"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
incident with the rumoured crime, set down his rod and creel, opened
the note, and read what was written:
"3 Station Cottages, Princetown.
Pages:
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36