III
“It was not until the patrol down at Amethyst Island waterfront had exhausted every effort to run down the abductors of the young lady and failed that they sent in a report to us. The result was that we didn’t hear of it until after dinner. The preacher was in the camp, seemingly quite confident that his disguise was impenetrable. His surprise when the handcuffs were slipped onto him was good enough to be genuine. Sure enough though when a handkerchief was applied to the paste and talc powder on his cheek bones it disclosed two tiny white scars under either eye in the self-same spots where the Indian had the red gashes, not to mention the false beard which we left on his face for the time being.”
Hammond sat dumbfounded at this recital. Those tiny white scars under each eye! Gildersleeve was the only white man he had ever seen with such peculiar marks. So—so Gildersleeve had really played the part of the camp preacher himself? That much was patent now, and there seemed every circumstantial incident to imply that he was also Ogima Bush, though Hammond could scarcely conceive that any make-up could transform a white man into such a thorough-going savage.
“The rest of the story is likely familiar to you, Mr. Hammond,” the inspector was proceeding. “You know how Stubbs was arraigned in Kam City on a charge of vagrancy, bailed out by friends and immediately disappeared. It is all a mighty queer mix-up that stands in need of thorough investigation, but,” with a wave of the hand and a raising of the brows, “the Mounted force were sent out here to protect property and maintain law and order in case of a strike, and without a shadow of a clue to work on it’s pretty difficult getting on the trail of the principals behind the outrage on Amethyst Island. Now, if you have any additional facts that would be of use to us, or can give us tangible help of any sort in locating Miss Stone, we will certainly be glad to avail ourselves of your assistance.”
Hammond was incensed at the evident duplicity of Gildersleeve. But at the same time he was tired of theorising, and of attempting to unravel the puzzles which Nannabijou Camp confronted him with almost daily since he had first arrived there. So he thrust aside the temptation to enlighten the head of the Mounties on what he knew of the part Gildersleeve must have played.
“I told you I had a theory as to where Miss Stone has been carried off,” he reminded the inspector. “As a matter of fact, I am certain she has been taken up into a hiding-place in the Cup of Nannabijou.”
“What—up above those cliffs on the hill? Why, man, our chaps say there’s no opening in that wall of cliffs and they are unscalable.”
“They are popularly believed to be so,” replied Hammond, “but it is a fact that there are parties who make a headquarters of some sort up there, and they have a secret entrance.”
“Well!” The inspector pursed his moustached mouth in polite skepticism. “You know how they get in and out?”
“Not for certain, but I do know a better and a quicker method.”
“Yes?”
“The air route.”
“H’mph.” The inspector evinced a sudden interest. “Yes, that would be practical for scouring the whole country back of here. But where are you going to get an airplane and an airman?”
“There’s an old scouting single-seater in Kam City in fairly good shape. I happened to see it in the armouries while I was rambling around the city a couple of days before I first came out here. It’s the property of the government. That’s why I came to you; as head of the Mounted Police you could no doubt induce the government authorities to lend us the machine for this purpose.”
“But your airman?”
For answer Hammond threw back the lapel of his coat displaying the airman’s wings which he modestly wore over his left vest-pocket. “I can take care of that part of it,” he suggested. “I saw three years’ hard work in the air overseas, two years of which I put in playing tag with Fritz.”
“Good enough!” Proof that Hammond had been a fighting airman seemed to dissipate the inspector’s last doubt.
“There’ll be no harm in giving this thing a try,” he decided, “and by Jove, we’ll get busy right off. We’ll send you over to Kam City in one of the police motorboats to-morrow morning. I’ll give you a wire to file to Major Lynn at Ottawa, and he’ll get things through for us without unnecessary red tape. But look you, Hammond, when you go up to the Cup you have only instructions to look around, get the lay of the land and come right back here to me. Then we’ll act!”
The inspector glanced at his watch. “Now, by the way,” he suggested, “I’ve some confounded routine to look after that will keep me busy for the best part of a couple of hours. But after tea drop in for an hour or so, old chap, and we’ll have a pipe and talk over the details of this thing.”
Hammond went away highly elated. At last he was to get a real chance to do some active work in ferreting out the mystery of the Nannabijou Limits, and—he fervently hoped—to meet again Josephine Stone, the girl with the high-arched eyebrows, and the woman of his dreams.