Then he slid over to the side of his bunk, dressed with trembling haste and, hobbling over, began ransacking a crude pine box, containing articles of apparel. Finally, he found the object of his search: a red flannel shirt, which he tore apart.
He crossed the room with the garment under his arm, picked up a hammer by the door and stole outside. He reappeared less than two minutes later, staggering toward his bunk. His expression was pathetic. He made several futile efforts to remove his clothes. In the hollow of his cheeks, over his forehead, along each side of his neck a raging temperature had left its seal.
Twenty minutes later, when Baptiste rose noiselessly and went outside, he started back in amazement. Again his gaze went back, as if fascinated, to the flannel signal, fluttering just above the door. A groan escaped him.
“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!” he choked. “Et ees zee red flag of quarantine!”
CHAPTER II
INSPECTOR CAMERON TAKES CHARGE
The orderly approached Inspector Cameron’s desk and saluted.
“Man here, sir, from up-country. Calls himself Davis. Wants to see you, sir.”
“What about?” snapped the inspector.
“He didn’t say, sir, except that it was something important. Says he knows you.”
“Davis—Davis——” mused Cameron, chewing reflectively on his cigar. “Perhaps I do. Yes—young prospector from up near Garrison. Show him in.”