Kitabı oku: «Northwest!», sayfa 16

XXXI
STANNARD'S LINE

A wave of mist rolled across the rocks, but the vapor was faintly luminous, as if a light shone through. Deering, Stannard, Jardine and Jimmy waited on the steep bank above the ledge; Gillane had gone back for the others. When he arrived the party would start.

Deering knew the venture was rash and the labor heavy. They would use two ropes and the leader must kick and cut steps in the snow; the others behind would then occupy the holes and hold him up until he cut another lot. Cutting steps, however, soon tired one's arms, and when the leader was exhausted to pull him up and tie on a fresh man might be dangerous. Then nobody knew what was at the bottom and the gully might break off on the front of an icy cliff.

All the same, some rashness was justified. Nothing indicated that the mist would altogether roll away, and in two or three hours it would be dark. If they stopped for another night on the high rocks, all would freeze; an effort to reach the timber and camp by a fire was, so to speak, their forlorn hope. Besides, Stannard was persuaded they could get down, and Deering admitted his judgment was good. By and by Stannard gave him a careless glance.

"I'll lead on the first rope and take Gillane and Stevens. Jimmy and the others will go with you."

Deering wondered. He was resolved Jimmy should use his rope, but Stannard's proposing it was significant. If Stannard knew why he had joined them on the ledge, it looked as if he were resigned to let Jimmy go. Then Stannard pulled out his watch.

"We must get off. Shout for Gillane. Your voice carries well."

Deering shouted and fixed his glance on the slope behind the group. After a few minutes, two or three indistinct objects loomed in the mist.

"The boys are coming," he said, and resumed in a puzzled voice: "Gillane went for Stevens and Dillon; but I see four."

"There are four," said Jimmy, and Deering's mouth got tight.

He thought the first man did not belong to Stannard's party, and now he saw two others behind the advancing group.

"The police!" said Stannard, and shrugged resignedly.

Jimmy turned. His face was pinched and his pose was slack, but his look was calm.

"You have played up nobly, but we're beaten and I've had enough. In fact, to know I'm beaten is rather a relief."

Deering nodded gloomily. There was no use in trying to get away; the Royal North-West are empowered to shoot, and, as a rule, shoot straight. He waited and noted mechanically that Stannard was a few yards nearer the top of the rocks. By and by a police sergeant stopped opposite the group.

"We have got you! Don't move until you get my orders," he said, and signing a trooper, indicated Gillane's party. "Hold that lot off!"

"We are not looking for trouble and the boys won't bother you," said Deering. "What's your business?"

He turned and glanced at Stannard, who said nothing. The mist was getting thin and Deering thought his look strained. Gillane had stopped behind the police, and the sergeant advanced, pulling at his belt.

"I have a warrant, but my hands are frozen and I can't get inside my coat."

"You can show us the warrant later," said Jimmy. "I'm James Leyland, the man you want."

"We don't want you," the sergeant replied.

Jimmy's legs shook and he sat down in the snow. After the long strain, his relief was poignant and reacted on his exhausted body. He gave the sergeant a dull, puzzled look.

"Then whom do you want?"

"Harvey Stannard," said the other, and Stannard turned.

His figure cut the misty background and he carried himself as if he were not disturbed. In fact, Jimmy imagined he had expected something like this.

"I am Stannard. Why do you want me?"

"When I can loose my belt I'll read you the warrant. The charge is killing game-warden Douglas."

"Then Douglas is dead?" said Stannard in a quiet voice.

"He died four or five days since," the sergeant replied.

"Ah!" said Stannard, and braced himself. "Well, I have nothing to state. I reserve my defense – "

"Stop him!" shouted the sergeant, and leaped across the snow.

Stannard stepped back, stumbled on the steep bank and vanished.

For a moment Jimmy, numbed by horror, wondered whether his imagination had cheated him. Then he saw Stannard was really gone and he ran for the ledge. The others joined him, but Stannard was not on the ledge. Two or three hundred feet below a dark object rolled down a long slab and at the bottom plunged into a gulf where the gray mist tossed.

"He's gone," Deering remarked to the sergeant. "Perhaps you'll find him when the snow melts."

They went back to the spot where they had left their packs and ropes. For a time all were quiet, and then the sergeant said to Deering: "He beat me, but I don't get it yet. I didn't reckon on his going over; he stated he reserved his defense."

"Perhaps he was rash," Deering remarked in a thoughtful voice. "In the meantime, however, we must let it go and think about getting down to the bush. How did you find us?"

"We went for a neck behind Mr. Leyland's shack. When we saw no tracks we pushed along the main range. We reckoned you'd gone by the long ridge and we might cut your trail. We were three nights in the rocks and are all played out."

"Then you had better join us. We are going to try Stannard's line down the gully. I don't engage to make the woods, but I don't see another plan."

The sergeant hesitated. "Stannard hit the line?"

"He declared the line would go," said Deering quietly. "Perhaps you have not much grounds to trust him, but he was a great mountaineer."

Jimmy turned and threw Deering the end of the rope.

"Don't talk!" he said to the sergeant. "If you mean to join us, tie on. We must start."

A few minutes afterwards, they crossed the shelf. Deering led, and Jimmy, going first on the second rope, rather doubted if they would reach the trees. In summer the long straight crack was obviously the mountain's rubbish shoot and its sides were ground smooth by rolling stones; now it was packed by hard, firm snow. To slip would mean a savage glissade, and then perhaps a plunge —

Much depended on the leader's nerve. Reaching down, held by the rope, he must chip out holes; and then, when the man behind him occupied the notches, move a foot or two and cut another. Sometimes Deering used his boots and sometimes the ice-pick; but, for the most part, when his party had gone across, the holes were broken and Jimmy was forced to cut. The labor was exhausting and by and by Deering owned he had had enough. The trouble was to help him back and put another in his place, but Gillane got into the loop and brought them down some distance. Then he stopped and for a few minutes all lay in the snow. Mist hid the bottom of the gully and none dared hope their labor would be lightened much when they got there. For all they knew they were painfully crawling down to the top of a precipice. In fact nobody was willing to brace up for the effort to change the leaders.

After a time Jimmy turned his head. The mist was lifting. It went up in torn shreds and the bottom of the gully began to get distinct. Where the dark trough ran out from the rocks a smooth snow-field went down. The vapor steadily rolled off the slope, until Jimmy saw a vague, dark belt he thought was timber. His heart beat and he got back his pluck.

"Stannard hit the proper line," he said. "We'll pitch camp in the woods."

Dillon took Gillane's post, the sergeant took Jimmy's, and they pushed on. By and by the mist rolled down and hid the pitches below, but, now all knew where they went, the gloom vanished and slack muscles were braced. For all that, when they reached the snow-field Deering looked to the west and frowned.

"The light's going and the trees are a long way off," he said. "Mush along, boys. You have got to get there!"

In places the snow was loose and to get forward was hard. Jimmy pushed Stevens for some distance and they were forced to stop for a young police trooper. On some pitches the snow was hard and slippery, and rocks with icy tops broke the surface. Dark crept up from the valley and the trees were behind the ground in front. Yet from the daunting gully they had looked down across the vast white slope and the picture that melted like the mist led them on. Ahead were rest and food and warmth. At length, two or three hours after dark, Dillon stumbled and rolled in the snow.

"Watch out for the juniper I ran up against," he shouted. "Keep going! This trail's for the woods!"

Half an hour afterwards Jimmy threw off his pack and leaned against a spruce. The ground was steep and stony, but rows of small trunks cut the glimmering snow. All round was fuel and one could build a shelter and eat hot food. He thrilled and the blood came to his frozen skin. They had run daunting risks and borne all flesh and blood could bear, but the strain was done with. They had made it!

XXXII
BY THE CAMP-FIRE

In the timber the cold was not very keen and the tired men braced themselves for the effort to pitch camp. Peter and the sergeant took control and soon a big fire burned behind a wall of branches. Against the wall twigs and thin branches were packed for beds. Where the bushman can find fuel and material for building he does not bother about the frost, and in winter the Royal North-West patrols sleep by their camp-fires far out on the snowy wilds.

A trooper fried pork and doughy bannocks, Deering brewed a kettle of strong tea, and when all had eaten like famished animals the men, for the most part, went to sleep. For a time, however, Deering, the sergeant, and Jimmy sat by the fire and smoked.

On the mountains, they were absorbed by the stern physical effort, and concentrated mechanically on getting down. Animal instinct urged them forward, but now the risk of freezing was gone, they began to think like men. The sergeant and Jimmy were puzzled and imagined they might get some light from Deering. Jimmy's brows were knit and when he looked about he frowned. Although he was warm and the hot tea had revived him, he felt his brain was dull.

Sparks leaped up from the fire; smoke tossed about the camp. One heard the wind in the pine-tops and the trunks reflected gleams of flickering light. The mist had blown away, and Jimmy saw far off a dim white ridge cut the sky. Then he turned his head and shivered, for he knew Stannard's broken body was somewhere in the rocks and perhaps nobody would find the spot. Stannard was his friend, a cultivated gentleman and a famous mountaineer; but he had slipped and gone down the precipice like a raw tourist. Moreover, although it looked as if he had killed the game warden, he had said nothing. In fact, it looked as if he were willing for Jimmy to pay. Yet Jimmy was not persuaded; for Stannard to use treachery like that was unthinkable.

"You're satisfied I'm not accountable for the shooting accident?" he said to the sergeant.

"I guess my chiefs are satisfied. Our orders were to leave you alone."

For a few moments Jimmy was quiet. He had carried a heavy load and now the load was gone. He could urge Margaret to marry him and get on with his ranching. Perhaps, if she agreed, he might go back to Lancashire, but he must not yet dwell on this.

"When did your officers find out I had nothing to do with it?" he resumed.

"Not long since; the day before warden Douglas died. All the time he was at the hospital we waited for his statement, but got nothing. Although I've seen men shot, Douglas puzzled me and I reckon he puzzled the doctors. Sometimes he was sensible, but he didn't talk, and when we asked him about the shooting he looked at us as if he'd plumb forgot. Then, one day, it all came back and he gave us his story."

"The night was dark and Douglas could not see much," Deering remarked. "I expect you had something to go on that helped you fill out his statement."

The sergeant smiled. "The trooper who measured up the distances and made a plan of the clearing was a surveyor's clerk. Then Douglas was shot in the center of his chest, but the mark at the back was to one side. Besides, we had got Mr. Leyland's hired man; Miss Jardine put us on his track. He sure doesn't like Mr. Leyland but his tale was useful."

"In fact, if Mr. Leyland had not pulled out, you would not have bothered him?"

"I expect that is so. When Stannard sent Mr. Leyland off, he reckoned to give us a useful clue. Our duty was to try the clue."

Jimmy looked up sharply, but Deering said, "Stannard's plan was good, but your officers are not fools. Then another thing is obvious; if you had tried very hard, you might have hit Mr. Leyland's trail before."

"It's possible," the sergeant agreed with a touch of dryness. "Maybe the bosses were after Stannard. But I don't get it all yet. Stannard was not a fool. I guess he knew we couldn't put it on him that he meant to shoot Douglas. Since he was using the pit-light, he'd have gone to the pen, but I guess he could have stood for all he got. Yet when he saw he was corralled, he stepped back off the rocks!"

"Stannard was an English highbrow. A year or two in a penitentiary would have knocked him out. Perhaps this accounts for it."

"Oh, well," said the sergeant, "I guess we'll let it go. For three nights I've shivered on the rocks and I want to sleep."

He lay down on the branches and Jimmy waited. The smoke was gone, the fire was clear, and red reflections played about the quiet figures at the bottom of the rude wall. After a time Jimmy thought all slept and he turned to Deering.

"I don't know if the sergeant was satisfied, but I am not. You imply that when Stannard stepped back he knew where he went?"

Deering pondered. He saw Jimmy was disturbed and puzzled, but he doubted if there was much use in enlightening him. Stannard was gone. Jimmy had trusted the fellow and had already got a nasty knock. Yet if he had begun to see a light, Deering did not mean to cheat him. He was not Stannard's champion.

"Well," he said, "it certainly looks like that."

"But why? The sergeant thinks they would not have tried Stannard for shooting with intent to kill; he declares Stannard could have stood for all he got."

"I expect that is so. Sometimes, however, people are not logical. For example, when you thought you had shot Douglas, you pulled out."

"I ought to have stayed. Now I think about it, Stannard rather persuaded me to go," Jimmy agreed and looked at Deering hard. "When you recently found out Stannard had gone to my help, why did you go after him?"

"For one thing, I knew he had not got a proper guide. I thought the job a man's job, and Stevens and Dillon are boys."

"Somehow I feel that's not all," said Jimmy and for a moment or two was very quiet. Then he resumed: "When Stannard and I were on the ledge you were at the corner. I was going to jump on the slab, but you shouted."

"Sometimes you're rash. When you jump on a rock, you want to know the rock is sound."

"The slab was not sound," said Jimmy in a hoarse voice. "Still I was on the rope and Stannard knew, if I went down, I might pull him off the ledge – "

He stopped and Deering saw he did not want to solve the puzzle. "It's done with and you're a stanch friend," he resumed. "Well, I'm very tired."

Deering gave him a sympathetic nod, and pulling his blanket round him, got down on a pile of twigs. Jimmy sat with his back against a log and looked into the gloom behind the black pine-tops. High up on the lonely rocks a rotten slab dropped to the gully, and, but for Deering's stanchness, he might have taken an awful plunge. In the meantime, the cold was keen, his body was exhausted and his brain was dull. He did not know much and did not want to know all. The thing was done with and he resolved to let it go. By and by he got down on the twigs by Deering, stretched his legs to the fire and went to sleep.

In the morning after breakfast the sergeant lighted his pipe and stopped the troopers, who had begun to roll up their packs.

"We won't break camp yet, boys," he said and turned to Deering. "Mr. Stevens can't stand for a long hike and my orders were to bring Stannard back."

"Sometimes the police orders do not go," said Deering dryly. "Until the snow melts nobody will bring Stannard back. He has cheated you."

"I've got to try and want your help."

"You can reckon on mine," said Dillon and looked at Jimmy. "Laura must be satisfied – "

"That is so; I'm going to stay," said Jimmy; and when Deering agreed, the sergeant ordered a trooper and Gillane to start for the railroad.

He stated he must send a report, and Jimmy and Dillon gave the packer some telegrams. The men set off and soon afterwards the others, leaving Stevens to watch the fire, began to climb the long steep ridge behind the camp.

The effort cost them much. All were slack and tired and knew their labor would not be rewarded. Yet for some hours they struggled across the snow-fields and searched the rocks with the glasses. In the afternoon they went back, and lying about the fire, talked and smoked.

At daybreak they started again and reached higher ground. The day was bright and the rocks and gullies were distinct, but when the sun sank behind the range, they had found nothing. All the same, Jimmy saw that when Stannard resolved to try the gully his judgment was strangely good. There was not another line down the rocks and nowhere but at the bottom could the party have reached a slope leading to the trees. At length Deering gave the sergeant his glasses.

"Nothing's on the big gravel bank and we can't get up the cliff," he said. "I have had enough and I expect you are satisfied. Maybe you'll find Stannard after the thaw, but when he stepped off the rocks I think he went for good."

"I've tried," said the sergeant. "Let's get down. At sun-up we'll pull out for the railroad."

They went back, but after supper nobody talked much. Somehow the camp was gloomy and Jimmy fought against a vague sense of horror. To know they would take the trail in the morning was some relief.

At daybreak they broke camp and started downhill. All were glad to go, but when they reached the valley Jimmy stopped and looked up at the distant white streak in the rocks. Now he was on level ground, to picture his crawling down the awful gully was hard, and at the top was the snow-bank where Stannard vanished.

Jimmy shivered, but after a few moments turned and ran to join the others. He was young, the sun was on the mountains and the doubts and horror he had known melted like the dark. The thing was done with, the load he had carried was gone, and he was free.

Perhaps it was strange, but he began to perceive that the freedom he thought he enjoyed with Stannard was an illusion. Stannard's light touch was very firm and he had led Jimmy where he did not mean to go. Laura, not knowing all she did, had helped him to resist, and when he knew Margaret, Stannard's control was broken. It looked as if Stannard had not meant to let him go; but Jimmy refused to speculate about the other's plans.

At length, so to speak, he was his own man. He had paid for his extravagance and extravagance had lost its charm. Now he knew no obstacle to his marrying Margaret, and if she were willing, he resolved to resume his proper job at the cotton mill. When he thought about it his heart beat, but Margaret was not yet persuaded, and unless she knew his relations approved, to persuade her might be hard. Well, Sir James was at Vancouver; in fact, he was perhaps at the hotel, and Jimmy was keen to meet him.

Progress, however, was slow. Broken trees and rocks from the mountain blocked the way, fresh snow had fallen, and Stevens was lame. He had slept with his wet boots on and his foot was frostbitten. Then Dillon was slack and moody. His fatigue was not gone, and if Gillane had sent the telegrams, when the party reached the settlement Laura would be waiting. Dillon shrank from enlightening her and Jimmy sympathized.

XXXIII
SIR JAMES APPROVES

The sun was low but the light was good, and Jimmy's party, crossing a hillside, saw a long plume of smoke. The smoke moved and when it melted the rumble of a distant freight train rolled up the valley. After a time, they saw telegraph posts, a break in the rocks, and two or three small houses. Then their fatigue vanished and all went fast, but Jimmy was sorry for Dillon, whose mouth was tight. Jimmy thought Laura waited at the railroad and Frank must tell her Stannard would not come back. Moreover, she must soon know Stannard had shot the game warden and was willing for Jimmy to pay. When they reached the bottom of the hill he stopped Dillon.

"I expect Laura has got a cruel knock, but perhaps we can save her some extra pain. If you take the line you think will hurt her least, I'll play up, and you can trust Deering."

Dillon said nothing, but gave Jimmy a grateful look. Half an hour afterwards they pushed through a belt of trees and saw a party waiting by the railroad. It was obvious the telegrams had arrived. Although the people were some distance off, Jimmy picked out Margaret, who stood by a man he did not think was Jardine; the bush ranchers did not wear furs like his. By and by he distinguished Mrs. Dillon and Mrs. Jardine, Graham, the section hand, and a police trooper, but they were not important and he speculated about the stranger, until, when the track was not far off, he saw a light. Margaret's companion was Sir James Leyland.

Jimmy frowned. His uncle's arrival was awkward, for he had rather hoped to work on Margaret's emotion and carry her away. In fact, he had wondered whether to take her boldly in his arms might not be a useful plan. Now the plan would not work; although when he stopped in front of Margaret he saw she was moved. The blood came to her skin and her glance was very kind. She wore an old fur cap and a soft deerskin jacket; in fact, her clothes were a rancher's daughter's clothes, but somehow she was marked by a touch of dignity. She gave Jimmy her hand and he turned to his uncle.

"You know Miss Jardine, sir?"

"It looks like that," Sir James replied with a smile. "Since you are my nephew, I felt I ought to know your friends. Then Miss Jardine was kind, and seeing my curiosity, helped to throw some light upon your romantic adventures."

Jimmy gave Margaret a grateful look and laughed. "I expect you were puzzled, sir?"

"To some extent, I was puzzled," Sir James agreed. "I'm a sober and perhaps old-fashioned business man. The golden days when I was young and rash are gone, but one recaptures a reflection of their vanished charm."

"Ah," said Jimmy, "I knew you were human! No days were golden for Uncle Dick. I expect you know we jarred?"

"Dick indicated something like that, but he has a number of useful qualities. Perhaps they're inherited qualities, because I think one or two are yours. For example, I went to see your ranch. You have made good progress, on sound business lines, although chopping trees is obviously a strenuous job."

"Do you know much about ranching?" Jimmy inquired.

"I do not. Miss Jardine thought I ought to see the ranch and her father enlightened me."

Margaret blushed and Sir James smiled. "Friends are useful, Jimmy, so long as one's friends are good; but we mustn't philosophize. They are cooking some food for you at the post office and the station agent has agreed to stop the Vancouver express. He imagines the train will arrive before very long."

They went to the post office and soon afterwards the train rolled down the gorge. Jimmy helped Margaret up the steps, gave Peter his awkward thanks, and jumped on board. By and by the cars sped past a small stone hut and he wondered whether he was the man who had not long since stolen down at night to meet the section hand.

When they reached the hotel the guests Jimmy had known were gone, and a lonely stranger occupied a room. The clerk stated they would shut down for the winter as soon as the party went, but dinner would be served as usual in the big dining-room.

Jimmy, refreshed by a hot bath, dressed with luxurious satisfaction. To wear clean, dry clothes and know others would cook his food was something new. When he went downstairs Sir James was in the rotunda.

"Now you are the fashionable young fellow I expected to meet," he remarked with a twinkle. "You see, Dick drew your portrait."

"Oh, well," said Jimmy, "I expect I bothered Dick and perhaps he was a better friend than I thought. All the same, I hope to persuade you the portrait was something of a caricature."

Sir James gave him a thoughtful glance. "It is possible. When you came down the hill at Green River, carrying your heavy pack, your mouth tight and your eyes fixed, I knew my nephew. Sometimes when the cheap mill engine stopped and your father put down his pen and took off his coat he looked like that. Well, it's long since and I have got a title I did not particularly want; but after all we are new arrivals and the primitive vein is not yet run out – " He stopped and resumed: "Mrs. Dillon is in the drawing-room, but we must wait for Miss Jardine. She and her father are my guests."

"You are kind, but I thought them my guests, sir!"

Sir James smiled. "You are rather dull, Jimmy. After all, I am the head of your house."

They went to the dining-room and at the door Jimmy stopped. Margaret and Jardine crossed the belt of polished wood between the pillars, but now Margaret was not dressed like a bush girl. The deerskin jacket was gone, her clothes were fashionable and her skin shone against the fine dark-colored material. Yet she was marked by the grace and balance one gets in the woods, and Jimmy thought her step like a mountain deer's. Then he saw his uncle studied him and he crossed the floor.

Mrs. Dillon, Frank and Deering came in, but although Sir James was an urbane host sometimes the talk got slack. Laura had not come down and another occupied Stannard's chair.

The stranger Jimmy had remarked dined alone some distance off, but when Mrs. Dillon got up he joined the group.

"You agreed to give me an interview," he said to Sir James.

"That is so," Sir James replied. "You wanted to see my nephew, I think, and since we may talk about Stannard, I would like Mr. Deering to join us."

They went to the rotunda and the stranger pulled out some documents. He was old and rather fat, but his clothes were fastidiously neat and his glance was keen.

"You know I'm Mayson, and my London address is on my card," he said. "The card does not state my occupation, but I lend money."

"I imagined something like that," said Sir James. "Stannard was your partner?"

"He was my agent. Stannard belonged to exclusive sporting clubs I could not join; but perhaps this is not important. I understand you are satisfied he is dead?"

Deering nodded. "Nothing made of flesh and blood could stand for his plunge down the rocks."

"Since he was a famous mountaineer, I expect you thought his carelessness strange."

"I have some grounds to think you could account for it," said Deering dryly.

"We will talk about this again," said Mayson and turned to Sir James. "Mr. Leyland owes me a large sum; I have brought his notes."

Sir James studied the documents and gave them to Jimmy, who admitted the account was accurate.

"Very well," said Sir James. "My nephew meets his bills. The interest is high, but he must pay for his extravagance. Before I write you a check, I want to see your agreement with Stannard and would like some particulars."

Mayson gave him a document, and when Jimmy stated that he knew Stannard's hand, resumed: "Stannard joined me some years since, at a time when he was awkwardly embarrassed. The combine had advantages. Stannard had qualities I had not; his friends were fashionable sporting people. For all that, he was bankrupt and I supplied him with money."

"Exactly," said Sir James. "Still, perhaps Stannard's agreeing to tout for you was strange. My nephew thought him a fastidious gentleman. There's another thing: since he was willing to exploit his friends, did you not imagine he might cheat you?"

Mayson smiled. "Stannard dared not cheat me, and perhaps I can give Mr. Deering the light he wants. I knew something about Stannard that, had others known, would have broken him. When we made our agreement, he declared the person he had injured was recently dead and the risk he ran was gone. Perhaps he was sincere, but sometimes I doubt. Not long since, when he began to keep back sums I ought to have got, I made inquiries and found out that another knew. In fact, it looked as if Stannard were buying the fellow's silence with my money. Had he been frank, I might have broken the extortioner, but he was not frank. I think he knew he had deceived me about the agreement and was afraid. Anyhow, he tried to meet the demands, until – "

"I think I see," said Deering. "You do not yet know all Stannard's plans and now they're not important. I expect we can take it for granted that he imagined the demands could not long be met. Then he saw the police had found out his part in the shooting accident and he went down the rocks."

"It looks like that," Mayson agreed.

Deering turned to Jimmy. Jimmy's look was stern and his brows were knit. Deering thought he saw a light, but he said nothing and Sir James got up.

"If you will go with me to the office, Mr. Mayson, I will write you a check."

They went off and soon afterwards Dillon joined Jimmy.

"Laura wants to see you," he said in a disturbed voice. "She knows Stannard shot Douglas, and it's now obvious he meant you to pay; but I rather think that's not all. She talks about her not being justified in marrying me. The thing's ridiculous; if Stannard was a crook, she's not accountable, but my arguments don't carry much weight. Perhaps you can help. You agreed to play up."

"I'll try," said Jimmy, and went to the drawing-room.

Nobody but Laura was about and her forlorn look moved him. Her face was pinched and all her color was gone, but she gave Jimmy a level glance.

"You know I'm sorry," he said, and taking her cold hand, resumed with some embarrassment: "Frank's my friend and you were very kind. Not long since I thought – "

"You thought you were my lover?" said Laura in a quiet voice. "You were lucky because you were not, but had you agreed to go back to the cotton mill, I might have married you. Now you know my shabbiness."