“W’at fool biznesse!” Doret indignantly exclaimed.  “Dat boy is hones’ as church.”

He looked down at the sound of Rouletta’s voice; then he started.  The girl’s face was strained and white and miserable; her hands were clasped over her bosom; she was staring horrified at the door through which Phillips had been taken.  She swayed as if about to fall.  ’Poleon half dragged, half carried her out into the street; with his arm about her waist he helped her toward her hotel.

The walk was a silent one, for Rouletta was in a state bordering upon collapse; gradually she regained control of herself and stumbled along beside him.

“They’re three to one,” she said, finally.  “Oh, ’Poleon!  They’ll swear it on him.  The Police are strict; they’ll give him five years.  I heard the colonel say so.”

“Dere’s been good deal of short-weighin’, but—­” Doret shook his head.  “Nobody goin’ believe Courteau.  And McCaskey is dam’ t’ief.”

“If—­only I—­could help him.  You’ll go to him, ’Poleon, won’t you?  Promise.”

Silently the Canadian assented.  They had reached the door of the hotel before he spoke again; then he said slowly, quietly: 

“You been playin’ ‘hearts’ wit’ him, ma soeur?  You—­you love him?  Yes?”

“Oh—­yes!” The confession came in a miserable gasp.

“Bien!  I never s’pect biff ore.  Wal, dat’s all right.”

“The Police are swift and merciless,” Rouletta persisted, fearfully.  “They hate the Front Street crowd; they’d like to make an example.”

“Go in your li’l bed an’ sleep,” he told her, gently.  “Dis t’ing is comin’ out all right.  ’Poleon fix it, sure; he’s dandy fixer.”

For some time after the door had closed upon Rouletta the big fellow stood with bent head, staring at the snow beneath his feet.  The cheer, the sympathy, had left his face; the smile had vanished from his lips; his features were set and stony.  With an effort he shook himself, then, murmured: 

“Poor li’l bird!  Wal, I s’pose now I got to bus’ dat jail!”

CHAPTER XXIV

Although ’Poleon had spoken with confidence, he found, upon arriving at Police Headquarters, that the situation was by no means as simple as it had appeared, and that something more than a mere word regarding Phillips’ character would be required to offset the very definite accusation against him.  Courteau, he learned, had pressed his charge with vigor, and although the two McCaskeys had maintained their outward show of reluctance at being dragged into the affair, they had, nevertheless, substantiated his statements with a thoroughness and a detail that hinted more than a little at vindictiveness.  Pierce, of course, had denied his guilt, but his total inability to explain how the gold-dust in dispute came to be concealed in the cashier’s cage, to which no one but he had access, had left the Police no alternative except to hold him.  By the time ’Poleon arrived Pierce had been locked up for the night.