Rock laughed heartily. "Don't let Colonel Cavendish hear you," he cautioned. "Seriously now, he'd let Pierce go if he could; he told me so. He'll undoubtedly allow him the freedom of the Barracks, so he'll really be on parole until his trial."
"Trial? You goin' try him again?" The woodsman could make little of the affair. "If you try him two tam, dose crook is mak' t'ief of Pierce for sure. One trial is plenty. I s'pose mebbe I better kill dem feller off an' settle dis t'ing."
"Don't talk like that," Rock told him. "I'm not saying they don't need killing, but—nobody gets away with that stuff nowadays."
"No?" 'Poleon was interested and a trifle defiant. "For why? You never catch me, M'sieu'. Nobody is able for doin' dat. I'm good traveler."
Rock eyed the stalwart speaker meditatively. "I'd hate to take your trail, that's a fact, but I'd have to do it. However, that would be a poor way to help Pierce. If he's really innocent, Courteau will have a hard job to convict him. I suggest that you let matters rest as they are for a day or so. We'll treat the kid all right."
On the way to her room Rouletta met the Countess Courteau, and in a few words made known the facts of Pierce's arrest. The elder woman listened in astonishment.
"Arrested? For theft? Absurd! Who made the charge?"
"Count Courteau."
"COURTEAU? Where did he get a thousand dollars?" The speaker's face was set in an expression of utter incredulity.
"I don't know. It's all too wretched, too terrible—" Rouletta's voice broke; she hid her face in her hands. For a moment there was silence; then the elder woman exclaimed, harshly, peremptorily: