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Diamond Cross Mystery

<h2 id="id00302" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER III</h2> <h5 id="id00303">THE FISHERMAN</h5> From a little green book, which, from the evidence of its worn covers, seemed to have been much read, the tall, military-appearing occupant of a middle seat in the parlor car of the express to Colchester scanned again this passage: "And if you rove for perch with a minnow, then it is best to be alive, you sticking your hook through his back fin, or a minnow with the hook in his upper lip, and letting him swim up and down about mid-water, or a little lower, and you still keeping him about that depth with a cork, which ought to be a very little one; and the way you are to fish for perch with a small frog—" "Ah-a-a-a!" It was a long-drawn exclamation of anticipatory delight, and into the eyes of the military-looking traveler there appeared a soft and gentle light, as though, in fancy, he could look off across sunlit meadows to a stream sparkling beneath a blue sky, white-studded with fleecy clouds, where there was a soft carpet of green grass, shaded by a noble oak under which he might lounge and listen to the wind rustling the newly-born leaves. "Ah-a-a-a!" "Beg pardon, sir, but I—" "What?" The military-appearing man sat up with a jerk into sudden stiffness, while the soft light died out of his eyes. "New York papers?" "Don't want the New York papers—any of them!" The man, after a swift glance from his green-covered book, again let his eyes seek its pages. The ghost of a smile flickered around his lips. "Chicago, then. The latest—" ". . . your hook being fastened through the skin of his leg, toward the upper part of it; and lastly I will give you—" "Something livelier in the way of reading, sir, if you wish it!" broke in the voice of the newsboy who had stopped beside the parlor-car chair of the military-looking traveler, interrupting the reading of the little green-covered book. "I have a new detective story—" "Look here! If you interrupt me again when I'm reading my Izaak Walton I'll have you put off the train! Gad! I will, sir, if I have to do it myself!" The military-appearing traveler snapped the green book against the palm of one hand with a report like that of a pistol, thereby causing an old lady, asleep in a chair across the aisle, to awaken with a start. "Are we in? Have we arrived? Is this Colchester?" she asked, sitting up and looking about in startled surprise, her bonnet very much askew. The newsboy, with an abashed air, slid down the aisle. "Madam, I sincerely beg your pardon," said the tall man who had caused the commotion. He arose, his green book in one hand, and bowed his apologies. "I regret exceedingly that I startled you. But that insufferable young puppy had the extreme audacity to inflict himself on me when I was reading, and I lost my temper. I am sorry but I—" "You didn't strike him, did you?" asked the old lady, reproachfully. "No, madam. Though such conduct would have been justified on my part, I merely spoke to him. It was this—this book that I used rather roughly and which awakened you." "Then aren't we at Colchester yet?" "No, madam. It is some little ride yet. If you will allow me I shall be happy to let you know when we arrive. And if you are without any one to help you off with your luggage, as it is raining and likely to continue—" "Oh, thank you, sir, but Jabez will meet me. I must have dozed off, and when I heard that noise—" "Which I regret exceedingly, madam," interposed the military-appearing traveler with another bow. The old lady again composed herself. The tall man bowed again, resumed his seat and tried to read, but his feelings had been too much ruffled, it was evident, to allow a peaceful resumption of his former mood. "The idea! The very idea!" he murmured, speaking to the window, against the glass of which the raindrops were now dashing impotently, and as though angry at not being admitted to the warmth and light of the car. For dusk had fallen and the electric lights were aglow in the Pullman, making it a very cosy place in contrast to the damp and muddy country through which the train was rushing. "Gad! what's the world coming to when a man can't read what he likes without every whippersnapper interrupting him with—Shag! I say, Shag!" he went on, raising his voice from a murmured whisper to a louder command. "Porter, send my man here! Where's that rascal Shag?" "Yes, sah, Colonel! I'm right yeah! Yeah I is, Colonel!" and a negro, with a picturesque fringe of white, kinky hair, shuffled from the porter's quarters, where he had been enjoying a quiet chat with the black knight of the whisk broom. "What is you' desire, Colonel?" "I want peace and quiet, Shag! That's what I want! Twice I've tried to read my book undisturbed, and that insufferable train-boy—that rascal who probably doesn't know an ant-fly from a piece of cheese—has bothered me with books and papers. He ought to know I've vowed not to look at a paper for two weeks, and, as for books—" Colonel Robert Lee Ashley closed his volume, which bore, in gold letters on the front green cover the words: "Walton's Complete Angler," and laughed silently, the wrinkles of his face and around his steel-blue eyes sending the frown scurrying for some unseen trench. "Shag," asked the colonel, still chuckling, "what do you think that nincompoop had the infernal audacity to offer me in the way of a book?" "I ain't got no idea, Colonel—not th' leastest in th' world!" "He offered me a—detective story, Shag!" "Oh, mah good Lord, Colonel! Not really?" "Yes, he did, Shag! A detective story!" "Oh, mah good Lord!" Shag, which was all Colonel Ashley ever called his servant, though the colored valet rejoiced in the prefixes of George Washington, threw up his hands in horror, and shook his head. The colonel, after a period of silent, chuckling mirth, opened his book again and read: "And, after this manner, you may catch a trout in a hot evening. When, as you walk by a brook, and shall hear or see him leap at flies, then if you get a grasshopper—" "Gad! that's the life!" softly voiced the colonel. Then, turning to the still waiting Shag, he went on: "There's nobody in the wide world who can bring peace and quiet to an angry mind like my friend Izaak Walton, is there, Shag?" "No, sah, Colonel, they isn't! Nobody!" "Of course not! Gad! I'm glad you agree with me, Shag!" "Yes, sah, Colonel." "Um! Here, you go and give that newsboy a quarter. Tell him I didn't mean anything; but never again must he interrupt me when he sees me with Walton in my hand. Anything but that! It's positively indecent!" "Yes, sah, Colonel. I done tell him that." "And it—it's sacrilegious, Shag!" "Yes, sah, Colonel; 'tis that!" "Well, tell him so, and give him a half dollar. Now don't disturb me again until we get to Colchester. How's the weather, Shag?" "Well, sah, Colonel, it's—it's sorter—moist, Colonel!" "Um! Well, it'll be better by to-morrow, I expect, when we go fishing. And be careful of my rods when you take the grips off. If you so much as scratch the tip of even my oldest one, I—I'll—well, you know what I'll do to you, Shag!" "Yes, sah, I knows, Colonel!" "Very well. Give that boy a dollar. Maybe he never read Walton, and that's why he's so ignorant." Colonel Ashley settled back in his chair, and, with unfurrowed brow, read on: ". . . you shall see or hear him leap at flies, then if you get a grasshopper, put it on your hook with your line about two yards long, standing behind a bush or tree where his hole is—" Once more the colonel was happy. Shag sought out the discomfited newsboy, and, chuckling as had his master, handed the lad a dollar. "Say, what's this for?" questioned the lad, in astonishment. "Colonel done say to give it to you fo' hurtin' yo' feelin's." "He did! Great! Say, does he want a book—a, paper? Say, I got a swell detective story—" The boy started out of the compartment. "Oh, mah good Lord! Fo' th' love of honey cakes, don't!" gasped Shag, grabbing him just in time. "Does yo' know who the colonel is?" "No, but he's mighty white if he wants to buy a dollar's worth of books and papers. I haven't sold much on this trip, but if he—" "But he don't want to, boy! Don't you understan'? Jes' listen to me right now! De colonel don't want nothin' but Walton an' his angle worms!" "Who's Walton? What road's he travel on?" "He don't travel. He's daid, I reckon. But he done writ a book on fishin' poles, an' dat's all the colonel reads when he ain't workin' much. It's a book 'bout angle worms as neah as I kin make out." "You mean Izaak Walton's Complete Angler, I guess," said a man, who passed by just then on his way to the smoking compartment, and he smiled genially at Shag. "Dat's it, yes, sah! I knowed it had suffin t' do wif angle worms. Well, boy, dat book's all de colonel ever reads when he's vacationin', an' dat's whut he's doin' now—jest vacationin'. "When we start away dis mawnin' he say to me, the colonel did: 'Now, Shag, I don't want t' be boddered wif nuffin'. I don't want t' read no papers. I don't want t' heah 'bout no battles, murder an' sudden deaths. I jest wants peace an' quiet an' fish!' He done come up heah t' go fishin' laik he go t' lots other places, though he ain't been heah fo' good many years. An' boy, he specially tell me not t' let him be boddered wif book agents." "I ain't a book agent," objected the train-boy. "I knows you ain't," admitted Shag. "I knows yo' ain't, but yo' sells books, an' dat's whut's de trouble. Whut kind of a book did yo' offer de colonel jest now?" "A detective story. And say! it's a swell one, let me tell you!" "Oh, mah good Lord!" ejaculated Shag. "Dat's de wustest ever!" and he doubled up with silent mirth. "Why, what's the matter with that?" asked the boy. "I've seen heaps of men read detective stories. Judge Dolan—he rides on my train a lot—and he's always askin' what I got new in detective stuff." "Um, yep! Well, dat may be all right fo' Judge Dolan," went on Shag, slowly recovering from his fit of chuckling, "but mah marster don't want none of dat kind of readin'." "Why?" asked the boy. Shag's answer was given in a peculiar manner. He looked around carefully, and saw that the strange man had moved on and they were alone. Then, leaning toward the newsboy and whispering, the negro said: "My marster, Colonel Brentnall—dat ain't his real name, but it's de one he goes by sometimes—he don't care fo' no detective stories 'cause he done make his livin' an' mine too, at detectin'. He says he don't ever want t' read 'em, 'cause dey ain't at all like whut happens. De colonel was one of de biggest private detectives in de United States, boy! He's sorter retired now, but still he's chock full of crimes, murder an' stuff laik dat, an' dat's why he done sent yo' away sorter rough-laik." "You say he's a private detective?" asked the boy, his eyes opening wide. "Dat's whut he is." "And his name is Colonel Brentnall?" "Well, honey, dat ain't his real name. He don't laik t' use dat promiscuious laik, 'cause so many folks bodder him. If I was t' tell yo' his real name yo'd open yo' eyes wider yet. But take it from me," went on Shag, "he don't need no books t' make excitin' readin' fo' him! He's been froo it fo' yeahs!" "Sufferin' tadpoles!" murmured the boy. "And to think I was offering him a detective yarn! Say, no wonder he flew at me!" "He didn't mean nothin'," said Shag, still chuckling as he thought of the scene. "It's jest his way." The train rumbled on through the early night, and in his comfortable chair Colonel Ashley read his Walton, the ingratiating humor of the dear, old fisherman gradually dispelling all other thoughts. Colonel Ashley at this stage of his career, was almost an international figure. Having served with distinction in the Spanish-American war, among his exploits being the capture of a number of spies in a sensational manner, he had become the head of the police department in a large city in the East. He had continued the work begun in the army—a branch of the secret service—and had built up the city's detective department in an almost marvelous manner, he himself being one of its keenest sleuths. Desiring more time to devote to the detection of crimes of other than ordinary interest, and realizing that the routine of police work was too hampering for him, the colonel had opened an office in New York, where, straightway, he received from the government and private persons more work than he could well attend to. Now that he was getting old, he had some able assistants, but most cases still received his own attention at some stage of their development. This was characteristic of the colonel. He was always going to retire, in fact he said he had, but, somehow or other, it was like a singer's farewell, always postponed. "And now, Shag, don't forget what I told you," he said to his attendant as the train drew into Colchester. "Don't you so much as scratch the varnish on the tip of one of my rods. And if you let me hear a whisper of anything bordering on a case you and I part company—do you hear?" "I heahs yo' Colonel!" and the negro saluted, for the detective still clung to many of his military associations. Then, having kept his promise in seeing that the old lady was safely helped from the train, Colonel Ashley followed his valet, burdened with bags and rods. The fishing rods Shag carried, he must have managed to transport safely to the hotel the colonel was to occupy for a two weeks' vacation and rest, for the military detective was smiling and good-natured when he took them from their cases and gently placed them on the bed. "Anything else, Colonel?" asked Shag, when he had laid out his master's clothes, and was preparing to go to his own apartment in an annex to the hotel. "No, I guess that's all, Shag. But what's your hurry? You aren't usually in such haste to leave me, even if you have laid out all my duds. What's the matter? Got some friends in town?" "Oh, no, sah, Colonel! No, indeedy! 'tain't dat at all!" "Well, what is it? Why are you in such haste to get away?" "Um! Ah! Well, I don't laiks fo' t' tell yo' Colonel!" and Shag seemed uneasy. "You don't like to tell me? Look here, you black rascal! don't try to hide anything from me, do you hear? You know me, and—" "Oh, indeedy I does know yo', Colonel! Dat's jest why I don't wan t' tell yo'! It—it's 'bout one ob dem t'ings!" "What things? Shag, you rascal, look here! Have you been buying a newspaper?" "Ye—ye—yes, sah, Colonel, I has! But I done bought it fo' mahse'f. Deed an' I wasn't goin' t' let yo' hab so much as a snift at it, Colonel! De train-boy, whut yo' gib a dollar t', he handed it t' me when I was gittin' off. It's one ob de papers gotten out right yeah in dis city, an'—" "Well, out with it, Shag! What's in it that's so mighty interesting?" "Er—Colonel—yo' see—yo' done tole me—" "Oh, out with it, Shag! I'll forgive you, I suppose. What is it?" "Well, Colonel, sah, de paper done got in it an 'count ob a strange an' mysterious murder case, an'—" "I knew it! I knew it! I could almost have taken my oath on it!" cried the excitable colonel. "Here I come to this place to have some quiet fishing in the suburbs, to get a complete rest, and yet not be too far from civilization, and no sooner do I get off the train than there's a murder mystery thrust right under my nose! Right under my nose! By Gad! I knew it!" Shag stood, resting his weight first on one foot and then on the other, his head bowed. He was trying to keep from slipping from under his vest, where he had hidden it, a newspaper, with glaring, black headlines. Shag looked timidly at his master. Colonel Ashley paced up and down the room, pausing now and then to listen to the dash of rain against the windows, for the storm, bearing out its promise of the morning, had lasted all day, changing from a drizzle to a downpour and from a downpour to a drizzle with dismal repetition. The colonel glanced at Shag, and then, drawing from an inner pocket the little green book, read: "Hunting is a game for princes and noble persons. It hath been highly prized in all ages. It was one of the qualifications—" The detective snapped the book shut, and tossed it on the bed. "Shag!" he exploded. "Yes, sah, Colonel." "You've often heard me talk of fishing and hunting, haven't you?" "Deed an' I has, Colonel; many a time! Yes, sah!" "Humph! Yes! Well, detective work is a sort of hunt, isn't it, Shag?" "Yes, sah, Colonel. Dat's jest what it is! Many an' many a time I'se done heah yo' say yo's goin' out t' hunt dis man or dat woman!" "Very good, Shag. And it's a sort of fishing, too, isn't it?". "Yes, sah, Colonel! More as once I'se heah yo' say as how yo' had t' fish an' fish an' fish t' git a bit of a clew." "I see you remember, Shag. Well, now, you black rascal, did you say you've got a newspaper with an account in it of a strange and mysterious murder right here in this city?" "Yes, sah, Colonel! Right yeah in Colchester, where we done come t' hab puffick rest an' quiet an' fishin', just laik yo' done said on de train." "Humph! A murder mystery right here in town. I thought I heard the newsboys shouting something about it at the station. But I didn't listen. Who's killed, Shag?" "Why, Colonel, sah, it's a poor ole lady, an'—" "Stop, Shag! Not another word! How dare you try to get me interested in a case when I told you if you so much as breathed anything about one I'd horsewhip you! I told you that, didn't I?" "Deed an' yo' did, Colonel!" The detective paced up and down the room. He reached for the little green book. Then, as if in desperation, he turned to the shrinking negro and went on: "You say there's a mystery about it, Shag?" "Yes, sah, Colonel. Yes, sah!" and he made a motion toward the paper that was slipping from under his vest. "Stop it!" cried the colonel. "I came here to fish and read Izaak Walton in the shade of a big tree along some quiet brook. If you so much as bring a paper into this room I'll send you back to Virginia where you belong, Shag!" "Yes, sah, Colonel!" The military-looking detective resumed his pacing of the room, his hands behind his back clasping and unclasping nervously. "Shag!" he suddenly called. "Yes, sah, Colonel." "Is it much of a mystery—I mean—er—anything but the usual blood and thunder stuff?" "Why, Colonel," began the black man eagerly, "it's de beatenist mystery dat ever was—all 'bout a murdered jewelry lady, what's got her haid busted in with a big gold statue, an' a gold knife stab in her side, an' a watch shut up tight in her hand, tickin' an' tickin' an' tickin', laik it was her heart beatin', an' her cousin done find her in a pool of blood on de floor, an' de clocks all stopped, an' a rich young spendthrift comes in an' claims de dagger, an' de detectives—" "Shag!" fairly shouted his master. "Yes, sah, Colonel!" "Out of the room this instant, and don't you dare come back until I send for you!" "Yes, sah, Colonel." The old colored man turned slowly to the door. His manner was dejected. Evidently he had given serious offense. Silently he turned the knob, but, before he had stepped over the threshhold, he heard a voice calling softly: "Shag!" "Yes, sah, Colonel." "Eh—Shag—before you go, you—er—you might leave me that paper I see under your vest. I may have occasion to—to glance at it, to see what to-morrow's weather is going to be for fishing." "Yes, sah, Colonel." And, with a carefully concealed grin on his face, Shag drew the black-lettered paper from under his waistcoat, and laid it on the bed beside the "Complete Angler." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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