brother?"

They stopped at another door. Black Roger opened it. There were lights
within, and David knew it was to be his room. Audemard did not follow
him inside, but there was a flashing humor in his eyes.

"I say, is there another woman like her in the world, m'sieu?"

"What have you done to Marie-Anne--your wife?" asked David.

It was hard for him to get the words out. A terrible thing was gripping
at his throat, and the clutch of it grew tighter as he saw the wild
light in Black Roger's eyes.

"Tomorrow you will know, m'sieu. But not to-night. You must wait until
tomorrow."

He nodded and stepped back, and the door closed--and in the same
instant came the harsh grating of a key in the lock.

XXV

Carrigan turned slowly and looked about his room. There was no other
door except one opening into a closet, and but two windows. Curtains
were drawn at these windows, and he raised them. A grim smile came to
his lips when he saw the white bars of tough birch nailed across each
of them, outside the glass. He could see the birch had been freshly
stripped of bark and had probably been nailed there that day. Carmin
Fanchet and Black Roger had welcomed him to Chateau Boulain, but they
were evidently taking no chances with their prisoner. And where was
Marie-Anne?

The question was insistent, and with it remained that cold grip of
something in his heart that had come with the sight of Carmin Fanchet
below. Was it possible that Carmin's hatred still lived, deadlier than
ever, and that with Black Roger she had plotted to bring him here so
that her vengeance might be more complete--and a greater torture to
him? Were they smiling and offering him their hands, even as they knew
he was about to die? And if that was conceivable, what had they done
with Marie-Anne?

He looked about the room. It was singularly bare, in an unusual sort of
way, he thought. There were rich rugs on the floor--three magnificent
black bearskins, and two wolf. The heads of two bucks and a splendid
caribou hung against the walls. He could see, from marks on the floor,
where a bed had stood, but this bed was now replaced by a couch made up
comfortably for one inclined to sleep. The significance of the thing
was clear--nowhere in the room could he lay his hand upon an object
that might be used as a weapon!

His eyes again sought the white-birch bars of his prison, and he raised
the two windows so that the cool, sweet breath of the forests rea