had called. He went silently down the trail. He had come to the
edge of Churchill when once more he heard the howl of the dog far
back in the forest. He stopped to locate as nearly as he could the
point whence the sound came, for he was certain now that the dog
had not returned with Pierre, but had remained with Jeanne, and
was howling from their camp.

Gregson was awake and sitting on the edge of his bunk when Philip
entered the cabin.

"Where the deuce have you been?" he demanded. "I was just trying
to make up my mind to go out and hunt for you. Stolen--lost--or
something like that?"

"I've been thinking," said Philip, truthfully.

"So have I," said Gregson. "Ever since you came back, wrote that
letter, and went out again--"

"You were asleep," corrected Philip. "I looked at you."

"Perhaps I was--when you looked. But I have a hazy recollection of
you sitting there at the table, writing like a fiend. Anyway, I've
been thinking ever since you went out of the door, and--I'd like
to read that Lord Fitzhugh letter again."

Philip handed him the letter. He was quite sure from his friend's
manner of speaking that he had seen nothing of the handkerchief
and the lace.