“I’d give a year’s growth for a copy of the British peerage or a who’s who,” mused Gregson, flecking the ashes from his cigarette.  “Who the deuce can this Lord Fitzhugh be?  What sort of an Englishman would mix up in a dirty job of this kind?  You might imagine him to be one of the men behind the guns, like Brokaw.  But, by George, he’s working the dirty end of it himself, according to that letter!”

“You’re beginning to use your head already, Greggy,” said Philip, a little more cheerfully.  “I’ve asked myself that question a hundred times during the last three days, and I’m more at sea than ever.  If it had been plain Tom Brown or Bill Jones, the name would not have suggested anything beyond what you have read in the letter.  That’s the question:  Why should a Lord Fitzhugh Lee be mixed up in this affair?”

The two men looked at each other keenly for a few moments in silence.

“It suggests—­” began Gregson.

“What?”

“That there may be a bigger scheme behind this affair than we imagine.  In fact, it suggests to me that the northerners are being stirred up against you and your men for some other and more powerful reason than to make you get out of the country and compel the government to withdraw your license.  So help me God, I believe there’s more behind it!”

“So do I,” said Philip, quietly.

“Have you any suspicions of what might be the more powerful motive?”

“None.  I know that British capital is heavily interested in mineral lands east of the surveyed line.  But there is none at Churchill.  All operations have been carried on from Montreal and Toronto.”

“Have you written to Brokaw about this letter?”

“You are the first to whom I have revealed its contents,” said Philip.  “I have neglected to tell you that Brokaw is so worked up over the affair that he is joining me in the north.  The Hudson’s Bay Company’s ship, which comes over twice a year, touches at Halifax, and if Brokaw followed out his intentions he took passage there.  The ship should be in within a week or ten days.  And, by the way”—­Philip stood up and thrust his hands deep in his pockets as he spoke, half smiling at Gregson—­“it gives me pleasure to hand you a bit of cheerful information along with that,” he added.  “Miss Brokaw is coming with him.  She is very beautiful.”

Gregson held a lighted match until it burnt his finger-tips.

“The deuce you say!  I’ve heard—­”

“Yes, you have heard of her beauty, no doubt.  I am not a special enthusiast in your line, Greggy, but I will confirm your opinion of Miss Brokaw.  You will say that she is the most beautiful girl you have ever seen, and you will want to make heads of her for Burke’s.  I suppose you wonder why she is coming up here?  So do I.”

There was a look of perplexity in Philip’s eyes which Gregson might have noticed if he had not gone to the door to look out into the night.