They gave Ambrose the jail to himself.  This was a little log-shack behind the quarters with iron-bound door and barred window.

To him in the course of the afternoon came Inspector Egerton moved by his sense of duty.  He officially informed Ambrose that he was to be taken up the river next morning.

“Is there anything you want?” he asked stiffly.

“I left a friend here,” Ambrose said with a bitter smile.  “I’d like to see him if he’s willing to come.”

“Whom do you mean?”

“Simon Grampierre.”

The inspector looked grave.  “He’s under arrest,” he said.  “I can’t let you communicate.”

“Can I see his son then, Germain Grampierre?”

“Sorry.  He’s on parole.”

Ambrose had been counting on this more than he knew, to talk with some man, even a breed, who believed in him.  It is a necessity of our natures under trial.  To deny it was like robbing him of his last hope.  Some power of endurance suddenly snapped within him.

“What do you come here for?” he cried in a breaking voice.  “To torture me?  Must I be surrounded day and night only by those who think me a murderer!  For God’s sake get the thing over with!  Take me to town and hang me if that’s what you want!  A month of this and I’d be a gibbering idiot anyway!”

The ring of honest pain in this aroused dim compunctions in the admirable little colonel.  He twisted his big mustache uncomfortably.  “I’m sure I’ve done what I could for you,” he said.

“Everything except let me alone,” cried Ambrose.  “For God’s sake go away and let me be!” He flung himself face downward on his cot.

Inspector Egerton withdrew stiffly.

Ambrose lay with his head in his arms, and let his shaking nerves quiet down.  A fit of the blackest despair succeeded.  To his other troubles he now added hot shame—­that he had broken down before his enemy.

It seemed to him in the retrospect that he had raved like a guilty man.  He foresaw weeks and weeks of this yet to come with fresh humiliations daily and added pain; if he gave way already what would become of him in the end?  How could he hope to keep his manhood?  A blank terror faced him.

The sound of the key in the lock brought him springing to his feet.  None of them should see him weaken again!  With trembling hands he put his pipe in his mouth, and lighted it nonchalantly.

It was Emslie with his supper.

“Playing waiter, eh?” drawled Ambrose.  “You fellows have to be everything from grooms to chambermaids, don’t you?”

Young Emslie stared, and grew red.  “What’s the matter with you?” he demanded.

“A man must have a little entertainment,” said Ambrose.  “I’m forced to get it out of you.  You don’t know how funny you are, Emslie.”

“You’d best be civil!” growled the policeman.

“Why?” drawled out Ambrose.  “You’ve got to keep a hold on yourself whatever I say to you.  It’s regulations.  Man to man I could lick you with ease!”