moments after Keith had finished, he stood with his back to the man who
he thought was Conniston, and his mind was swiftly adding twos and twos
and fours and fours as he looked away into the green valley of the
Saskatchewan. He was the iron man when he turned to Keith again, the
law itself, merciless and potent, by some miracle turned into the form
of human flesh.

"After two and a half years of THAT even a murderer must have seemed
like a saint to you, Conniston. You have done your work splendidly. The
whole story shall go to the Department, and if it doesn't bring you a
commission, I'll resign. But we must continue to regret that John Keith
did not live to be hanged."

"He has paid the price," said Keith dully.

"No, he has not paid the price, not in full. He merely died. It could
have been paid only at the end of a rope. His crime was atrociously
brutal, the culmination of a fiend's desire for revenge. We will wipe
off his name. But I can not wipe away the regret. I would sacrifice a
year of my life if he were in this room with you now. It would be worth
it. God, what a thing for the Service--to have brought John Keith back
to justice after four years!"

He was rubbing his hands and smiling at Keith even as he spoke. His
eyes had taken on a filmy glitter. The law! It stood there, without
heart or soul, coveting the life that had escaped it. A feeling of
revulsion swept over Keith.

A knock came at the door.