Shag stood, resting his weight first on one foot and then on the other, his head bowed.  He was trying to keep from slipping from under his vest, where he had hidden it, a newspaper, with glaring, black headlines.  Shag looked timidly at his master.

Colonel Ashley paced up and down the room, pausing now and then to listen to the dash of rain against the windows, for the storm, bearing out its promise of the morning, had lasted all day, changing from a drizzle to a downpour and from a downpour to a drizzle with dismal repetition.  The colonel glanced at Shag, and then, drawing from an inner pocket the little green book, read: 

“Hunting is a game for princes and noble persons.  It hath been highly prized in all ages.  It was one of the qualifications—­”

The detective snapped the book shut, and tossed it on the bed.

“Shag!” he exploded.

“Yes, sah, Colonel.”

“You’ve often heard me talk of fishing and hunting, haven’t you?”

“Deed an’ I has, Colonel; many a time!  Yes, sah!”

“Humph!  Yes!  Well, detective work is a sort of hunt, isn’t it, Shag?”

“Yes, sah, Colonel.  Dat’s jest what it is!  Many an’ many a time I’se done heah yo’ say yo’s goin’ out t’ hunt dis man or dat woman!”

“Very good, Shag.  And it’s a sort of fishing, too, isn’t it?”.

“Yes, sah, Colonel!  More as once I’se heah yo’ say as how yo’ had t’ fish an’ fish an’ fish t’ git a bit of a clew.”

“I see you remember, Shag.  Well, now, you black rascal, did you say 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 much as bring a paper into this room I’ll send you back to Virginia where you belong, Shag!”

“Yes, sah, Colonel!”