Chapter XI

64

STRANGE FISH

“A show−off, that's me,” he said. “I figured if the thing was important, I would keep it a secret to myself, and solve it. I'm ashamed of it now, but that's what I did.”

“The fish, you mean?” Doc asked.

Johnny's mouth fell open.

“You—you knew about it?” he gulped.

“Yes.”

“Good God! What you must have been thinking about me!”

“Not necessarily,” Doc said. “Shall we take a look at the fish?”

The fish was just that—a fish. A belonesox. Not particularly rare. Just an oddity. A fierce, unlovely thing with the disposition of a fiend. A disposition like a Nazi murderer such as Helv.

This last idea was very appropriate, Doc thought. A fish counterpart of Nazi mass−killer Helv.

“Got a flashlight?” he asked.

Johnny Toms had a light, a strong one. They held the fish in front of it, and the light was almost as effective as an X−ray. They could see fairly well what was inside the fish. There was nothing in him that didn't belong there, apparently.

“Secret writing on his skin, you suppose?” Johnny asked.

“Somewhat improbable.”

“You mean the fish doesn't mean anything to you?”

“Not a thing.”

Johnny Toms swore violently. He seemed bitterly disappointed. “I thought I had something!” he said, almost wailing, he was so discouraged.

Doc put the devil of a fish back in the water. He was glad to get rid of it. The fish was giving him an unpleasant feeling, it was so fierce−looking.

“Now,” Doc said, “tell me how you happened to get hold of the fish.”

“Paris received it.”

Doc looked at him sharply.

“Oh, don't misunderstand!” Johnny said hastily. “Paris told the truth. You see, she didn't know she got the fish.”

“That,” Doc told him, “sounds as skippy as some of that stuff Uncle Bill Hazel had to tell us.”