The colonel made a careful examination of the premises, and had described to him the exact position of the body, being told all that went on that tragic morning.
It was after this, and following some busy hours spent in various parts of the city, that the defective sent to one of his trusted men in New York this telegram:
"Spotty Morgan's vacation is over. Have him spend a few days with you until I can invite him to my country place."
"I hate to do it, after what he did for me," mused the colonel with a sigh. "But business is business from now on. I'm officially in the case, and I wasn't before."
Having sent the somewhat cryptic message, the old detective sat in his room and took from his pocket a little green book.
"Well, old friend, I guess I'm not going to have much use for you from now on," he remarked dolefully. He glanced to where his rods and flies were gathering dust. "Nor you, either," he went on. "Now for a last glimpse—"
He opened the book and read:
"And now I shall tell you that the fishing with a natural fly is excellent and affords much pleasure."
"It won't do!" ejaculated the colonel as he closed the book and threw it aside.
One matter puzzled the colonel as well as the other detectives. There was no sign of the jewelry store having been entered from the outside, so that if a stranger had come in he must have done so when the doors were unlocked or made a false key, or else he had forced a passage so skilfully as to leave not a sign.