"He is dead," Lane told them. "I found him frozen some days ago."
Their surprise was obviously genuine and Lane was quick to notice signs of regret. He imagined that Clarke had been a person of some importance among them.
"Tell them I don't want them any more," he said to Emile, and when the Indians went out turned to Benson. "You had better give me all the information you are able about the man."
Benson told him as much as he thought judicious, after which Lane sat silent for a time. Then he said, "There is no reason to doubt that he came to his death by misadventure. I don't quite understand what led him to visit these fellows, but after all that doesn't count."
"It isn't very plain," Benson agreed. "Is there anything else you wish to know?"
"No," said Lane, looking at him steadily. "You can take it that this inquiry is closed; we'll pull out first thing to-morrow." He beckoned Walthew. "Now we're here, we may as well find out what we can about these fellows and how they live. It will fill up our report, and they like that kind of information at Regina."
When the police had left the tepee Harding turned to his companions with a smile. "Sergeant Lane is a painstaking officer, but his shrewdness has its limits, and there are points he seems to have missed. It would have been wiser not to have let Clarke's coat out of his hands until he had searched it."
"Ah!" said Blake sharply. "You emptied the pockets?"
"I did; I allow my action was hardly justifiable, but I thought it better that the police shouldn't get on the track of matters that haven't much bearing on Clarke's death. I found two things and they're both of interest to us. We'll take this one first."
He drew out a metal flask and when he unstoppered it a pungent smell pervaded the tepee. "Crude petroleum," he explained. "I should imagine the flashpoint is low. I can't say how Clarke got the stuff when the ground's hard frozen, but here it is."