Chapter XXIII

“All you little doughboys come and get your chow!” The ringing call of the bugle pierced Bruce Harcourt’s absorption as he left the Samp cabin. Would he find Janice at the office, or would she have gone to luncheon? She had slipped away directly after the Commissioner had pronounced a verdict of accidental shooting. Paxton, immaculately attired, with deep lines of exhaustion about his eyes and an apparent stiffness in every joint, had come in, had announced an afternoon departure. He had offered to take any one who…