XXV

Carrigan turned slowly and looked about his room.  There was no other door except one opening into a closet, and but two windows.  Curtains were drawn at these windows, and he raised them.  A grim smile came to his lips when he saw the white bars of tough birch nailed across each of them, outside the glass.  He could see the birch had been freshly stripped of bark and had probably been nailed there that day.  Carmin Fanchet and Black Roger had welcomed him to Chateau Boulain, but they were evidently taking no chances with their prisoner.  And where was Marie-Anne?

The question was insistent, and with it remained that cold grip of something in his heart that had come with the sight of Carmin Fanchet below.  Was it possible that Carmin’s hatred still lived, deadlier than ever, and that with Black Roger she had plotted to bring him here so that her vengeance might be more complete—­and a greater torture to him?  Were they smiling and offering him their hands, even as they knew he was about to die?  And if that was conceivable, what had they done with Marie-Anne?

He looked about the room.  It was singularly bare, in an unusual sort of way, he thought.  There were rich rugs on the floor—­three magnificent black bearskins, and two wolf.  The heads of two bucks and a splendid caribou hung against the walls.  He could see, from marks on the floor, where a bed had stood, but this bed was now replaced by a couch made up comfortably for one inclined to sleep.  The significance of the thing was clear—­nowhere in the room could he lay his hand upon an object that might be used as a weapon!

His eyes again sought the white-birch bars of his prison, and he raised the two windows so that the cool, sweet breath of the forests reached in to him.  It was then that he noticed the mosquito-proof screening nailed outside the bars.  It was rather odd, this thinking of his comfort even as they planned to kill him!

If there was truth to this new suspicion that Black Roger and his mistress were plotting both vengeance and murder, their plans must also involve Marie-Anne.  Suddenly his mind shot back to the raft.  Had Black Roger turned a clever coup by leaving his wife there, while he came on ahead of the bateau with Carmin Fanchet?  It would be several weeks before the raft reached the Yellowknife, and in that time many things might happen.  The thought worried him.  He was not afraid for himself.  Danger, the combating of physical forces, was his business.  His fear was for Marie-Anne.  He had seen enough to know that Black Roger was hopelessly infatuated with Carmin Fanchet.  And several things might happen aboard the raft, planned by agents as black-souled as himself.  If they killed Marie-Anne—­

His hand gripped the knob of the door, and for a moment he was filled with the impulse to shout for Black Roger and face him with what was in his mind.  And as he stood there, every muscle in his body ready to fight, there came to him faintly the sound of music.  He heard the piano first, and then a woman’s voice singing.  Soon a man’s voice joined the woman’s, and he knew it was Black Roger, singing with Carmin Fanchet.