“Lady Alcombe was not the kind of woman to suffer that way,” said Joy slowly. “She had no heart.... But here comes the rain. We shall have to go below.”
Nine days later Joy Gargrave walked across the snow to the headquarters of the Mounted Police at Regina, and asked, to see the Commissioner. He, as it appeared, was absent, and the only official immediately available was an inspector, a pleasant soldier-like man in the early thirties. To him she addressed her question.
“Can you tell me anything as to the whereabouts of Corporal Bracknell?”
The inspector looked up from her card, and flashed a keen glance at her, then shook his head.
“I am sorry, Miss Gargrave. We should be glad of news of Bracknell ourselves. He went on a journey several weeks ago, and a patrol that has come through the district where he was likely to be has heard nothing of him, though a sled was found which was unquestionably his. There were the bones of dogs also, so that things look rather black. The timber-wolves may have got him. Reports from two or three districts state they have been very savage this winter.”
Joy’s face went white, but she kept herself in hand.
“Still I suppose there is a possibility that he may have escaped?”
“A bare possibility,” answered the inspector in a voice that betrayed he had little hope. Then he asked suddenly, “I wonder why you wish to find him, Miss Gargrave?”
Joy flushed at the question which to her seemed to border on impertinence.