Amazement gripped Alan.  He switched on his light and made his final arrangements for bed.  He had no inclination to spy upon either Mary Standish or Graham’s agent, but he possessed an inborn hatred of fraud and humbug, and what he had seen convinced him that Mary Standish knew more about Rossland than she had allowed him to believe.  She had not lied to him.  She had said nothing at all—­except to restrain him from demanding an apology.  Evidently she had taken advantage of him, but beyond that fact her affairs had nothing to do with his own business in life.  Possibly she and Rossland had quarreled, and now they were making up.  Quite probable, he thought.  Silly of him to think over the matter at all.

So he put out his light again and went to bed.  But he had no great desire to sleep.  It was pleasant to lie there, flat on his back, with the soothing movement of the ship under him, listening to the musical thrum of it.  And it was pleasant to think of the fact that he was going home.  How infernally long those seven months had been, down in the States!  And how he had missed everyone he had ever known—­even his enemies!

He closed his eyes and visualized the home that was still thousands of miles away—­the endless tundras, the blue and purple foothills of the Endicott Mountains, and “Alan’s Range” at the beginning of them.  Spring was breaking up there, and it was warm on the tundras and the southern slopes, and the pussy-willow buds were popping out of their coats like corn from a hopper.

He prayed God the months had been kind to his people—­the people of the range.  It was a long time to be away from them, when one loved them as he did.  He was sure that Tautuk and Amuk Toolik, his two chief herdsmen, would care for things as well as himself.  But much could happen in seven months.  Nawadlook, the little beauty of his distant kingdom, was not looking well when he left.  He was worried about her.  The pneumonia of the previous winters had left its mark.  And Keok, her rival in prettiness!  He smiled in the darkness, wondering how Tautuk’s sometimes hopeless love affair had progressed.  For Keok was a little heart-breaker and had long reveled in Tautuk’s sufferings.  An archangel of iniquity, Alan thought, as he grinned—­but worth any man’s risk of life, if he had but a drop of brown blood in him!  As for his herds, they had undoubtedly fared well.  Ten thousand head was something to be proud of—­

Suddenly he drew in his breath and listened.  Someone was at his door and had paused there.  Twice he had heard footsteps outside, but each time they had passed.  He sat up, and the springs of his berth made a sound under him.  He heard movement then, a swift, running movement—­and he switched on his light.  A moment later he opened the door.  No one was there.  The long corridor was empty.  And then—­a distance away—­he heard the soft opening and closing of another door.

It was then that his eyes saw a white, crumpled object on the floor.  He picked it up and reentered his room.  It was a woman’s handkerchief.  And he had seen it before.  He had admired the pretty laciness of it that evening in the smoking-room.  Rather curious, he thought, that he should now find it at his door.