through the window, leaving the desk rifled and carrying
away what money there was, possibly to convey the idea that it was only
a vulgar murder and robbery, after all.

Of other persons who might throw light upon the tragedy the following
were missing: Lieutenant Waring, Private Dawson, the cabman, and the
unrecognized stranger. So, too, was Anatole's boat.

CHAPTER VIII.

When four days and nights had passed away without a word or sign from
Waring, the garrison had come to the conclusion that those officers or
men of Battery "X" who still believed him innocent were idiots. So did
the civil authorities; but those were days when the authorities of
Louisiana commanded less respect from its educated people than did even
the military. The police force, like the State, was undergoing a process
called reconstruction, which might have been impressive in theory, but
was ridiculous in practice. A reward had been offered by business
associates of the deceased for the capture and conviction of the
assassin. A distant relative of old Lascelles had come to take charge of
the place until Monsieur Philippe should arrive. The latter's address
had been found among old Armand's papers, and despatches, _via_ Havana,
had been sent to him, also letters. Pierre d'Hervilly had taken the
weeping widow and little Nin Nin to _bonne maman's_ to stay. Alphonse
and his woolly-pated mother, true to negro superstitions, had decamped.
Nothing would induce them to remain under the roof where foul murder had
been done. "De hahnts" was what they were afraid of. And so the old
white homestead, though surrounded on every side by curiosity-seekers
and prying eyes, was practically deserted. Cram went about his duties
with a heavy heart and light aid. Ferry and Pierce both commanded
sections now, as Doyle remained in close arrest and "Pills the Less" in
close attendance. Something was utterly wrong with the fellow. Mrs.
Doyle had not again ventured to show her red nose within the limits of
the "barx," as she called them, a hint from Braxton having proved
sufficient; but that she was ever scouting the pickets no one could
doubt. Morn, noon, and night she prowled about the neighborhood,
employing the "byes," so she termed such stray sheep in army blue as a
dhrop of Anatole's best would tempt, to carry scrawling notes to Jim,
one of which, falling with its postman by the wayside and turned over by
the guard to Captain Cram for transmittal, was address