“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.