A PUZZLING SCENT
THE following morning Corporal Bracknell was early astir, but early as
he was there were others earlier, for the smell of frying moose-meat
reached him before he was dressed. When he left his room he found
Rayner awaiting him.
“You are early, Corporal,” was the greeting.
“Yes, I thought of going out as far as the place where we went together
last night.”
“What! before breakfast? Surely there is no need for such haste, and
remember there will be no daylight for at least a couple of hours yet.”
“That is so, but--”
An Indian servant appeared from somewhere in the rear of the house,
bearing a silver coffee-pot on a tray. Rayner pointed to it with a
smile.
“That settles the matter, I fancy. Breakfast is being served. You will
not allow it to spoil, I am sure.”
“It is a convincing argument,” laughed the corporal. “I will breakfast
first and attend to duty afterwards.”
Rayner nodded, and led the way into the room where they had dined on
the previous night. Places were laid for four at the table, but neither
Miss Gargrave nor her foster-sister had yet appeared.
“We are a little early for the ladies,” said Rayner, seating himself,
“but we will not wait for them. They may breakfast in their room.”
The corporal took his place, and whilst they ate, conversed with his
companion in a desultory kind of way. Both of them steadily avoided any
reference to the events and conversation of the night before, and in
the course of the meal the policeman learned a little more about his
hostess’ father.
“He was an odd kind of man,” explained Rayner, when reference had
been made to him. “Came of a good stock in the Old Country, and was
one of the pioneers up here. A man of culture as a glance round the
bookshelves will show you, and a man of business also. Some of the best
mining properties in the North were secured by him, and unlike many
of the Klondyke millionaires he made his home here, and he bought,
regardless of cost, the old family estate in England. I think he meant
to return there, with his daughter, some day. But the hard life of
these wild lands had entered into his blood, and he--”
The sound of a feminine voice outside caught the officer’s attention,
and made him neglect what his companion was saying. He heard the outer
door open, and close, then hurried steps sounded in the passage, and
two people passed by the room in which he was seated. The door happened
to be ajar, and the corporal saw that one was his hostess, and that the
other was her companion and foster-sister, Miss La Farge. They were not
late for breakfast because they had dallied in their rooms; they had
been outside.
As he realized this a little frown of thoughtfulness puckered the
corporal’s forehead. Why had they been out at this early hour, and
whilst it was still dark? Rayner noticed his pre-occupation, and
guessing the cause of it, suavely offered an explanation.
“Apparently I was mistaken about my cousin and Miss La Farge. They are
not the sluggards I thought they were. They have been outside whilst I
thought they were still a-bed.”
“They are very early,” was the reply.
“Yes! There is a silver fox about, and Joy has a line of traps. She
hopes to get it. I understand that its pelt is rare.”
“Much rarer than it used to be,” agreed the policeman absently.
The explanation was a plausible one, but he did not find it
satisfactory. He suspected that something other than a silver fox had
taken Joy Gargrave and her foster-sister into the woods in the darkness
of the morning. He wondered what it was. Had his hostess missed the
note which he had picked up the night before, and had she been out to
look for it? He did not know, he could only guess, and wait impatiently
for the coming of dawn.
As soon as the first leaden light showed through the trees outside
he left the house. Rayner offered to accompany him; but the corporal
declined the offer.
“Thank you, there is no need, Mr. Rayner. I shall be able to manage
what I have to do alone.”
“You think I shall be in the way, Corporal?” laughed the other.
“I did not say so,” answered Bracknell, “though of course it is the
simple truth that when one has a knotty thing to solve, solitude and
quiet are sometimes helpful.”
He went out and walked quickly from the house until he reached the
by-path where he had made his startling discovery of the night before.
As soon as he turned into it, his pace slowed, and he walked with his
eyes fixed upon the ground. There were many footmarks in the snow, the
most of them stale, as was shown by the powdery snow which had drifted
into them. He recognized his own tracks of the night before, going and
coming from the point at which he had found Koona Dick, and there were
others apparently made about the same time, but those which arrested
his eyes as he turned from the main road were a pair of freshly-made
well-marked tracks, too small to have been made by the feet of men. He
nodded to himself as he saw them, and began to follow them eagerly.
After a couple of minutes walking, he was a little surprised to find
that the double trail that he was following, turned from the path
into the shadow of the trees. It was still almost dark here, but
as he stooped over the tracks, he became aware of the fact which
seemed to him to be full of significance. There was a third pair of
footprints, not so recently made as the others, as the powdering of
snow in them showed, and the tracks that he was trailing apparently
followed them. He stooped and with his hand made a rough measure of
the stale tracks, and of one set of the fresh ones, with which they
seemed almost identical. They were the same size, and about the two
sets of impressions were little individual characteristics which were
immediately discernible to the trained eyes.
“Following her own tracks,” he muttered softly to himself. “Now, I
wonder why?”
He could do no more than guess, and as that was not a very profitable
occupation he continued his search. The trail that he was following
went but a little way into the forest, and then turned outward towards
the path again, and presently reached a point at which he came abruptly
to a standstill.
Under a giant spruce, the lower boughs of which had been cut away at
some time or another, was a medley of tracks, which called for detailed
examination. He stood regarding them for a moment, and then he looked
around him. As he did so he saw that the trail, which he was following,
moved forward from the huddle of tracks by which he had paused, and
that they led into an open lane in the trees. He looked again, took
a step or two forward, and then whistled slowly to himself. He was
looking at the place where the body of Koona Dick had lain. The stained
snow was hidden by freshly drifted snow, the impress of the body
however was still visible, and standing near it, Corporal Bracknell
looked back. There was a clear line of vision from the place where the
fallen man had lain to the great spruce in the shadow of which was that
huddle of tracks. He went back to the spruce, bent over the trampled
snow for a little time, and then standing upright looked towards the
path. Then he nodded his head.
“She stood just here,” he murmured thoughtfully. “There’s the mark of
her rifle-stock in the snow, and those deeper tracks show that she
stood waiting a little time. Then when Koona Dick came, she--But did
she?”
As he broke off and asked himself the question he remembered Joy
Gargrave’s face as he had first seen it when he entered the dining
room at the lodge. It had not looked like the face of a girl who had
quite recently shot a man, and though he recalled it with that look of
terror which it had worn when he had first seen it, and again with that
troubled look in the eyes when he had explained that Koona Dick was the
criminal that he sought, he felt that his reasoning and his reading of
the trail must somehow be at fault.
He stood considering the matter for a minute or two, glancing now and
again to the place where Koona Dick had lain, and the frown which had
came upon his face deepened. Then he recalled the note which he had
picked up on the previous night and the frown lightened a little.
“Of course!” he whispered to himself, “she discovered its loss and came
out here to look for it.”
But had she shot the man whom he had hoped to make his prisoner, the
man who unquestionably had written that note to her? He could not
decide, and as it was too cold to stand still for long together, he
began to walk in a rather wide circle round the scene of the tragedy.
Then he made a fresh discovery. On the other side of the path he found
other footprints in the snow, and, following the track, reached a
point where the person who had made them had quite evidently come to a
standstill behind a clump of bushes. Corporal Bracknell looked through
the screen of small branches, and once more found himself in full view
of the place where Koona Dick had fallen.
The frown on his face deepened once more. He carefully examined the
footmarks behind the bushes, and decided that they were at least some
hours old. Probably they had been made the night before, and it was at
least possible that the individual who had made them had witnessed the
tragedy which had taken place.
He began to follow the footmarks from the point at which they left the
bushes, and had gone but a little way when he found that the trail was
crossed by another almost at right angles, a trail much more deeply
marked and the first sight of which told him that either the person who
had made it was of very heavy build, or had been bearing a considerable
burden.
Perplexed beyond measure he stared at this new trail, then he looked
round. The tall spruce alone met his eye. The profound silence of the
primeval North was over all. There was no sound of life anywhere.
“And yet,” he murmured to himself, “there were quite a lot of people
here last night. What were they all doing?”
Scarcely had the words slipped from him when he heard some one cough
in the shadow of the wood, a little to the left of him. At once
his bearing became alert. Moving silently from tree to tree in the
direction from which the sound had come, he reached a point which gave
him a view of an open glade. In the middle of the glade a girl was
standing looking down at the snow. He recognized her instantly. It was
his hostess, Joy Gargrave.
A minute or two passed and then the girl began to move down the glade
quickly. He waited until she was out of sight, and himself walked to
the middle of the glade where Joy had stood looking down at the snow.
Instantly he saw what had held her eyes. A dog team had been halted
there. The marks of the runners were visible in the snow, even the
places where the dogs had waited, half-filled with new snow, were
quite clear. His practised eyes read the signs without trouble. The
team had entered the glade, had apparently waited there a little
time, and then had turned and departed in the direction followed by
his hostess. Impulsively, he turned to follow also, but as he did so,
caught sight of footmarks debouching from the trees in a direct line
to the place where the sled had been halted. They were deeply marked,
and as he recognized instantly were the same as those which he had been
following, when the sound of the cough had attracted his attention. The
person who had made them had followed a devious path, making for the
glade.
He frowned to himself. The mystery was growing deeper. But as no
solution of the affair offered itself to his mind, after a little delay
he began to follow the sled tracks down the glade, noting that side by
side with them, were the fresh tracks made by Joy Gargrave’s moccasined
feet.
The glade led out into the main road from the river to the house, and
the sled-tracks turned towards the river, and then were lost in the
hard-packed snow of the road. But as the sled had manifestly turned in
the direction of the river, Corporal Bracknell also turned that way,
walking quickly and keeping a sharp look-out on either hand for any
indication of the sled having turned aside.
To or three minutes’ quick walking brought him in sight of the frozen
river, and at the top of the bank, seated on a fallen tree, he
perceived Joy Gargrave.
Her back was towards him, and her bent head and hunched-up shoulders
were eloquent of dejection. He moved towards her quietly, and as he
drew nearer a flutter of white caught his eye. It was the corner of a
handkerchief which the girl was holding to her face, and apparently she
was crying. A quick sympathy moved him as he stepped up to her, the
snow deadening his steps.
“Miss Gargrave, you are in trouble. I wonder if I can be of any
assistance?”
Startled by the sound of his voice, the girl looked up, and for one
fleeting moment he had a vision of the beautiful face, tear-stained,
and of the blue eyes full of trouble. Then the face was hidden in the
handkerchief again, and a succession of sobs was the only answer
vouchsafed to him. He stood for a little while in silence, looking down
at the shaking shoulders. His own eyes filled with sympathetic concern,
then he spoke again.
“Please, Miss Gargrave. Let me help. I am sure your trouble is very
grave.”
At that she looked up again, her face expressive of deep misery.
“I am in deepest trouble,” she said brokenly, “I do not think that you
or any one else can be of help to me.”
“Tell me,” he urged. “At least let me try.”
She sat for a moment in thought, her eyes veiled by the long lashes,
then she lifted her head and looked at him as if she would measure his
quality. Then she broke, out impulsively.
“Yes,” she cried, “I will trust you, I will tell you all. Perhaps you
can help me, at least you can give me advice.”
“Then let us walk,” he said quickly. “You will freeze if you sit there
long.”
He offered her his hand, and as she took it, their eyes met, and in the
corporal’s there flashed a new light, and as he turned and fell into
step at her side his heart was beating tumultuously, and his blood was
running as if heated with a generous wine.