was
mightier than the majesty of the Law, and he had TRIED to miss the
bull's-eye--because of his love for the wife of St. Pierre Boulain. Now
he shot squarely for it, and the bell rang in his brain. Two times two
again made four. Facts assembled themselves like arguments in flesh and
blood. Those facts would have convinced Superintendent McVane, and they
now convinced David. He had set out to get Black Roger Audemard, alive
or dead. And Black Roger, wholesale murderer, a monster who had painted
the blackest page of crime known in the history of Canadian law, was
closely and vitally associated with Marie-Anne and St. Pierre Boulain!

The thing was a shock, but Carrigan no longer tried to evade the point.
His business was no longer with a man supposed to be a thousand or
fifteen hundred miles farther north. It was with Marie-Anne, St.
Pierre, and Andre, the Broken Man. And also with Concombre Bateese.

He smiled a little grimly as he thought of his approaching battle with
the half-breed. St. Pierre would be astounded at the proposition he had
in store for him. But he was sure that St. Pierre would accept. And
then, if he won the fight with Bateese--

The smile faded from his lips. His face grew older as he looked slowly
about the bateau cabin, with its sweet and lingering whispers of a
woman's presence. It was a part of her. It breathed of her fragrance
and her beauty; it seemed to be waiting for her, crying softly for her
return. Yet once had there been another woman even lovelier than the
wife of St. Pierre. He had not hesitated then. Without great effort he
had triumphed over the loveliness of Carmin Fanchet and had sent her
brother to the hangman. And now, as he recalled those days, the truth
came to him that even in the darkest hour Carmin Fanchet had made not
the slightest effort to buy him off with her beauty. She had not tried
to lure him. She had fought proudly and defiantly. And had Marie-Anne
done that? His fingers clenched slowly, and a thickening came in his
throat. Would she tell St. Pierre of the many hours they had spent
together? Would she confess to him the secret of that precious moment
when she had lain close against his breast, her arms about him, her
face pressed to his? Would she speak to him of secret hours, of warm
flushes that had come to her face, of glowing fires that at times had
burned in her eyes when he had been very near to her? Would she reveal
EVERYTHING to St. Pierre--her husband? H