“He is ready for you. And Dr. Morely, I want to tell you, I’m sorry. Dammit, I’m sorry. I wish I could have—”
“I understand, sergeant.” The voice was low, strained.
Inspector McKenzie looked sharply at the man before him.
“What have you got to say?” he snapped.
“I had to have that letter.”
“Why?” the inspector barked.
“Haven’t you read it? I gave it to the sergeant.”
“I want your story first. Then I’ll read it.”
“McAndrews and I had quarreled bitterly. He accused me of too friendly relations with a half-breed girl at the Post. The accusation was false. The girl was only grateful for my pulling her through a siege of pneumonia. Some one aroused McAndrews’s suspicions and he was stubborn. Wouldn’t listen to me, or believe me.
“His daughter Alice and I are engaged. She is spending the winter in Quebec, and we were to be married on her return.