“Excuse me,” he said, deferentially enough, for he saw the type of man with whom he had to deal, “but are you not Colonel Ashley?”
“I am, sir!” and the colonel looked up as he slipped the fish into his grass-lined creel.
“I am Mr. Bartlett. I followed you here from New York, and I wish to—”
“If it's anything about business, Mr. Bartlett, let me save your time and my own—both valuable, I take it—by stating that I came here to fish, and not to talk business. Excuse me for putting it thus bluntly, but I see no reason for many words. I can not consider any business. That is all attended to at my New York office, and I am surprised that they should even have given you my address. I told them not to.”
“It was no easy matter to get it, Colonel, I assure you,” and—Bartlett smiled genially. “And please don't blame any one in your office for disclosing your whereabouts. I did not get your address from them, I assure you.”
“From whom, then, if I may ask?”
“From Spotty.” And again Bartlett smiled.
“What? Spotty Morgan?”
“Yes.”
“Are you—do you know him?” and the detective could not keep the interest out of his voice.