Leger nodded sympathetically. "That," he said, "isn't, after all, of any particular consequence—and I scarcely think it was quite our fault. Why didn't Sewell send over to Westerhouse?"
"I don't know," said Ingleby. "It doesn't matter now."
"Have you asked yourself how the trooper found his way across the range?"
Ingleby turned round on him suddenly. "What do you mean by that?"
"If you can't find an answer, I think you should ask Sewell. It seems to me you are entitled to know."
Ingleby met his eyes for a moment, and then the blood rushed to his face as he rose. He said nothing, but he saw Sewell leave the fire, and, turning abruptly, he moved on behind him up the little trail to the bakery, though he made no effort to overtake him. It was very dark beneath the pines, and he felt that he must see the man he had believed in. It seemed a very long while before he reached the bakery and, going in quietly, saw Hetty regarding Sewell with a flash of scornful anger in her eyes.
"Oh," she said, "it's perfectly plain to me! The girl tricked you. I knew she would."
Then she started as she saw Ingleby in the doorway, though the flush in her cheeks grew deeper and the little vindictive glow in her eyes plainer still.
"You heard me, Walter? Well, he knows she did. Look at him," she said.
"If you will go away for about five minutes, Hetty, I shall be much obliged to you," said Ingleby quietly. "Mr. Sewell has something to say to me."