After the arrest of Méduse Smythe, tactfully carried out by Gatineau, Clement sought out Heloise.
On the terrace of the Arabian Nights Hotel at Banff, where the lawns go down in emerald under spruce to meet the shining turquoise waters of the Bow, and the mountains stand about to cup the beauty of the exquisite place, Clement found her.
He walked out amid that divine quiet that the slurring rush of the Bow falls only makes more delicate, and for a moment he was held by the glowing beauty of the place. Then he heard a quiet voice cry with a catch of gladness:
“Clement!”
He turned and went to her as she stood against the miracle of a view, and it was minutes before they realized that, by the rights of things, they should not hold each other like this.
Then she stood away from him, blushing. Her eyes for a moment left his face and for the first time saw his arm.
“Clement!” she cried. “Your arm ... I did that?”
“You—never!” he laughed. “How could you?”
“I did—it was Neuburg?”
“Yes,” he told her. “But how did you guess that?”
“Oh, I’ve been guessing it since Quebec, and now that little detective has let me know. What a little fool I’ve been, Clement. I’m not fit to look after myself.”
“The little lawyer, Hartley Hard, suggested you needed special protection.”
“Hartley Hard.... But what sort of protection would be adequate for a little idiot like me?”
“He seemed to think marriage might meet the case.”
“Oh,” she murmured, blushing again.
“I think it a splendid idea myself. What do you think, Heloise?”
“I—I—I think my opinion of lawyers has improved enormously,” she whispered.
It really was not until the next day that they had a sensible discussion of all that had happened, and even that was inextricably mixed up with the plans of a honeymoon.
THE END