The trader was silent a moment, thinking.
"Not a great deal, come to think of it," he said, before his hesitation had become pronounced. "A tight-mouthed lad, Oliver, when it came to his own affairs. He hails from Ottawa and was sent out by the president of the Arctic Trading Company. Brought a letter from the big chief telling me to make a trader out of him, if possible. Evidently his people have money or influence. Perhaps there's some politics in it. I don't really know, old bean."
"Hadn't been in any jam down below, had he?"
"Oh, rather not—not that sort at all. May have seen a bit of Montreal or Quebec and perhaps had crossed the home bridge to Hull, where it's a trifle damp, you know, but nothing serious, I'm certain. The big chief never would have sent me a blighter."
The sergeant asked for the victim's next of kin and who should be notified.
"Oliver never spoke of his family," answered the factor. "Had a picture or two on the packing box he used for a bureau, but we never discussed them. Said to notify the head office if anything went wrong with him. Dear eyes, the lad was peculiar in some ways. You'd think——"
The sergeant's interest seemed not to lie in the trader's thoughts. He had two inquests on his hands, to say nothing of the capture of Avic of the foxes. For the moment forgotten was the fact that he had promised Constable La Marr this detail. Moreover, there remained that suspicion, born from his own narrow escape from the Ugiuk-line, that there was more behind the murder than appeared on the surface. He led the way from the hut; waited until La Marr had affixed another police seal on the door, then moved ahead into the main trail, a sled-wide path which camp traffic kept beaten down between the banks of snow.
A shout from down-trail startled them. From out of the increasing dusk, bells jangling, bushed tails waving like banners, dashed a dog team dragging a light sled. Wondering, they flattened against the snow to give gangway. The arrival of a strange team at that time of year was an event.
The sled was braked to a halt a few yards down the trail. A tall driver, slim despite an envelopment of furs, sprang from the basket and waited for them to come up.
"I thought I recognized a uniform in passing—and I need direction."