Hervey and Prudence moved away and pa.s.sed down the trail. Neche reluctantly left his bone--having satisfied himself in a comprehensive survey that no canine interloper was about who could steal his treasure during his absence--and followed them. He walked beside the girl without any sign of pleasure. He was a dog that seemed to find no joy in his master's or mistress's company. He seemed to have no affection in him, and lived a life of mute protest.

Hervey did not speak for a few minutes. It was Prudence who broke the silence.

"I suppose it is something to do with Leslie's death that you want to talk to me about. I wondered what your object was when you questioned me so closely upon his dying words. Have you discovered a fresh clue?"

"Something more than a fresh clue." Hervey had relapsed into his old moroseness.

"Ah!" The girl's face lit with an almost painful eagerness. For a moment her own immediate troubles were forgotten. A wild feeling surged up in her heart which set the blood tingling in her veins, and she waited almost breathlessly for her brother's next words.

Hervey displayed no haste. Rather he seemed as though he would gain time.

"That message or advertis.e.m.e.nt in the paper. Did you ever attempt to fathom its meaning? It was something of a puzzle."

Prudence gazed up at the dark face beside her. Hervey was looking down upon the dusty trail. His look was one of profound thought. In reality he was calculating certain chances.

"I tried, but failed dismally. To me it conveyed nothing beyond the fact that its author shot Leslie."

"Just so. But before I tell you what I have discovered you must understand the argument. That line contained a message, a message so significant that once read with understanding the mystery of Grey's death became one that a child might solve."

"Yes--yes. But the reading of it," Prudence exclaimed impatiently.

"It is intelligible to me."

"And----"

It was a different girl to the one we have hitherto seen who awaited the man's next words. The old, gentle calmness, the patient, even disposition had given place to a world of vengeful thought. There was a look in those usually soft brown eyes which bore a strange resemblance to her brother's. A moment had arrived in her life when circ.u.mstances aroused that other side of her character of which, perhaps, even she had been ignorant. She learned now of her own capacity for hatred and revenge. Some preliminary warnings of these latent pa.s.sions had been given when Grey had died, but the moment had pa.s.sed without full realization. Now she felt the ruthless sway of a wave of pa.s.sionate hatred which seemed to rise from somewhere in her heart and creep over her faculties, locking her in an embrace in which she felt her good motives and love being crushed out of all recognition. There could be no doubt as to the resemblance between these two people in that one touch of nature. Hervey was a long time in answering. He had not only to tell her of his discovery, but there were his personal interests to consider. He wished to re-a.s.sure himself of his own advantage.

"See here, Prue, what are you offering--or rather, is mother offering--to that detective chap if he discovers the murderer of Grey?

Let us quite understand one another. I don't intend to part with my discovery for nothing. I want money as badly as anybody can want it.

For a consideration I'll tell you, and prove to you, who murdered your man. Provided, of course, the consideration is sufficiently large.

Otherwise I say nothing."

For a moment Prudence looked up from beneath her sun-bonnet into her brother's face. The scorn in her look was withering. She had long since learned the selfish nature of this man, but she had not realized the full depths to which he had sunk until now. He would sell his information. And the thought scorched her brain with its dreadful significance.

"How much will buy you?" she asked at last. And words fail to express the contempt she conveyed in her tone.

Hervey laughed in a hollow fashion.

"You don't put it nicely," he said. "Ah, how much will buy me?" he added thoughtfully.

"When a man chooses the methods of Judas it seems to me there need be no picking or choosing of words. What do you want? How much?"

His answer came swiftly. He spoke eagerly, and his tone was quite different from that which his companion was used to. It was as if some deep note in his more obscure nature had been struck, and was now making itself heard above the raucous jangling of discord by which his life was torn. His words were almost pa.s.sionate, and there was a ring of truth in them which was astonishing, coming from such a man.

"Look here, Prue, I want to get away from here. I want to get out upon the world again, alone, to make my life what I choose. I can't stand this place; the quiet surroundings; the people with whom I come in contact. It isn't living; it's existence, and a h.e.l.lish one at that. Look around; prairie--nothing but prairie. In the winter, snow, endless snow; in the summer, the brown, scorched prairie. The round of unrelieved, monotonous labour. Farming; can mind of man conceive a life more deadly? No--no! I want to get away from it all; back to the life in which I was my own master, unfettered by duties and distasteful labours for which I am responsible to others. From the beginning my life has been a failure.

But that was not originally my fault. I worked hard, and my ideals were sound and good. Then I met with misfortune. My life was my own to make or mar after that; what I chose to do with it was my own concern. But here I do not live. I want the means to get away; to make a fresh start in different surroundings. Sooner or later I must go, or I shall become a raving maniac. You can help me in this, even as I can help you in the cause in which you are now spending and wasting a lot of money. Get mother to give me fifteen thousand dollars, not only as the price of my information, but also to help me, as your brother, to make another start. I am not wanted here, neither do I want to remain."

He ceased speaking. The truth had died out of his tone when he mentioned the money, and his words were the specious wheedling of one who knows the generous kindliness of those with whom he is dealing.

But Prudence gave no heed to anything but that which found an answering chord in the pa.s.sionate emotion which swayed her. Hervey's appeal to get away drew from her some slight proportion of sympathetic understanding, but her main feeling was a desire to learn the truth which he had discovered.

"Yes, yes; but the clue--discovery."

"First, the money. First, you must show me that you will do this thing for me."

"I can only answer for myself. I can promise nothing in mother's name."

"Yes, but for yourself. You have an interest in the farm."

"Yes, I will give you all I have--all--all--if you can prove to me, and in a court of law, who was the man who shot Leslie Grey. I have saved nearly everything I have made out of creamery. It is not as large a sum as you require, but I can raise the rest from mother. You shall have all you ask if you can tell me this thing. But bear this in mind, Hervey, you will have to prove your words. I give you my word of honour that the money will be forthcoming when you have accomplished this thing."

Prudence spoke earnestly. But there was caution in what she said. She did not trust her brother. And though she was ready to pay almost anything for the accomplishment of her purpose, she was not going to allow herself to be tricked.

Hervey didn't like these stipulations. He had calculated to extort a price for his information only. The proving of his charge was a matter which would entail time and trouble, and something else which he did not care to contemplate; besides, he wanted to get away. His recollection of his recent interview with Iredale was still with him.

And he remembered well the rancher's att.i.tude. It struck him that George Iredale would fight hard to prove his innocence. He wondered uncomfortably if he could establish it. No, he must make a better bargain than the girl offered.

"See here, Prue, this is a matter of business. There is no sentiment in it as far as I am concerned. Your conditions are too hard. You pay me half the money down when I give you the story. You can pay the rest when I have carried out your further conditions. It is only fair.

Establishing a case in the law courts is a thing that takes time. And, besides, I have known guilty people to get off before now. I can convince you of the truth of my case. A jury is different."

Prudence thought for a moment. They were already within earshot of the thresher. And the droning of the machine and the jerky spluttering of the traction engine sounded pleasantly in the sultry atmosphere. The dog hobbled lazily at her heels, nor did he show the least sign of interest in his surroundings. The wagons loaded with bountiful sheaves were drawing up to the thresher from half-a-dozen directions, whilst those already emptied were departing for fresh supplies. Everywhere was a wondrous peace; only in those two hearts was an ocean of unrest.

"Very well. If you can convince me, it shall be as you say. You shall have the money. The rest shall remain until after the jury's verdict.

I am not prepared to give you the money I have saved for any tale you choose to concoct. Now let me have your story. You have shown me too much of your sordid craving to make me a ready believer."

"You will believe me before I have finished, Prue," the man retorted, with a bitter laugh. "You will find corroboration for what I have to tell in your own knowledge of certain facts."

"So much the better for you. Go on."

In spite of her cautious words Prudence waited with nerves tingling and with rapidly beating heart for her brother's story. She did not know herself. She did not understand the feelings which swayed her.

Hervey had an easier task than either of them believed. Of late she had dwelt so long--so intently--upon the matter under discussion that she was ready to believe almost anything which offered a solution to the ghastly mystery. But she did not know this. Hervey told his story with all the cunning of a man who appreciates the results which attach to the effect of his words. He lost no detail which could further his ends.

"Grey, on his deathbed, alluded to the notice in the paper. He did so in answer to your question as to who had shot him?"

"Yes."

"He was perfectly conscious?"

"Yes."

"Some time before he died you and he had discussed this notice, and he told you he was meditating a coup in which that notice had afforded him his princ.i.p.al clue." The girl nodded, and Hervey went on. "Grey was a Customs officer. All his works centred round contraband. No other work came into his sphere of operations. Very well, the clue which that notice afforded had to do with some illicit traffic. The question is, What was the nature of that traffic? Here is the obvious solution. 'Yellow booming.' What traffic is known by such a t.i.tle as 'Yellow' in this country? There is only one. Traffic in Chinese! The smuggling of Chinese across the border. And this traffic was booming.

Operations were being successfully carried out. Where? The rest is easy. Somewhere in Grey's district. 'Slump in Grey' could only mean, under the circ.u.mstances, that Grey's supervision was avoided; that the work was carried out in spite of him. You know--everybody knows that Chinese are smuggled into Canada at many points along the border, and that opium is brought in at the same time. Thus the poll tax and the opium tax are avoided by men who make a living out of this traffic.

The profit is worth the risk. There is a fortune in smuggling opium.

The authorities are endeavouring to put it down. It is well known that our cities are swarming with Chinese for whom no poll tax has been paid. And yet the legitimate importation of opium does not increase.

Rather has it decreased in consequence of the prohibitive tax imposed upon it. Still, these Chinese must have their opium. This then was the coup poor Grey meditated. He had discovered a hotbed of opium smuggling. If he succeeded in rounding the smugglers up, it meant a great deal to his future prospects. Is that all plain?"

"Yes, yes; go on."

The girl's eyes were gleaming strangely. She followed every word her brother said with an intentness which boded well for the result of his efforts. The careful array of arguments was speciously detailed. Now she waited for what was still to come without any attempt at concealing her impatience. For the time everything was forgotten while she learned of the murderer of her first love. The peaceful scene about her was set before eyes which no longer gazed with intelligence upon their surroundings. She was back in the farm parlour listening to Leslie's story of his hopes--his aspirations. Every detail of that evening was brought vividly back to her memory. She remembered, too, that that was the night on which Hervey had returned. There was a significance in the thought that was not lost upon her.

Hervey had come to a stand, and Prudence placed herself before him.