perjury on
the face of the earth, perjury committed at a time when you thought you
were dying! You are guilty, Kent. If not of one thing, then of the
other. I am not playing a game. And as for the girl--there is no girl
at my bungalow."

He turned to the door; and Kent made no effort to stop him. Words came
to his lips and died there, and for a space after Kedsty had gone he
stared out into the green forest world beyond his window, seeing
nothing. Inspector Kedsty, quietly and calmly, had spoken words that
sent his hopes crashing in ruin about him. For even if he escaped the
hangman, he was still a criminal--a criminal of the worst sort,
perhaps, next to the man who kills another. If he proved that he had
not killed John Barkley, he would convict himself, at the same time, of
having made solemn oath to a lie on what he supposed was his death-bed.
And for that, a possible twenty years in the Edmonton penitentiary! At
best he could not expect less than ten. Ten years--twenty years--in
prison! That, or hang.

The sweat broke out on his face. He did not curse Kedsty now. His anger
was gone. Kedsty had seen all the time what he, like a fool, had not
thought of. No matter how the Inspector might feel in that deeply
buried heart of his, he could not do otherwise than he was doing. He,
James Kent, who hated a lie above all the things on the earth, was
kin-as-kisew--the blackest liar of all, a man who lied when he was
dying.

And for that lie there was a great punishment. The Law saw with its own
eyes. It was a single-track affair, narrow-visioned, caring nothing for
what was to the right or the left. It would tolerate no excuse which he
might find for himself. He had lied to save a human life, but that life
the Law itself had wanted. So he had both robbed and outraged the Law,
even though a miracle saved him the greatest penalty of all.

The weight of the thing crushed him. It was as if for the first time a
window had opened for him, and he saw what Kedsty had seen. And then,
as the minutes passed, the fighting spirit in him rose again. He was
not of the sort to go under easily. Personal danger had always stirred
him to his greatest depths, and he had never confronted a danger
greater than this he was facing now. It was not a matter of leaping
quickly and on the spur of the moment. For ten years his training had
been that of a hunter of men, and the psychology of the man hunt had
been his strong point. Always, in seeking h