Again Stark smiled his faint, quizzical smile, and for the first time Dexter felt a chill of horror seeping through his veins. Of his four enemies, this was the man to be feared: and as he looked into the cool, mocking eyes above him he realized that fate would have been more merciful if Crill or Doucet had been allowed to have his way.
Still refusing to show dismay, however, the corporal met Stark's glance with seeming unconcern. "You four traveling for the north pass?" he asked after a little pause.
"Looking for information?" Stark regarded him curiously for a moment, and silently laughed. "Yes. We're working along northward. Ought to be able to break our way through the snows two or three weeks from now. As long as I'm talking to a dead man there's no harm telling." He nodded amiably, apparently amused. "If you were still a policeman, it would have interested you to know more about me. I run what you might call a touring agency for murderers, and others who have to depart fast to save their necks. This Crill here, for instance—I've guaranteed to run him out of the country." He nodded towards the pink-cheeked outlaw. "I'll put him through safely, and then I'll collect the belt of gold he wears around his fat waist."
Crill stirred uneasily, and shot a lowering glance of suspicion at his smaller companion. Stark showed his teeth in a twisted grin. "It would give me pleasure to see this one hanging," he remarked genially, "but business before pleasure is my motto. Crill is scared all the time that I'm going to knock him off and take his money ahead of time. But I don't really think I shall. Never kill a waddling goose for his belt of gold. If I let Crill live, he'll probably write to his friends from his hiding place abroad, and tell them that I played fair. I'm counting on him to recommend me to new clients. Honesty always pays when you're building up business."
As Dexter listened to the man's cynical remarks, it occurred to him that while the mood of frankness was on he might receive a truthful answer to the question that had dwelt uppermost in his thoughts through the long winter months. "What became of the girl—Miss Rayne?" he asked.
Stark eyed him slantwise for a space, and his face was furrowed for an instant with lines of mocking humor. "Oh, yes," he said, "the only one the three of you succeeded in catching. A girl! And even she got away from you."
"What happened to her?" Dexter persisted in a faint voice.
"We haven't seen her all winter," answered Stark with a shrug of unconcern. "Maybe she got through the storm, and found shelter somewhere. Maybe she didn't. Perhaps she is dead." He laughed unpleasantly. "Crill saw her that afternoon, and like you he's been worrying about her. Wanted to go hunt for her. Rut I wouldn't let him out of my sight. I'm keeping my eyes on that belt of money."
Dexter's stoical mask had left him for a moment, and the intensity of his mental torment was revealed in his drawn features. Stark grinned at him tauntingly. "If she's dead you'll meet her shortly," he remarked; and then he turned abruptly to face his companions.
"As for the three of you," he observed, "you're a bunch of half-wits. Not one of you has brains enough to think ahead of the moment. Suppose this man were left here with a bullet in him or the marks of hobnails on him? Other policemen will be in here as soon as the way is open, and if they found him like that, they'd go after us like a pack of wolves.