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Page 12
Keith drew a deep breath to quiet the violent beating of his heart. In
spite of all his courage he felt upon him the clutch of a cold and
foreboding hand, a hand that seemed struggling to drag him back. And
again he heard Conniston's dying voice whispering to him, "REMEMBER,
OLD CHAP, YOU WIN OR LOSE THE MOMENT MCDOWELL FIRST SETS HIS EYES ON
YOU!"
Was Conniston right?
Win or lose, he would play the game as the Englishman would have played
it. Squaring his shoulders he entered to face McDowell, the cleverest
man-hunter in the Northwest.
V
Keith's first vision, as he entered the office of the Inspector of
Police, was not of McDowell, but of a girl. She sat directly facing him
as he advanced through the door, the light from a window throwing into
strong relief her face and hair. The effect was unusual. She was
strikingly handsome. The sun, giving to the room a soft radiance, lit
up her hair with shimmering gold; her eyes, Keith saw, were a clear and
wonderful gray--and they stared at him as he entered, while the poise
of her body and the tenseness of her face gave evidence of sudden and
unusual emotion. These things Keith observed in a flash; then he turned
toward McDowell.
The Inspector sat behind a table covered with maps and papers, and
instantly Keith was conscious of the penetrating inquisition of his
gaze. He felt, for an instant, the disquieting tremor of the criminal.
Then he met McDowell's eyes squarely. They were, as Conniston had
warned him, eyes that could see through boiler-plate. Of an indefinable
color and deep set behind shaggy, gray eyebrows, they pierced him
through at the first glance. Keith took in the carefully waxed gray
mustaches, the close-cropped gray hair, the rigidly set muscles of the
man's face, and saluted.
He felt creeping over him a slow chill. There was no greeting in that
iron-like countenance, for full a quarter-minute no sign of
recognition. And then, as the sun had played in the girl's hair, a new
emotion passed over McDowell's face, and Keith saw for the first time
the man whom Derwent Conniston had known as a friend as well as a
superior. He rose from his chair, and leaning over the table said in a
voice in which were mingled both amazement and pleasure:
"We were just talking about the devil--and here you are, sir!
Conniston, how are you?"
For a few moments Keith did not see. HE HAD WON! The blood pounded
through his heart so violently that it confused his vision and his
senses. He felt the grip of McDowell's hand; he heard his voice; a
vision swam before his eyes--and it was the vision of Derwent
Conniston's triumphant face. He was standing erect, his head was up, he
was meeting McDowell shoulder to shoulder, even smiling, but in that
swift surge of exultation he did not know. McDowell, still gripping his
hand and with his other hand on his arm, was wheeling him about, and he
found the girl on her feet, staring at him as if he had newly risen
from the dead.
McDowell's military voice was snapping vibrantly, "Conniston, meet Miss
Miriam Kirkstone, daughter of Judge Kirkstone!"
He bowed and held for a moment in his own the hand of the girl whose
father he had killed. It was lifeless and cold. Her lips moved, merely
speaking his name. His own were mute. McDowell was saying something
about the glory of the service and the sovereignty of the law. And
then, breaking in like the beat of a drum on the introduction, his
voice demanded, "Conniston--DID YOU GET YOUR MAN?"
The question brought Keith to his senses. He inclined his head slightly
and said, "I beg to report that John Keith is dead, sir."
He saw Miriam Kirkstone give a visible start, as if his words had
carried a stab. She was apparently making a strong effort to hide her
agitation as she turned swiftly away from him, speaking to McDowell.
"You have been very kind, Inspector McDowell. I hope very soon to have
the pleasure of talking with Mr. Conniston--about--John Keith."
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