"'Tis foggy and soft; and Mr. Pendean--poor dear soul--"

"Go away, Milly. I don't want to hear anything about Mr. Pendean."

"That big red devil of a man--

"Nor anything about the big red devil, either. If it's soft, I
shall try the leat this morning."

Milly stared at him with much disappointment.

"God's goodness!" she said. "You can go off fishing--a professed
murder catcher like you--and a man killed under your nose you may
say!"

"It isn't my job. Now, clear out. I want to get up."

"Well, I never!" murmured Milly and departed in great astonishment.

But Brendon was not to enjoy the freedom that he desired in this
matter. He ordered sandwiches, intending to beat a hasty retreat and
get beyond reach; then at half past nine, he emerged into a dull and
lowering morn. Fine mist was in the air and a heavy fog hid the
hills. There seemed every probability of a wet day and from a
fisherman's point of view the conditions promised sport. He was just
slipping on a raincoat and about to leave the hotel when Will Blake
appeared and handed him a letter. He glanced at it, half inclined to
stick the missive in the hall letter rack and leave perusal until
his return, but the handwriting was a woman's and did not lack for
distinction and character. He felt curious and, not associating the