"So you see, Bubba," Holmes explained as we finished off the last of the cold beers he had in his fridge, "it was as obvious as a skunk in a magnolia tree that the ad for the Red-Necked League was just an excuse. It didn't make any sense to have Jay Dubya copy down all that stuff from the Bowling Channel. You can mail-order them transcripts from someplace in Colorado for less than you could pay him. It was all just a scam to get him out of the bait shop for a while every day. You were right about Jay Dubya not bein' much of a redneck. Dunkin' Ross weren't one neither."

"How'd you know that?" I asked, swirlin' the last of my beer around in the bottom of the bottle.

"Those questions he asked! Heck, any real redneck woulda known that Jay Dubya's answers were more suited to a hillbilly than a redneck. Lester Flatt!" he snorted. "Ridiculous!"

"So there never was any bowling league?"

"Nope. Clay figured he'd invest a little money if it meant he could haul off tens of thousands of dollars in cold, hard cash. He was probably stealing the $128.45 from the cash register anyway. And, when I learned that Clay was working for half-pay, it was clear as armadillo spit that that he just wanted to get Wilson out of the shop so he and his buddies could go to work."

"I don't understand."

"Well, the fact that there ain't that much excitement in the bait business, combined with Wilson's observation that his assistant loved being in the basement, made me start to cogitate on what really was goin' on. Then I remembered about the Underground Railroad and all them tunnels. That's when I had to go and see for myself. I musta confused you no end when I pounded on the sidewalk. I was tryin' to figure out where Clay was diggin' his tunnel. When I asked about the stumpknockers, I wanted, first, to make sure it was him. And when I saw all the stains on his knees, I knew we had him dead to rights. We just had to catch him in the act."

"But how'd you know he was gonna try it tonight?" I asked.

"Well, since they suddenly closed the League office, it meant they was pretty much through with their tunnelin', and they was gonna want to get done and gone. Saturday night was the best time to break in. For a preacher, Saturday is the day of rest, not Sunday. So they knew that nobody'd be around tonight and they could take their time grabbin' the money and gettin' away."

"You figured it out pretty good, Holmes," I admitted.

"Yeah, I suppose. It kept me from being completely bored." He yawned. "Dang, I'm losing interest already. It seems like I spend all my time tryin' to keep from bein' just another countrified crime fighter."

"Holmes, you are a friend to mankind."

"Maybe so," he sighed. "Like my granddaddy from New Orleans used to say, 'L'homme n'est rien - l'oeuvre - tout.'"

"Come on, Holmes. You know I don't speak Cajun."

"It's French. It means, 'a man ain't nothin' without his work.'"

"Your granddaddy was a wise man."

My friend settled back in his LazyBoy and smiled. "He also used to say, 'Take all you want, but eat all you take.' He was in the all-you-can-eat restaurant business, you know."