The boy nodded as he reached for the oars. “I remember you,” he answered.
“You seem to fish here nearly every day.”
“Just about. I caught some nice ones today.” Proudly he held up two large fish for her to see.
“Beauties,” praised Penny. “I take it the motor boats haven’t been bothering you as much as they were.”
“It’s been pretty quiet on the river today,” the boy agreed. “Want to see something else I fished up?”
“Why, yes. What did you hook, a mud turtle?”
The boy opened a large wooden box which contained an assortment of rope, fishing tackle and miscellaneous articles. He lifted out a man’s high silk hat, bedraggled and shapeless.
“You fished that out of the water?” Penny demanded, leaning forward to take the article from him. “Where did you find it?”
“Up there a ways.” The boy motioned vaguely toward a point on the Kippenberg estate.
Penny turned the hat over in her hand, examining it closely. She found no identifying marks, yet she believed that it had belonged to Grant Atherwald for he had worn similar headdress. The point indicated by the boy was not far distant from the Kippenberg lily pool.