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Page 11
He remembered an unboarded path from this side of the town, which
entered an inconspicuous little street at the end of which was a barber
shop. It was the barber shop which he must reach first He was glad that
it was early in the day when he came to the street an hour later, for
he would meet few people. The street had changed considerably. Long,
open spaces had filled in with houses, and he wondered if the
anticipated boom of four years ago had come. He smiled grimly as the
humor of the situation struck him. His father and he had staked their
future in accumulating a lot of "outside" property. If the boom had
materialized, that property was "inside" now--and worth a great deal.
Before he reached the barber shop he realized that the dream of the
Prince Albertites had come true. Prosperity had advanced upon them in
mighty leaps. The population of the place had trebled. He was a rich
man! And also, it occurred to him, he was a dead one--or would be when
he reported officially to McDowell. What a merry scrap there would be
among the heirs of John Keith, deceased!
The old shop still clung to its corner, which was valuable as "business
footage" now. But it possessed a new barber. He was alone. Keith gave
his instructions in definite detail and showed him Conniston's
photograph in his identification book. The beard and mustache must be
just so, very smart, decidedly English, and of military neatness, his
hair cut not too short and brushed smoothly back. When the operation
was over, he congratulated the barber and himself. Bronzed to the color
of an Indian by wind and smoke, straight as an arrow, his muscles
swelling with the brute strength of the wilderness, he smiled at
himself in the mirror when he compared the old John Keith with this new
Derwent Conniston! Before he went out he tightened his belt a notch.
Then he headed straight for the barracks of His Majesty's Royal
Northwest Mounted Police.
His way took him up the main street, past the rows of shops that had
been there four years ago, past the Saskatchewan Hotel and the little
Board of Trade building which, like the old barber shop, still hung to
its original perch at the edge of the high bank which ran precipitously
down to the river. And there, as sure as fate, was Percival Clary, the
little English Secretary! But what a different Percy!
He had broadened out and straightened up. He had grown a mustache,
which was immaculately waxed. His trousers were immaculately creased,
his shoes were shining, and he stood before the door of his now
important office resting lightly on a cane. Keith grinned as he
witnessed how prosperity had bolstered up Percival along with the town.
His eyes quested for familiar faces as he went along. Here and there he
saw one, but for the most part he encountered strangers, lively looking
men who were hustling as if they had a mission in hand. Glaring real
estate signs greeted him from every place of prominence, and
automobiles began to hum up and down the main street that stretched
along the river--twenty where there had been one not so long ago.
Keith found himself fighting to keep his eyes straight ahead when he
met a girl or a woman. Never had he believed fully and utterly in the
angelhood of the feminine until now. He passed perhaps a dozen on the
way to barracks, and he was overwhelmed with the desire to stop and
feast his eyes upon each one of them. He had never been a lover of
women; he admired them, he believed them to be the better part of man,
he had worshiped his mother, but his heart had been neither glorified
nor broken by a passion for the opposite sex. Now, to the bottom of his
soul, he worshiped that dozen! Some of them were homely, some of them
were plain, two or three of them were pretty, but to Keith their
present physical qualifications made no difference. They were white
women, and they were glorious, every one of them! The plainest of them
was lovely. He wanted to throw up his hat and shout in sheer joy. Four
years--and now he was back in angel land! For a space he forgot
McDowell.
His head was in a whirl when he came to barracks. Life was good, after
all. It was worth fighting for, and he was bound fight. He went
straight to McDowell's office. A moment after his knock on the door the
Inspector's secretary appeared.
"The Inspector is busy, sir," he said in response to Keith's inquiry.
"I'll tell him--"
"That I am here on a very important matter," advised Keith. "He will
admit me when you tell him that I bring information regarding a certain
John Keith."
The secretary disappeared through an inner door. It seemed not more
than ten seconds before he was back. "The Inspector will see you, sir."
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