Up in his hotel room, Colonel Ashley read the story of the case as printed in the Times.

“This does begin to get interesting,” he mused, as he finished reading the account.  “There are three possible motives in Darcy’s case, and one in King’s.  And I’ve known murder to be done on slighter provocation.  Darcy might have resented being called a fortune hunter, which, I suppose, is what the old lady meant, or he may have been stung to sudden passion by the holding back of the thousand dollars and the taunts about his lathe.  Most inventors are crazy anyhow.

“As for King—­if he was drunk enough, and wanted money—­or thought he could get some diamonds—­it might be—­it might be.  I wonder who his lady friend is?  He daren’t tell, I suppose, on account of his wife.  I wonder—­”

“Oh, what am I bothering about it for, anyhow?  I came here to rest and fish, and I’m going to.  I’ve resigned from detective work!  There!” He tossed the paper behind the bed.  “I’ll not look at another issue.  Now let’s see how my rods are.  I’m going to get an early start in the morning, if this infernal rain lets up.  Blast that Shag!  He’s jammed a ferrule!” and, with blazing eyes, the colonel looked at one of the joints of his choicest rod.  A brass connection had been bent.

“That’s a shame!  It’ll never work that way—­never!  I’ve got to go out and see if I can’t get it mended.  Wonder if there’s a decent sporting goods store in this part of town.  I’ll go out and have a look.”

He made himself ready, taking the two parts of the fishing rod with him.  Inquiry at the hotel desk supplied him with the information as to the location of the store, and the detective was soon out in the wet streets, breathing in deep of the damp air—­for it was fresh and that was what the colonel liked.

Somehow or other the address of the jewelry store clung to his mind, and, almost unconsciously, he found himself heading in that direction.

“Well, I am a fool!” he murmured, as he passed the place, now ghostly with its one light in front of the safe.  The police had taken charge, pending the arrival of a relative of Mrs. Darcy’s.  Inside, the cut glass and silver gleamed as of old, but on the floor, sunk deep in the grain of the wood now, was the spot of blood—­fit to keep company with the red rubies in the locked safe.

“Quite a place,” murmured the colonel, as he passed on toward the sporting goods store.  “Quite a place!  Oh, hang it!  I must get it out of my mind!”

In spite of his rather exacting demands regarding a ferrule for his rod, he found what he wanted and, feeling quite satisfied now, as he noted that the weather showed some slight signs of clearing, the colonel started back for his hotel, walking slowly, for it was not yet late.

Just how it happened, not even Colonel Ashley, naturally the most interested person, could tell afterward.  But as the detective was crossing a crowded street a big auto truck swung around a corner, and he found himself directly in its path as he stepped off the curb.