area of six hundred and twenty thousand square
miles of wildest North America, extending more than two thousand miles
north of the 70th parallel of latitude, with its farthest limit three
and one-half degrees within the Arctic Circle. To police this area
meant upholding the law in a country fourteen times the size of the
state of Ohio. And Kedsty was the man who had performed this duty as
only one other man had ever succeeded in doing it.

Yet Kedsty, of the five about Kent, was most disturbed. His face was
ash-gray. A number of times Kent had detected a broken note in his
voice. He had seen his hands grip at the arms of the chair he sat in
until the cords stood out on them as if about to burst. He had never
seen Kedsty sweat until now.

Twice the Inspector had wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He was
no longer Minisak--"The Rock"--a name given to him by the Crees. The
armor that no shaft had ever penetrated seemed to have dropped from
him. He had ceased to be Kedsty, the most dreaded inquisitor in the
service. He was nervous, and Kent could see that he was fighting to
repossess himself.

"Of course you know what this means to the Service," he said in a hard,
low voice. "It means--"

"Disgrace," nodded Kent. "I know. It means a black spot on the
otherwise bright escutcheon of N Division. But it can't be helped. I
killed John Barkley. The man you've got in the guard-house, condemned
to be hanged by the neck until he is dead, is innocent. I understand.
It won't be nice for the Service to let it be known that a sergeant in
His Majesty's Royal Mounted is an ordinary murderer, but--"

"Not an ORDINARY murderer," interrupted Kedsty. "As you have described
it, the crime was deliberate--horrible and inexcusable to its last
detail. You were not moved by a sudden passion. You tortured your
victim. It is inconceivable!"

"And yet true," said Kent.

He was looking at the stenographer's slim fingers as they put down his
words and Kedsty's. A bit of sunshine touched her bowed head, and he
observed the red lights in her hair. His eyes swept to O'Connor, and in
that moment the commander of N Division bent over him, so close that
his face almost touched Kent's, and he whispered, in a voice so low
that no one of the other four could hear,

"KENT--YOU LIE!"

"No, it is true," replied Kent.

Kedsty drew back, again wiping the moisture from his forehead.

"I killed Barkley, and I killed him as I planned that he should di