THE DRY-FLY FISHERMAN
Then when the coffee-cups were cleared away, and we had got our cigars alight, my host swung his long legs over the side of his chair and bade me get started with my yarn.
"I've obeyed Harry's instructions," he said, "and the bribe he offered me was that you would tell me something to wake me up. I'm ready, Mr. Hannay." I noticed with a start that he called me by my proper name.
I began at the very beginning. I told of my boredom in London, and the night I had come back to find Scudder gibbering on my door-step. I told him all Scudder had told me about Karolides and the Foreign Office conference, and that made him purse his lips and grin. Then I got to the murder, and he grew solemn again. He heard all about the milkman and my time in Galloway, and my deciphering Scudder's notes at the inn.
"You've got them here?" he asked sharply, and drew a long breath when I whipped the little book from my pocket.
I said nothing of the contents. Then I described my meeting with Sir Harry, and
165
