He rose to his feet, making an effort to steel himself against the justice of what he had seen—­against the glory of love, of womanhood, of triumph which he saw shining in her eyes.

“I understand now,” he said.  “You had me brought here—­in this way—­that I might hear what was said, and use it as evidence.  But—­”

“Oh, my God, I did not mean to do this,” she cried, as if knowing what he was about to say.  “I thought that if he betrayed his vileness to you—­if he knew that the world would know, through you, how he had attempted to destroy a home, and how he offered my husband’s freedom in exchange for—­but you saw, you heard, you must understand!  He would not dare to go on when he knew that all this would become public.  My husband would have been free.  But now—­”

“You have killed him,” said Philip.

There was no sympathy in his voice.  It was the cold, passionless accusation of a man of the law, and the woman bowed her face in her hands.  He put on his service cap, tightened his belt, and touched her gently on the arm.

“Do you know where your husband is confined?” he asked.  “I will take you there, and you may remain with him to-night.”

She brightened instantly.  “Yes,” she said.

“Come!”

They passed through the door, closing it carefully behind them, and the woman led the way to a dark, windowless building a hundred yards from the dead chief’s headquarters.

“This is the camp prison,” she whispered.

A man clad in a great bear-skin coat was on guard at the door.  In the moonlight he recognized Philip’s uniform.

“Here are orders from the inspector,” said Philip, holding out MacGregor’s letter.  “I am to have charge of the prisoner.  Mrs. Thorpe is to spend the night with him.”

A moment later the door was opened and the woman passed in.  As he turned away Philip heard a low sobbing cry, a man’s startled voice.  Then the door swung heavily on its hinges and there was silence.

Five minutes later Philip was bending again over the dead man.  A surprising transformation had come over him now.  His face was flushed and his strong teeth shone in sneering hatred as he covered the body with a blanket.  On the wall hung a pair of overalls and a working-man’s heavy coat.  These and Hodges’ hat he quickly put on in place of his own uniform.  Once more he went out into the night.

This time he came up back of the prison.  The guard was pacing back and forth in his beaten path, so thickly muffled about the ears that he did not hear Philip’s cautious footsteps behind him.  When he turned he found the muzzle of a revolver within arm’s length of his face.

“Hands up!” commanded Philip.

The astonished man obeyed without a word.

“If you make a move or the slightest sound I’ll kill you!” continued Philip threateningly.  “Drop your hands behind you—­there, like that!”