od-natured Major, "watch her, Lambert."

As the woman passed him Imbrie whispered to her in the Indian tongue:
"Throw your locket in the river."

Stonor, on the alert for a trick of some kind, overheard. "No, you
don't!" he said, stepping forward.

The woman made a sudden dive for the door, but Lambert seized her. She
struggled like a mad thing, but the tall sergeant's arms closed around
her like a vice. Meanwhile Stonor essayed to unclasp the chain around
her neck. The two breeds guarded Imbrie to keep him from interfering.

Stonor got the locket off at last, and opened it with his thumb nail.
The woman suddenly ceased to struggle, and sagged in Lambert's arms. An
exclamation escaped from Stonor, and he glanced sharply into Imbrie's
face. Within the locket on one side was a tinted photograph of the heads
of two little boys, oddly alike. On the other side was an inscription in
the neat Spencerian characters of twenty years before: "Ernest and
William Imbrie,"--and a date.

Stonor handed the locket over to the Major without speaking. "Ha!" cried
the latter. "So that is the explanation. There were two of them!"

CHAPTER XVIII

A LETTER FROM MAJOR EGERTON TO HIS FRIEND ARTHUR DONCOURT, ESQ.

MY DEAR DONCOURT:

You ask me to tell you some of the circumstances underlying the Imbrie
murder case of which you have read the account in the annual report of
the R.N.W.M.P. just published. You are right in supposing that a strange
and moving tale is hidden behind the cold and formal phraseology of the
report.

The first Imbrie was the Reverend Ernest, who went as a missionary to
the Sikannis Indians away back in '79. Up to that time these Indians
were absolutely uncivilized, and bore a reputation for savage cruelty. I
suppose that was what stimulated the good man's zeal. He left a saintly
tradition behind him. The Sikannis live away up the corner of British
Columbia, on the head-waters of the Stanley River, one of the main
branches of the Spirit River. The Spirit River, as you may know, rises
west of the Rocky Mountains and breaks through. There is not a more
remote spot this side the Arctic Circle, nor one more difficult of
access.

The missionary brought with him his son, John Imbrie, a boy just
approaching manhood. Very likely the danger of bringing up a boy
absolutely cut off from the women of his race never occurred to the
father. The inevitable happened. The boy fell in love with a handsome
half-breed gir