ay. It occurred to him that he might confide
in MacGregor, and that the inspector would make an opportunity for him
to return into the north immediately. MacGregor had the power to do
that, and he believed that he would do it. But he hesitated to accept
this last alternative.

And then, all at once. Sergeant Moody's words came back to him--"They've
got track of DeBar again, up near Lac la Biche." The idea that burst
upon him with the recalling of those words stopped Philip suddenly,
and he turned back toward the barracks. He had heard a great deal about
DeBar, the cleverest criminal in all the northland, and whom no man or
combination of men had been clever enough to catch. And now this man was
near Lac la Biche, in the Churchill and Lac Bain country. It he could
get permission from MacGregor to go after DeBar his own difficulty would
be settled in the easiest possible way. The assignment would take him
for a long and indefinite time into the north. It would take him back to
Isobel Becker.

He went immediately to his room upon reaching the barracks, and wrote
out his request to MacGregor. He sent it over to headquarters by a
rookie. After that he waited.

Not until the following morning did Moody bring him a summons to appear
in MacGregor's office. Five minutes later the inspector greeted him
with outstretched hand, gave him a grip that made his fingers snap, and
locked the office door. He was holding Philip's communication when the
young man entered.

"I don't know what to say to this, Steele," he began, seating himself
at his desk and motioning Philip to a chair. "To be frank with you, this
proposition of yours is entirely against my best judgment."

"In other words, you haven't sufficient confidence in me," added Philip.

"No, I don't mean that. There isn't a man on the force in whom I have
greater confidence than you. But, if I was to gamble, I'd wager ten to
one that you'd lose out if I sent you up to take this man DeBar."

"I'll accept that wager--only reverse the odds," said Philip daringly.

The inspector twisted one of his long red mustaches and smiled a little
grimly at the other.

"If I were to follow my own judgment I'd not send one man, but two," he
went on. "I don't mean to underestimate the value of my men when I say
that our friend DeBar, who has evaded us for years, is equal to any two
men I've got. I wouldn't care to go after him myself--alone. I'd
want another hand with me, and a mighty good