V
Clement Seadon and Xavier Gatineau left Winnipeg by the next west-bound. Gatineau’s throat was a little sore, and Clement’s soul was more than sick at the death of the man who had played a part in his captivity in the gluemaker’s at Quebec; but apart from this they were little the worse for their experience—and little to the good either.
The lank man had fallen into a narrow yard between the houses, and his fall had not been noticed. Gatineau had got to him before anybody else. He had secured all the papers on the poor dead body, and had then seen to it that not only were the police informed, but that the matter was to be kept quiet for the present.
All they had found on the man was a number of letters making it plain that he was Louis Penible, a glue manufacturer of the Sault Algonquin, Quebec. There was also a single telegram signed A. N. bidding him travel at once to Winnipeg, where he would be met by “some one.” This telegram was sent off from North Bay. “Before we caught Joe,” said Gatineau. “It looks as though Neuburg was summoning all his forces to hand rather than anything else.”
The only other piece of paper—the piece that had cost the wretched man his life, the piece Siwash had handed him at the station—was merely a plain sheet containing the address of the rooming house where he had died, and an address, “A. N., c/o Mrs. Wandersun, Sicamous.”
“Beyond telling us that Neuburg has gone on to Sicamous—is not stopping on at Banff—it seems a small thing to have brought about a man’s death,” said Clement.
“It might have been a big thing,” said Gatineau. “It might prove to be a big thing now. Neuburg has one man less, that may be useful to us. It is useful, too, because, so far as we can see, we have the whole gang under our eyes now—two arrested, the steward and Joe, one dead and the rest at Sicamous or traveling to it. We know where we are.”
But they did not know very much. They knew nothing about the whereabouts of Heloise Reys and her evil companion; they had no inkling concerning the plot Neuburg, the master-mind, had devised—save that it was concerned with a great deal of money, and with the luring of the victim into the wilds—just as it had been in Roberts’s case.
They passed across the rolling monotony of the prairies thinking the matter out. They passed through Calgary, a vivid, gold-washed town amid foothills that seemed to cup the sunlight. They heard news of Neuburg and Gunning going on before them, but no other news.
From Calgary they climbed to the fairy ramparts of the Rocky Mountains, austere, snow-cowled, promising immensities and mysteries beyond. They mounted, step by step, the “benches” of the foothills, besides the breathless azure of the shining Bow River. Then abruptly the gate of the mountains was above them, silent, stark, sheer brooding as their train roared through The Gap, and then they were at Banff.
They went by car to the wonderful hotel perched like Aladdin’s palace on a spur amid mighty spurs. It was a peerless place. For the staging of a love scene one might have gone to the ends of the earth and not have found a better setting. The exquisite beauty of the surroundings called to the emotions—and yet Neuburg had rejected this spot and had gone on to Sicamous after but the shortest stay! Why? Clement thought the answer to that unspoken question must be an ominous one.
The Chief had been good at his word. He had sent word along the line, and the C. P. R. people at the hotel were ready for Gatineau. They had a thick bundle of telegrams and reports waiting for him—a bewildering bundle, for it included all Neuburg’s wires to his underlings, Nimmo Bates (that is, Joe Wandersun) at the Place Viger Hotel, Montreal, where (thanks to the cunning of The Chief) he was supposed to be staying with Siwash Mike, and others. It contained the wires Neuburg had received, and it contained reports from The Chief himself, from the agent at Sicamous, and others. A truly awesome mass of paper.
“I think I’ll let you disentangle the story,” grinned Clement. “The very bulk of it frightens me, and I guess you are more used to it than I am.”
“Sure,” smiled Gatineau. “I’ll go through this and knock some sort of connected report out of it. You go an’ try a dip in the swimming pool, Mr. Seadon, an’ leave it to me.” He was running lightly through the duplicates of the telegrams. “Hullo! One moment, Mr. Seadon; here’s one to Méduse Smythe at Winnipeg—that must be to await her coming.”
“What does it say?”
“It tells her to come on here and await orders; it is initialed A. N.”
“Here?” said Clement.
“Yes, sir,” said the hotel manager, who was with them. “Miss Smythe and Miss Heloise Reys are coming to stay here. There is a suite booked for them.”
“And yet Neuburg and Gunning have gone on to Sicamous,” said Clement. “What does that mean? What is behind that move?”