He had said nothing. He had let St. Pierre
talk. And now St. Pierre stood there, one of the finest men he had
ever looked upon, as if honestly overcome by a great wonder. And
yet behind that apparent incredulity in his voice and manner David
sensed the deep underflow of another thing. St. Pierre was all
that Marie-Anne had claimed for him, and more. She had given him
assurance of her unlimited confidence that her husband could
adjust any situation in the world, and Carrigan conceded that St.
Pierre measured up splendidly to that particular type of man. The
smile had not left his face; the good humor was still in his eyes.
David smiled back at him coldly. He recognized the cleverness of
the other's play. St. Pierre was a man who would smile like that
even as he fought, and Carrigan loved a smiling fighter, even when
he had to slip steel bracelets over his wrists.
"I am Sergeant Carrigan, of 'N' Division, Royal Northwest Mounted
Police," he said, repeating the formula of the law. "Sit down, St.
Pierre, and I will tell you a few things that have happened. And
then--"
"Non, non, it is not necessary, m'sieu. I have already listened
for an hour, and I do not like to hear a story twice.
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