"The question is," said the convict, after a pause, during which
they had waded back to the bank, "whether you are going to help me
or not? Heavens! I NEARLY killed you while you were playing that
fish."

"Ya-as," drawled the fisherman. "I take it that you must have been
tempted. I never heard you, owing to the rush of the water."

They were both big men, and the convict stared curiously into the
long, clean-shaven face of this calm speaker. A smile actually
flickered for a moment in his desperate eyes.

"What I want," he said, "is your mackintosh, your waders, and your
hat--also your rod-case with a long stick in it. The handle of your
landing-net will do. Where do you come from?"

"Plymouth. I am going back by the seven-thirty from Horrabridge."

"With a return ticket?"

"Yes."

"I should like that also."

The fisherman was slowly disjointing his rod.

"Suppose I told you to come and take 'em?" he said, with the drawl
again.

The convict looked him up and down with a certain air of competent