They had halted for a moment on the open plateau, standing in knee deep snow; but now Dexter turned with heavy steps and started to break his way forward once more through the drift. Alison at once caught pace with him.
"I hadn't asked you to do anything about it," she reminded him quietly.
Dexter gave no sign of hearing her, but went on in a ruminative voice, following the train of his own thoughts. "I must take you to the fort with me, and lay all our data before the commissioner. What I may feel in my heart, and what the logic of the law decides, are two different matters. I'm still a policeman, Alison, whatever else I may be, and I'm going through straight—clean."
"Listen!" the girl interrupted sharply. She threw up her chin, and there was a compelling quality in her tone that forced him to meet her eyes. "I have asked for only one thing—just blind, honest faith. You have given it to me. Don't spoil it, David, please! I've asked for nothing else."
"I didn't exactly mean it that way," Dexter said unsteadily.
"I hope you didn't," she returned, "because—I know as well as you know that you could never do anything that wasn't absolutely right in your own mind. If you ever failed in a trust you wouldn't be you." She smiled wanly. "And then—things wouldn't matter much one way or another—would they?"
"Don't!" he protested. "Please! Let's not talk like this. Let's try and find the way out somehow."
They were not more than fifty yards from the coppice where the entrance of the bear cave was hidden. If Devreaux were at home a shout would have reached him, but the corporal for the time being had forgotten the existence of his commanding officer, and did not think to announce himself. He trudged along with bent head, weighed in profoundest thought. But at last the scowl cleared from his face, and he looked up intense and eager.
"I'll tell you!" he exclaimed. "Here's what we can do!"
"What?" The girl stared at him, apparently a little frightened by his sudden vehemence.