At last from one corner of the pocket, I drew forth a number of closely written pages, evidently the Governor's instruction. They were traced in so fine a hand that I was obliged to return beside the fire to decipher their contents. They were written in detail, largely concerned with matters of routine, especially referring to relations with the garrison of the fort, and Cassion's authority over De Baugis, but the closing paragraph had evidently been added later, and had personal interest. It read: "Use your discretion as to De Artigny, but violence will hardly be safe; he is thought too well of by La Salle, and that fox may get Louis' ear again. We had best be cautious. Chevet, however, has no friends, and, I am told, possesses a list of the La Chesnayne property, and other documents which had best be destroyed. Do not fail in this, nor fear results. We have gone too far to hesitate now." I took this page, and thrust it into my breast. It was not much, and yet it might prove the one needed link. I ran through the packet of letters, but they apparently had no bearing on the case. Several were from women; others from officers, mere gossipy epistles of camp and field. Only one was from La Barre, and that contained nothing of importance, except the writer urged Cassion to postpone marriage until his return from the West, adding, "there is no suspicion, and I can easily keep things quiet until then." Assured that I had overlooked nothing, I thrust the various articles back, restrapped the bag, and returned to the outer room. As I paused before the fire, someone rapped at the door. I stood erect, my fingers gripping the pistol which I still retained. Again the raps sounded, clearly enough defined in the night, yet not violent, or threatening. "Who is there?" I asked. "Your husband, my dear--Francois Cassion." "But why do you come? It was the pledge of De Baugis that I was to be left here alone." "A fair pledge enough, although I was not consulted. From the look of your eyes little difference if I had been. You are as sweet in disposition as ever, my dear; yet never mind that--we'll soon settle our case now, I warrant you. Meanwhile I am content to wait until my time comes. 'Tis not you I seek tonight, but my dressing case." "Your dressing case?" "Ay, you know it well, a brown leather bag I bore with me during our journey." "And where is it, Monsieur?" "Beneath the bunk in the sleeping room. Pass it out to me, and I will ask no more." "'Twill be safer if you keep your word," I said quietly, "for I still carry Hugo Chevet's pistol, and know how to use it. Draw away from the door, Monsieur, and I will thrust out the bag." I lowered the bar, opening the door barely wide enough to permit the bag's passage. The light from the fire gleamed on the barrel of the pistol held in my hand. It was the work of an instant, and I saw nothing of Cassion, but, as the door closed, he laughed scornfully.