Rouletta had not seen the Countess alone since early the previous evening.  She went swiftly to her now and placed an arm about her shoulders.  Hilda responded to this mark of sympathy with a weary smile.

“Well, I had to go through with it to the bitter end,” she said, in a low voice.  “Henri didn’t spare me even that.”

Rouletta pressed her closer, murmuring:  “Colonel Cavendish is a fine man—­I’m sure he understands.  You’ve undergone a dreadful ordeal, but—­it’s nearly over.  He’s sending for Laure now.  She can tell a good deal, if she will.”

“About the theft, yes.  But what about the—­murder?  Joe McCaskey did it.  There’s no doubt about that.  Henri weakened, after I gave him his chance.  He got to drinking, I hear, and evidently he conceived the notion of telling those men.  He may have gone to warn them, to appeal to them.  I don’t know.  Then they must have quarreled.  It’s all clear enough when you understand the inside facts.  Without knowing them, it was natural to suspect Pierce, so--I did what I had to do.  I doubt if Laure knows anything about this part of the affair.”

The two women were still talking when Laure entered, in company with the Mounted Police officer who had been sent to fetch her.  At sight of them she halted; a sudden pallor came into her cheeks; she cast a glance of alarm about her as if seeking retreat; but Colonel Cavendish grimly invited her to follow him, and stepped into his private office.  The new-comer faltered; then with a defiant toss of her head and with lips curled in disdain she obeyed; the door closed behind her.

Rouletta and the Countess Courteau fell silent now.  They found nothing to talk about, and in spite of themselves they strained their ears for some sound from the other room.  Even Miss Cavendish seemed vaguely to feel the suspense, for she finally took her stand beside a frost-rimed window and engaged herself in tracing patterns thereon with the tip of her finger.  An occasional stormy murmur of voices, deadened by the thick log partition, indicated that Laure and her inquisitor were not getting on well together.

Suddenly the girl at the window started; her apathy vanished; her expression of boredom gave place to one of such lively anticipation as to draw the attention of the two other women.  A magic change came over her; she became suddenly animated, alive, atingle in every nerve; her eyes sparkled and a new color flooded her cheeks.  The alteration interested her observers; they were mystified as to its cause until a quick step sounded in the entry and the door opened to admit Pierce Phillips.

It was natural that he should first see Miss Cavendish, and that he should greet her before recognizing the other occupants of the room.  It was natural, too, that he should be a trifle nonplussed at finding Hilda here; nevertheless, he managed to cover his lack of ease.  Not so, however, when, a moment later, the door to Colonel Cavendish’s office opened and Laure, of all persons, appeared therein.  Quickly Pierce inferred the reason for his summons, but, happily for him, he was spared further embarrassment.  Cavendish called to him, took him by the hand in the friendliest manner, and again disappeared into his retreat, drawing the young man with him.