"He couldn't count on that—to do the fellow justice, he'd hardly go so far; but there's some truth in what you say."
Benson looked disturbed and irresolute, but after a few moments he abruptly threw his cigar away and leaned forward with a decided air.
"If you'll have me, I'll go with you."
"You're wise," Harding said quietly.
Shortly afterward Benson left them, and Harding turned to Blake.
"Now you had better go along and see if you can learn anything from Clarke about our road. He's a rogue, but that's no reason we shouldn't make him useful. If he can help us, pay him. But be careful what you say. Remember that he was watching you at the hotel in Montreal, and I've a suspicion that he was standing in the shadow near the stairs when Benson talked last night."
Borrowing a saddle, Blake rode over to Clarke's homestead, which had a well-kept, prosperous look. He found its owner in a small room furnished as an office. Files of papers and a large map of the Western Provinces hung on one wall; and Clarke was seated at a handsome American desk. He wore old overalls, and the soil on his boots suggested that he had been engaged in fall plowing.
As Blake entered, Clarke looked up and the light fell on his face. It was deeply lined and of a curious dead color, but, while, it bore a sensual stamp and something in it hinted at cruelty, it was, Blake felt, the face of a clever and determined man.
"Ah!" said Clarke. "You have ridden over for a talk. Glad to see you.
Have a cigar."
Blake took one and explained his errand. Clarke seemed to consider; then he took out a small hand-drawn map and passed it to his visitor.