uld never believe in his guilt. She
would believe, with a woman's irrational loyalty, that he, Hedin, had
in some manner contrived to place the coat in Wentworth's possession,
and he knew that the engineer would never cease to proclaim that he had
been made the dupe of a scheming lover. The case against the man must
be plain. When Jean could be shown that Wentworth deliberately
endeavored to cheat her father, she would then believe that he stole
the coat. She would be saved from throwing herself away, and
he--Hedin's lips moved, "I will hire out to the Company, and ask to be
sent to the northern-most post they've got."

Upon his arrival at the post, Wentworth made out two reports, one to
McNabb and the other to Orcutt, which he dispatched to the railway by a
Company Indian. Late in the afternoon, as he was polishing his
instruments in the little cabin, the figure of Sven Larson appeared in
the doorway. The engineer motioned him to enter and close the door
behind him. "Where is Murchison?" he asked, glancing through the
window toward the post.

"He has gone in a boat with Wawake to set the fish nets."

Without a word Wentworth stepped across the room, unlocked his trunk,
and from its depths drew the sable coat that Hedin had last seen upon
the shoulders of Jean McNabb as she walked from the store upon that
memorable Saturday. With a conscious effort he controlled himself, and
reaching out his hand took the coat and carried it to the window. He
was conscious that the engineer's eyes were fastened intently upon him
as, inch by inch, he carefully examined the garment whose every
skin--every hair, almost--was familiar to him. Still holding the coat,
he spoke more to himself than to Wentworth. "A fine piece. All good
dark Yakutsk skins. And the matching is good. Only one skin a shade
off----"

"What's it worth?" asked Wentworth abruptly. "I don't care a damn
about the specifications. They don't mean anything to me. I knew it
was a fine garment the minute I spotted it, and I knew Hedin was lying
when he said it was a marten."

"Hedin?" queried the clerk. "Was that the name of the princess? She
must be a fool to say this is a marten."

"No, no! Hedin is a man. And he is a fool, all right. Fool enough to
let a damn fool girl make a fool of him----"

Wentworth suddenly saw a blinding flash of light. He felt himself
falling; then he lay very still as a shower of little star-like sparks
flowed upward