“I told her it was the only thing to do,” broke in the newsboy.  “Soon as I read about Carroll and Thong being on the case I knew it would take a fly one to put anything over on them.  I tried on the train to sell you a detective book, not knowing who you was.  You treated me white, and when I heard Miss Mason was in trouble—­or her friend was—­I said to myself right away that you was the one to fix things.  I went out to her farm last night and she was all broke up.”

“It was a terrible shock to me when I heard Jimmie was under arrest,” said the girl.  “I didn’t know what to do.  Tom, here, proposed coming to see you, and when dad heard who you were, though we knew nothing of you, he said the same thing.  He told me I could have all the money I wanted, and I have some of my own if his isn’t enough.”

“It isn’t always a question of money,” began the colonel, gently.

“I know!” broke in Amy.  “But if I add the inducement of all the trout fishing—­”

“You are strongly tempting me, my dear young lady.  But finish your story.”

“Well, there isn’t much more to tell.  Tom suggested that I come to see you and ask you to take Mr. Darcy’s case—­to prove that he had no hand in the murder—­for I’m sure he did not.

“Tom stayed at our house at Pompey all night.  I wanted to come to your hotel at once, but the storm got too bad, so I waited until this morning, and then we motored in.  We found you had gone fishing, and we followed you here.  It was, perhaps, not just the thing to do.  But I was so anxious!  I want to tell Jimmie that something is being done for him.  You will help us, won’t you?” and again she held out her hands appealingly.

“I don’t know anything about police or detectives,” she went on, “but I’m sure there must be some way of proving that my—­that Jimmie had no hand in this.  Some terrible thief—­a burglar—­must have killed Mrs. Darcy.  Oh, Colonel Brentnall, you will help us—­won’t you?”

She stood there, a beautiful and pathetic picture.  The wind sighed through the trees and the murmur of the rippling water filled the air.

“Please!” she whispered.  Her hands seemed to waver.  Her body swayed.

“Shag, you black rascal!” cried the colonel.  “The lady’s going to faint!  Catch her!”

“Yes, sah, Colonel!”

“No!  Stand back!  I’ll attend to her myself!  I’ve given up detective work, but—­”

And a moment later Amy Mason sank limply into the colonel’s arms.

CHAPTER VI

GRAFTON’S SEARCH

The funeral of Mrs. Darcy had been held, attended, as might be supposed, by a large throng of the merely curious, as well as by some of her distant kinsfolk, for she had few near ones.  One of the relatives was summoned to take charge of the store and her other business affairs, for, a formal charge of murder having been made against him, James Darcy was not permitted to attend the final services, nor have anything more to do with the jewelry establishment.  Harry King, now painfully sober, was likewise held in jail, bail being fixed, because of his uncertain character, at such a high figure that he could not secure it.