There was no sympathy in his voice. It was the cold, passionless accusation of a man of the law, and the woman bowed her face in her hands. He put on his service cap, tightened his belt, and touched her gently on the arm.
“Do you know where your husband is confined?” he asked. “I will take you there, and you may remain with him to-night.”
She brightened instantly. “Yes,” she said.
“Come!”
They passed through the door, closing it carefully behind them, and the woman led the way to a dark, windowless building a hundred yards from the dead chief's headquarters.
“This is the camp prison,” she whispered.
A man clad in a great bear-skin coat was on guard at the door. In the moonlight he recognized Philip's uniform.
“Here are orders from the inspector,” said Philip, holding out MacGregor's letter. “I am to have charge of the prisoner. Mrs. Thorpe is to spend the night with him.”
A moment later the door was opened and the woman passed in. As he turned away Philip heard a low sobbing cry, a man's startled voice. Then the door swung heavily on its hinges and there was silence.
Five minutes later Philip was bending again over the dead man. A surprising transformation had come over him now. His face was flushed and his strong teeth shone in sneering hatred as he covered the body with a blanket. On the wall hung a pair of overalls and a working-man's heavy coat. These and Hodges' hat he quickly put on in place of his own uniform. Once more he went out into the night.