"After all, the matter's in the hands of the police. You can't dictate the line they ought to take."
Percival, the treasurer, smiled, and Hulton answered with some dryness: "That's true, in a way. But I have some influence, which will be used for all it's worth. Anyhow, I've got to be consulted. If it hadn't been for my agents, the police wouldn't have made much progress yet. However, we'll let this go. It may interest you to know that Daly's gone for good. Read him the night letter, Percival."
It is usual in Canada to allow lengthy telegrams, called night letters, to be sent at a very moderate charge when the lines are disengaged after business hours, and the treasurer picked up a form. The message related the careful search for Daly's body, which had not been found. The snow for some distance on both sides of the river was undisturbed; there was no sign that an injured man had crawled away, and if this were not enough, no stranger had reached any of the scattered ranches where he must have gone for food. Daly would not be found until the ice broke up.
"I expect you're glad the fellow can't be brought to trial," Hulton remarked, looking hard at Foster.
"I am," said Foster quietly.
Hulton made a sign of understanding and there was faint amusement in his eyes.
"Well, you have a good partner. I like Featherstone; he's a live, straight man, and if he had trouble in England, has made good here. But he has his limits; I reckon you'll go further than he will."
"No," said Foster. "I don't think you're right, but if you are, I'll take my partner along with me, or stay behind with him."
"What are you going to do now?" Percival asked.
"Stop at the Crossing and see about starting the mill."