"Great-Uncle Joseph, I presume," he said, and raised his hat with old-fashioned courtesy.
"The gulls have had a wee peck at it here and there," said Jock. "It'll be tough for them. Aye. They havena done so vera much with it."
"Aren't you going to open it?" said Macpherson impatiently.
"Not here," said Wimsey. "We might lose something." He dropped it into Jock's creel. "We'll take it home first and show it to Robert."
Robert greeted them with ill-disguised irritation.
"We've been fishing," said Wimsey cheerfully. "Look at our bonny wee fush." He weighed the catch in his hand. "What's inside this wee fush, Mr. Ferguson?"
"I haven't the faintest idea," said Robert.
"Then why did you go fishing for it?" asked Wimsey pleasantly. "Have you got a surgical knife there, Mac?"
"Yes—here. Hurry up."
"I'll leave it to you. Be careful. I should begin with the stomach."