“All right—­be there in a second.  Excuse me,” he murmured to the colonel.  “Be back in a minute.”

But it was in less time than that that he came returning on the run, and his face showed excitement.

“What’s up?” asked Carroll.

“Singa Phut,” was the panting answer.  “Friend of mine just tipped me off where I can get him!  See you later!” and, making sure that his blackjack and revolver were in his pockets, Donovan hurried out, followed by the colonel, whose hand had loosely closed over the ticking watch which, unseen, went out with him.

Later that night Singa Phut, a silent, shrinking and somewhat pathetic figure, slept in a cell at police headquarters.  Donovan, on the information brought in by a stool-pigeon, had made the arrest and was jubilant thereat.

Colonel Ashley, with Shag at the proper distance in the background, and with Jay Kenneth as his invited guest, was sitting on the bank of a little stream, fishing; or, at any rate, he was somewhat idly using a rod and line to aid him in his thoughts.

Following his visit to police headquarters and his return to the hotel, he had called Kenneth on the telephone and arranged to spend a quiet day with him in the fields near the stream.

“I want to talk over Darcy’s case with you,” the colonel had said.

And the two had talked, had thought, had talked again, and now were silent for a time.

“What are the chances of getting him off legally if we go at it from a negative standpoint?” asked the colonel.  “I mean, Mr. Kenneth, if we call upon the prosecution to make out their best case, which they can do only by circumstantial evidence, and then put our man on the stand, to deny everything, to have him tell about the noise in the night, about the curious sensation he experienced, about the possibility of chloroform, call witnesses as to his good character—­and so on—­what are the chances?”

“Rather a hypothetical question, Colonel, but I should say it might be a fifty-fifty proposition.  At best he would get off with a Scotch verdict of ‘not proven,’ but he doesn’t want that, nor do I. And you—­”

“I don’t want it, either.  But I want to know just where we stand.  Now I know.  We’ve got to prove James Darcy innocent by establishing the fact that some one else killed his cousin.”

“Exactly.  And can it be done?”

“It can, and I’m going to do it.  But I need to do a little more smoking-out first.  Now I want to think.  If you’ll excuse me I’ll pretend I’m fishing, and I may catch something.  In fact, I have a feeling that I’ll land my fish.  And perhaps you have some other problems that may be clarified by a dallying along this stream.  Ah, there’s nothing like the philosophy of my friend Izaak Walton.  I’d recommend him to you instead of Blackstone.”

“Thanks!” laughed Kenneth.  “I am not altogether unfamiliar with the Complete Angler.  And you are right.  I have a little problem on my hands.”