the
silence of the room. A moment later he turned in response to a knock on
his door.

* * * * *

Ten minutes later Steve was seated at the desk in his office. He was in
the company of Major Hervey Garstaing, the Indian Agent. The Corporal,
from Reindeer, was already rolled up in the blankets which were spread
out in the corner of the room. His work had been accomplished. He was
physically weary. And, judging by the sound of his regular breathing,
Nature had claimed her own the moment his head had touched the carefully
folded overcoat which served him for a pillow.

The bare severity of the room was uninviting. There was little display
in the work of the police. Utility and purpose was the keynote of their
lives and at the year's end the tally of work accomplished was the thing
that mattered.

Steve preferred to receive the Indian Agent in his office. Garstaing had
never been an intimate of his. Their relations were official, and just
sufficiently neighbourly for men who lived within two miles of each
other in a country where human companionship was at a premium.

The office table stood between them. The spare chair beyond the desk
always stood ready for a visitor, and Garstaing had accepted it. Steve
had moved the oil lamp on one side, that their view of each other might
be uninterrupted.

They were both smoking, and Garstaing was doing the talking. At all
times Steve preferred that his visitors should do most of the talking.

"I guessed I best come right along," he said, regarding the other
closely. "You see, I'll be handin' out Treaty Money to the darn neches
to-morrow morning. It'll take me best part of the day." He removed the
pipe from his rather wide mouth, and held it poised significantly. "This
thing won't stand keeping. It's--murder. There's two of 'em, I guess.
Traders. Marcel Brand and his partner, Cyrus Allshore. Those are
the names. Can't say I've heard of 'em before. Both of 'em
dead--murdered--up there somewhere around the Unaga country. It's the
Indians or Eskimo, whatever they are, who've done it."

"Yes."

Steve's gaze was directed searchingly at his visitor's good-looking
face. At the moment it almost seemed as if he were regarding the man
rather than his mission. And Garstaing was a somewhat interesting
personality. It should have been a pleasant personality, if looks were
any real indication. Garstaing was distinctly handsome. He was dark, and
his swift-mo