He awoke in the grey dawn with Anderton's voice in his ears, and with a powdery snow driving into his eyes.
"What——"
"Ainley's gone. I left one of the Indians to watch—not that I thought there was any very real need—but the beggar slept, and Ainley evidently took the opportunity to bolt."
"Has he taken dogs?" asked Stane quickly.
"No, nor anything else that I can see. He has even left his pocket-book behind with some pages bent over and addressed to you. Here it is! Out of the wood it must be snowing like the very devil, and he can't go far. I'm going after him with Jean Bènard, and I want you to look after Chigmok and these Indians of Ainley's."
"All right, Anderton! But you won't catch Ainley, you know."
"Why not?"
"Because," was the reply given with quiet significance, "I am afraid that Ainley has gone very far indeed."
A light of comprehension came into the policeman's eyes, and he whistled thoughtfully.
"You think——" he began and stopped.