Roger Audemard, if
not alive, then dead, and he wanted her to understand how important it
was that he learn more about Andre, the Broken Man.

"He was a fiend, this Roger Audemard," he began. "A devil in man shape,
afterward called 'Black Roger' because of the color of his soul."

Then he went on. He described Hatchet River Post, where the tragedy had
happened; then told of the fight that came about one day between Roger
Audemard and the factor of the post and his two sons. It was an unfair
fight; he conceded that--three to one was cowardly in a fight. But it
could not excuse what happened afterward. Audemard was beaten. He crept
off into the forest, almost dead. Then he came back one stormy night in
the winter with three strange friends. Who the friends were the Police
never learned. There was a fight, but all through the fight Black Roger
Audemard cried out not to kill the factor and his sons. In spite of
that one of the sons was killed. Then the terrible thing happened. The
father and his remaining son were bound hand and foot and fastened in
the ancient dungeon room under the Post building. Then Black Roger set
the building on fire, and stood outside in the storm and laughed like a
madman at the dying shrieks of his victims. It was the season when the
trappers were on their lines, and there were but few people at the
post. The company clerk and one other attempted to interfere, and Black
Roger killed them with his own hands. Five deaths that night--two of
them horrible beyond description!

Resting for a moment, Carrigan went on to tell of the long years of
unavailing search made by the Police after that; how Black Roger was
caught once and killed his captor. Then came the rumor that he was
dead, and rumor grew into official belief, and the Police no longer
hunted for his trails. Then, not long ago, came the discovery that
Black Roger was still living, and he, Dave Carrigan, was after him.

For a time there was silence after he had finished. Then St. Pierre's
wife rose to her feet. "I wonder," she said in a low voice, "what Roger
Audemard's own story might be if he were here to tell it?"

She stepped out from under the awning, and in the full radiance of the
moon he saw the pale beauty of her face and the crowning luster of her
hair.

"Good night!" she whispered.

"Good night!" said David.

He listened until her retreating footsteps died away, and for hours
after that he had no thought of sleep. He had insis