“My rod and my line, my float and my lead,
My hook and my plummet, my whetstone and knife.
My basket, my baits, both living and dead,
My net and my meat (for that is the chief):
Then I must have thread, and hairs green and small,
With mine angling purse—and so you have all.”
“AND,” REFLECTED COLONEL Ashley, as he dozed off, “I guess I’ll need all that and more to solve this mystery.”
The detective was up betimes the next morning, as he would have said had he been discoursing in the talk of Mr. Walton, and on going to the window to fill his lungs with fresh air, he saw a letter slipped under his door.
“From Viola, I imagine,” he mused, as he picked it up. “Unless it’s from Shag, telling me the fish are biting unusually well. I hope they’re not, for I must do considerable today, and
