There was almost a pitying look in the half-breed’s eyes.

“M’sieur, what if in that letter were named people and places:  the hospital itself, the doctors, the record of birth?  What if it contained all those many things by which the master of Adare might trail back easily to the truth?  With those things in the letter would he not investigate?  And then—­” He made a despairing gesture.

“I see,” said Philip.  Then he added, quickly “But could we not keep the papers from Adare, Jean?  Could we not watch for the messenger?”

“They are not fools, M’sieur.  Such a thing would be easy—­if they sent a messenger with the papers.  But they have guarded against that.  Le M’sieur is to be invited to Thoreau’s.  The letter will be given to him there.”

Philip began pacing back and forth, his head bowed in thought, his hands deep in his pockets.

“They have planned it well—­like very devils!” he exclaimed.  “And yet—­even now I see a flaw.  Is Lang’s threat merely a threat?  Would he, after all, actually have the letter given to Adare?  If these letters are his trump cards, why did he try to have him killed?  Would not Adare’s death rob him of his greatest power?”

“In a way, M’sieur.  And yet with Le M’sieur gone, both Josephine and Miriam would be still more hopelessly in his clutches.  For I know that he had planned to kill me after the master.  My brother had not guessed that.  And then the women would be alone.  Holy Heaven, I cannot see the end of crime that might come of that!  Even though they escaped him to go back to civilization, they would be still more in his power there.”

Philip’s face was upturned to the stars.  He laughed, but there was no mirth in the laugh.  And then he faced Jean again, and his eyes were filled with the merciless gleam that came into those of the wolf-beasts back in the pit.

“It is the big fight then, Jean.  But, before that, just one question more.  All of this trouble might have been saved if Josephine had married Lang.  Why didn’t she?”

For an instant every muscle in Jean’s body became as taut as a bowstring.  He hunched a little forward, as if about to leap upon the other, and strike him down.  And then, all at once, he relaxed.  His hands unclenched.  And he answered calmly: 

“That is the one story that will never be told, M’sieur.  Come!  They will wonder about us at Adare House.  Let us return.”

Philip fell in behind him.  Not until they were close to the door of the house did Jean speak again.

“You are with me, M’sieur—­to the death, if it must be?”

“Yes, to the death,” replied Philip.

“Then let no sleep come to your eyes so long as Josephine is awake,” went on Jean quickly.  “I am going to leave Adare House to-night, M’sieur, with team and sledge.  The master must believe I have gone over to see my sick friend on the Pipestone.  I am going there—­and farther!” His voice became a low, tense whisper.  “You understand, M’sieur?  We are preparing.”