"Do you know Mr. Stannard's object? Our clubmen go for the rocks in summer. His starting now was strange."
Laura lifted her head and her look was proud. She thought she could play up and the fellow must not imagine Stannard had gone to Jimmy's help.
"My father is not a Canadian clubman. He's a famous Alpine mountaineer and can go where others cannot."
"Our boys are pretty smart," said the sergeant, smiling. "But are all Mr. Stannard's party expert mountaineers? Mr. Stevens, for example? And Mr. Frank Dillon?"
"My son," said Mrs. Dillon, who saw the other had talked to the hotel clerk. "Frank knows something about the rocks and belongs to a club that explores the Olympian range. We're Americans."
The sergeant bowed politely, but she resumed: "Mr. Stannard's English, all the lot are tourists and I sure can't see what the Canadian police have to do with their going off to climb your rocks. You're not going to draw strangers to the country if you bother them like that."
"Sometimes the police's duty is awkward," said the sergeant in an apologetic voice.
"The police have not much grounds to inquire about my father's excursion," Laura remarked haughtily. "When he killed the big-horn he did not know he poached on a game reserve, but he paid the fine and it is done with."
The sergeant saw her eyes sparkled and she was not playing a part. She did not know all he knew, and he must not enlighten her.
"Not long since Mr. Stannard went shooting with the pit-light, which is not allowed, and the game-warden was shot."