“I don’t know how we came to let him go without a kicking,” said Fisher.
“Shall I call to him to come back?” asked Corder.
“Of course,” said Fisher major, “it is a curious coincidence about Rollitt. But I never thought of connecting the two things together before.”
“No. It’s utter guesswork on Dangle’s part.”
“If it comes to that,” said Corder, “if Dangle was over here that afternoon, why shouldn’t he have collared it as well as Rollitt?”
“He has any amount of money. He’s not hard up, like Rollitt.”
“All I can say is,” said Denton, “I wish that cad had kept his suspicions to himself.”
The object of these suspicions, meanwhile, blissfully unconscious of the interest with which he was being remembered at Fellsgarth, was utilising his holiday in the prosecution of his favourite sport.
This time he did not fish from a boat, nor did he affect the upper stream. He tried the lower reach; and not very successfully. For he had never been able to replace the tackle lost on the eventful afternoon when Widow Wisdom’s boat had gone over the falls. He had his fly-book still, and had come across an old reel which, fitted to a makeshift rod with common twine, had to do duty until he could afford a regular new turnout. It was better than nothing, but the fish seemed somehow to get wind of the fact that they were not being treated with proper respect, and refused to have more to do than they could help with irregular-looking apparatus.
Rollitt put up with their unreasonableness for a long time that morning and afternoon. With infinite patience he tried one fly after another, and either bank in turn. He gave them a chance of being hooked under the falls, or right down on the flats by the lake. But it was no go. They wouldn’t be tempted.