He paid not the slightest heed to the fish scattered around him—stopped for nothing at all.
"Confound the luck," muttered Detective Hook, scrambling up as best he could. "If I ain't a clumsy ass, there never was one! Where's the——"
He paused suddenly, and stood staring down at the wreck of the fish-basket beneath his feet.
There, mingled with the fish upon the surface of the snow, lay a heap of bright silver dollars—not one, but ten, twenty—a hundred or more, with three or four bags beside the pile, evidently filled with the same sort of coin.
[CHAPTER VII.]
A STILL GREATER CRIME UNEARTHED.
Detective Hook stared at the strange sight before him in dumb amazement.
There could be no question concerning the genuineness of the coins displayed before him among the masses of frozen fish scattered over the snow-covered walk.
They were silver dollars, and bran new ones at that, as fresh as on the day which they left the coiner's hands.