devilish hypocrisy of healing it; a longer smothering-period under
the towel, when the corners of it were tucked behind the ears and a
crease of it in the mouth-all these soon induced vocal expression again,
and Berry started on his inquisition with gentle certainty. When at last
he dusted the face with a little fine flour of oatmeal, "to heal the
cuticle and 'manoor' the roots," and smelled with content the hands
which had embalmed the hair in verbena-scented oil, a man left his
presence feeling that he was ready for the wrath to come.

Such was Berry when he had under his razor one of Ingolby's business
foes of Manitou, who had of late been in touch with Felix Marchand. Both
were working for the same end, but with different intentions. Marchand
worked with that inherent devilishness which sometimes takes possession
of low minds; but the other worked as he would have done against his own
brother, for his own business success; and it was his view that one man
could only succeed by taking the place of another, as though the Age of
Expansion had ceased and the Age of Smother had begun.

From this client while in a state of abject subjection, Berry, whose
heart was hard that day, but whose diplomacy was impeccable, discovered
a thing of moment. There was to be a procession of strikers from two
factories in Manitou, who would throw down their tools or leave their
machines at a certain moment. Falling into line these strikers would
march across the bridge between the towns at such time as would bring
them into touch with the line of the Orange funeral--two processions
meeting at right angles. If neither procession gave way, the Orange
funeral could be broken up, ostensibly not from religious fanaticism,
but from the "unhappy accident" of two straight lines colliding. It was
a juicy plot; and in a few minutes the Mayor and Gabriel Druse knew of
it from the faithful Berry.

The bell of the meeting-house began to toll as the Orangeman whose death
had caused such commotion was carried to the waiting carriage where he
would ride alone. Almost simultaneously with the starting of the gaudy
yet sombre Orange cortege, with its yellow scarfs, glaring banners,
charcoal plumes and black clothes, the labour procession approached the
Manitou end of the Sagalac bridge. The strikers carried only three or
four banners, but they had a band of seven pieces, with a drum and
a pair of cymbals. With frequent discord, but with much spirit, the