The description was not very illuminating, and the policeman almost groaned.
“His hair? did you mark the colour?”
“It was like ze bear—what you call brown, ze brown of ze wood-nuts in autumn!”
Brown! Dick Bracknell’s was brown, but then so was the hair of half the Anglo-Saxon race!
As his mind clutched at this fact seeking escape from the awful thought which was taking possession of it, he frowned.
“You know ze mans?” asked the half-breed.
“No!” he cried violently. “No!”
“All ze same,” said Chief Louis stolidly, “that mans he blow up ze trail.”
And from that conclusion, at any rate, Roger Bracknell could find no escape.