled grimly. "Let me see it just a moment."

Without hesitation the boy handed it over. Thought was hardly more
rapid than the colonel's perusal of the missive, and, as he gave it
back to the boy, he remarked:

"It's all right. I didn't make any mistake. Now hurry, and you
needn't come back to the station right away."

"But he told me to bring him an answer."

"Oh, did he? Well, then I'll wait for you in the village and you can
let me see it first. Then I'll know all about the fishing and I can be
on hand with my friend. Trot along, Sonny. I'll meet you in the
village when you get the answer to the note. Then I'll know just where
to go fishing. How is it around here? Are there any good streams?"

"Are there? Say, I've caught some of the biggest chubb--"

"Ah, I thought I wasn't mistaken in thinking you a pupil in the school
of Izaak Walton."

"Isaac Walton? Huh! That ain't our teacher's name!"

"No, I suppose not," and the colonel smiled. "Well, hurry along Sonny,
and here's an extra quarter for you, I'll follow you and you can let me
see the answer before you go back to my friend. It would be too bad if
he and I went fishing in separate places. I want to be with him."

"Where's your hooks and line?" asked the boy.

"Oh, I have them in my pocket--the hooks and line," and the colonel
grimly tapped a pocket wherein something clicked metallicly.

"You can cut a pole in the woods," said the boy. "I've done it lots of
times."

"Of course," agreed the colonel, smiling. The boy sped away over the
fields. The detective followed more slowly until he reached the
collection of houses, and there he strolled along, inspecting the
different dwellings as though attracted by the quaint old village
street.

It was not long before the boy returned, an envelope held conspicuously
in his hand. He smiled as he caught sight of the colonel.

The shadows were lengthening.

"It's too late for fishing now," observed the boy as, unwittingly, he
handed over the missive. "That is, unless you're going to set night
lines."

"I may have to do that," the detective agreed. "But it won't be quite
dark yet for some time."

He glanced quickly at the envelope. It bore no address on its plain,
white surface, and under pretence of turning, so as to take advantage
of the last golden glow in the west, the colonel quickly read the
letter. As he did so a look, almost of fright, came over his face.

"I wonder if she'll keep her word," he murmured. "I wonder--"


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