“That fellow Ben Oates seems to be the only one with ideas.”
“He don't keep sober long enough to give us any trouble,” Dumble declared. “He began asking me questions a few days ago, and I know he put Grice's lad on to find out which way we went last Saturday week, but that don't amount to anything. He was dead drunk for three days afterwards.”
Sir Henry nodded.
“I'm not very frightened of Ben Oates, Jimmy,” he confided, as he threw open the door of a large cabinet which stood against the further wall. “No strangers about, eh?”
“Not a sign of one, sir.”
Sir Henry glanced towards the door and listened.
“Shall I just give the key a turn, sir?” his visitor asked.
“I don't think it is necessary,” Sir Henry replied. “They've all gone up to change. Now listen to me, Jimmy.”
He leaned forward and touched a spring. The false back of the cabinet, with its little array of flies, spinners, fishing hooks and tackle, slowly rolled back. Before them stood a huge chart, wonderfully executed in red, white and yellow.
“That's a marvellous piece of work, sir,” the fisherman observed admiringly.