"Sergeant, in view of what
you've been telling me, there seems something very, very terrible about
all this. I suppose there's absolutely no doubt in your mind now, who--?"

The Irishman jerked out a great oath. "Doubt!" echoed he grimly, "doubt!
So little doubt, Docthor," added he hoarsely, "that we go get 'um this
very night."

"Alas, poor Yorick!" said Yorke sadly. "Say, Burke!" he continued in an
awe-struck voice "this is like a leaf out of O'Brien's book, with a
vengeance. You remember him, that cold-blooded devil who Pennycuik
nailed up in the Yukon--used to shoot 'em and shove their bodies under
the ice?"

Slavin nodded gloomily. "At Tagish, ye mane? Yeah! I 'member ut.
Penny sure did some good wurrk on that case."

Redmond had by this time completed his gruesome task. "There's lots of
these blocks lying around Gully's," he remarked, "I've seen 'em. Place's
got a stone foundation. Look at the notches he's chipped in this one--to
keep the wire from slipping!"

"Eyah!" said Slavin, with grimly-unconscious humour, "Exhibit B. We must
hang on to ut, heavy as it us--an' th' wire, tu! Well, people, we'd
betther shove this pore shtiff on the buckboard, an' beat ut." He turned
to the doctor's laconic factotum. "Come on, Lanky!" he said briskly.
"Let's go hitch up."

Presently, when all was ready, Slavin took the lines and the coroner
climbed up beside him. The rest of the party followed on foot. A
sombre, strange little procession it looked, as it moved slowly westward
into the dusky blaze of a blood-red sunset. In the hearts of the
policemen grim resolve was not unmixed with certain well-founded
forebodings, as they fully realized what a sinister, dangerous mission
lay ahead of them that night.

CHAPTER XIII

'Twas then--like tiger close beset
At every pass with toil and net,
'Counter'd, where'er he turns his glare,
By clashing arms and torches' flare,
Who meditates, with furious bound,
To burst on hunter, horse, and hound,--
'Twas then that Bertram's soul arose,
Prompting to rush upon his foes.
SCOTT

The old detachment clock struck nine wheezy notes. Yorke and Redmond,
seated at a table busily engaged in cleaning their service revolvers,
glanced up at each other sombrely.

"Getting near time," muttered the former, "the moon should be up soon
now. Lanky," he continued, addressing that individual who was sitting
nearby, "what ar