The room echoed to a rough knock at the door; the latch raised and Edwin Bentham stepped in.
'Seen anything of my wife?' he asked as soon as salutations had been exchanged.
Two heads nodded negatively.
'I saw her tracks down from the cabin,' he continued tentatively, 'and they broke off, just opposite here, on the main trail.' His listeners looked bored.
'And I—I thought—'
'She was here!' thundered Wharton.
The priest silenced him with a look. 'Did you see her tracks leading up to this cabin, my son?' Wily Father Roubeau—he had taken good care to obliterate them as he came up the same path an hour before.
'I didn't stop to look, I—' His eyes rested suspiciously on the door to the other room, then interrogated the priest. The latter shook his head; but the doubt seemed to linger.
Father Roubeau breathed a swift, silent prayer, and rose to his feet. 'If you doubt me, why—' He made as though to open the door.
A priest could not lie. Edwin Bentham had heard this often, and believed it.