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"Read it," he said coolly, "and save it. It may be useful as evidence, later." A subtle change passed over Gordon Strange's face. For the moment he was pure Indian. Quickly veiling his eyes, he asked with an innocent air: "What does Mr. Gaviller say?" This was too much for Ambrose to stomach. "You know damned well what he says!" he answered scornfully. Strange swallowed it.
He had got suspicious since he promised to help in the search for Strange's silver, and trappers and Indians did not travel at night. As he pondered the matter, a dark object came out of the misty background on the lake. It was indistinct, but by its height and slow movements he knew it was a man.
It was Strange's tobacco-box and a light dawned on him. He knew now why Driscoll had haunted the reefs when the water was low, and thought he knew what was inside the box. This was the thing Strange had taken with him. But Driscoll had looked in the wrong place.
Strange's face was a total mask. When he nodded, the nod was the most even and mechanical thing I have ever seen. Certainly this man could control his emotions! "Naturally, Doctor," Hartnett said, "we have gone rather deeply into the past life of the lady in question. Your name appears, of course, in a rather unimportant interval when Margot Vernee resided in Paris.
When skins were scarce he worked at the mine, but generally left his employment after a drunken bout. "I wonder whether Driscoll believes in Strange's lode," Scott resumed as the man went by. "He knew him better than anybody else. They went North together once or twice, and had been away some time when Strange was drowned coming back."
"I know when there's no use in kicking." "An unsuccessful prospecting trip is an expensive undertaking," Scott said meaningly. "Then there's the disappointment. You would have got a big lift if you'd been lucky enough to find Miss Strange's silver." "The silver is not Miss Strange's. The law gives a mineral vein to the person who stakes it off and records it first." "That is so," Scott agreed.
I had never learned a word of Theresa's fate and that word poverty, proving that she was alive and suffering, held me to my place to hear what more they might say of her who for years had been for me an indistinct figure bathed in cruel moonlight. "I have never approved of Peter Strange's conduct at that time," one of the voices now went on. "He didn't handle her right.
After all, Strange's story was not uncommon; Thirlwell had known men leave work and home to follow an elusive clue to mineral treasure in the barren solitudes. Some had come back broken in fortune and courage, and some had not come back at all. Then while he mused the harsh cry of the loon rang through the dark.
I haven't met him, but I'm nearly sure it was a city man I saw in Driscoll's camp." "Stormont's indicated," Scott replied. "I reckon Driscoll went to him because he needed capital; but he wouldn't put another fellow on the track. If we take it for granted that he did go, the mystery about Strange's letters is cleared up.
She knew that to all of the others, if not to Peter Strange's odd little daughter, it was the thief who was being spotted and brought thus hilariously to light. And her eyes grew hard, and her lips grey, and she failed to unglove the hands upon which all glances were concentrated. "You do not need to see my hands; I confess to taking the pendant." "Caroline!"
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