“Premonition!” said De Launay, doubtfully. “Still—from Morgan la fée, even a premonition——” 139
The shrouding mask was turned upon him with an effect of question as he paused.
“Is entitled to respectful consideration,” he ended. He sat thoughtfully a minute, his throbbing head making mental action difficult. “I see no hope of tracing the man—but one. Have you that bullet, mademoiselle?”
She took it out of the hand bag, shivering a little as she handed it to him.
“It is common—a thirty caliber, such as most hunters use. Yet it is all the clew you possess. As for the mine, there seems to be only one hope, which is, to retrace as closely as possible, the route taken by your father before he was shot. May I keep this?”
She nodded her assent, and he put it in his pocket. Solange was relieved to be rid of it.
“And now,” he added, “I must get out of here.” 140