ting. Through the thick walls no sound came to him.
Once he thought that he heard the closing of a distant door. Even the
night was strangely silent, and he walked to the one large window in
his room and stared out into the darkness. On this side the edge of the
forest was not far away, for he could hear the soughing of the wind in
the treetops.

For an hour he waited with growing impatience for Jean's return or some
word from Josephine. At last there came another knock at the door. He
opened it eagerly. To his disappointment neither Jean nor the girl
stood there, but the Indian woman who had brought him the hot water,
carrying in her hands a metal server covered with steaming dishes. She
moved silently past him, placed the server on the table, and was
turning to go when he spoke to her.

"Tan'se a itumuche hooyun?" he asked in Cree.

She went out as if she had not heard him, and the door closed behind
her. With growing perplexity, Philip directed his attention to the
food. This manner of serving his supper partly convinced him that he
would not see Josephine again that night. He was hungry, and began to
do justice to the contents of the dishes. In one dish he found a piece
of fruit cake and half a dozen pickles, and he knew that at least
Josephine had helped to prepare his supper. Half an hour later the
Indian woman returned as silently as before and carried away the
dishes. He followed her to the door and stood for a few moments looking
down the hall. He looked at his watch. It was after ten o'clock. Where
was Jean? he wondered. Why had Josephine not sent some word to him--at
least an explanation telling him why she could not see him as she had
promised? Why had Croisset spoken in that strange way just before they
entered the door of Adare House? Nothing had happened, and he was
becoming more and more convinced that nothing would happen--that night.

He turned suddenly from the door, facing the window in his room. The
next instant he stood tense and staring. A face was glued against the
pane: dark, sinister, with eyes that shone with the menacing glare of a
beast. In a flash it was gone. But in that brief space Philip had seen
enough to hold him like one turned to stone, still staring where the
face had been, his heart beating like a hammer. As the face disappeared
he had seen a hand pass swiftly through the light, and in the hand was
a pistol. It was not this fact, nor the suddenness of the apparition,
that drew