"Not that I know of, Jack. There may be a man named Croisset among our
three hundred workers--you can tell by looking at the pay-roll. There
are fifteen or twenty married men among us and they have families.
Gregson knows more about the girls than I. Anything particular?"
"Just a word I've got for them--if they're here," replied Howland
carelessly. "Are these my quarters?"
"If you like them. When I got hurt we moved up among the men. Brought us
into closer touch with the working end, you know."
"You and Gregson must have been laid up at about the same time," said
the young engineer. "That was a painful wound of Gregson's. I wonder who
the deuce it was who shot him? Funny that a man like Gregson should have
an enemy!"
Thorne sat up with a jerk. There came the rattle of a pan from the
stove, and Howland turned his head in time to see Jackpine staring at
him as though he had exploded a mine under his feet.
"Who shot him?" gasped the senior engineer. "Why--er--didn't Gregson
tell you that it was an accident?"
"Why should he lie, Thorne?"
A faint flush swept into the other's pallid face. For a moment there was
a penetrating glare in his eyes as he looked at Howland. Jackpine still
stood silent and motionless beside the stove.
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