afternoon and you can start to-night."

Philip rose, and waited.

"Is there nothing more?" he asked, after a moment. "This woman--"

"There is nothing more," interrupted the inspector, still looking out
through the window.

"Only this, Steele--you must bring him back. Whatever happens, bring
back your prisoner."

As he turned to leave, Philip fancied that he caught something else--a
stifled, choking breath, a sound that made him turn his head again as he
went through the door. The inspector had not moved.

"Now what the deuce does this mean?" he asked himself, closing the door
softly behind him. "You're up against something queer this time, Philip
Steele, I'll wager dollars to doughnuts. Promotion for bringing in a
prisoner! What in thunder--"

He stopped for a moment in one of the cleared paths. From the big
low roofed drill enclosure a hundred yards away came the dull thud of
galloping hoofs and the voice of Sergeant Moody thundering instructions
to the rookies. Moody had a heart like flint and would have faced
blazing cannon to perform his duty. He had grown old and ugly in
the service and was as beauty-proof as an ogre of stone. Why hadn't
MacGregor sent him?

Beauty-proof! The words sent a swift rush of thought, of regret, of
the old homesickness and longing through Philip as he returned to his
quarters. He wondered just how much MacGregor knew, and he sat down to
bring up before him for the thousandth time a vision of the two faces
that had played their part in his life--the face of the girl at home,
as beautiful as a Diane de Poitiers, as soulless as a sphinx, who had
offered herself to him in return for his name and millions, and of
that other which he had met away up in the frozen barrens of Lac Bain.
Beauty-proof! He laughed and loaded his pipe. MacGregor had made a good
guess, even though he did not know what had passed that winter before
he came north to seek adventure, or of the fight he had made for another
woman, with Mr. Bucky Nome--deserter!

Chapter VI. Philip Follows A Pretty Face

It was late in the afternoon when Philip's instructions came from the
inspector. They were tersely official in form, gave him all necessary
authority, and ordered him to leave for Le Pas that night. Pinned to the
order was a small slip of paper, and on this MacGregor had repeated in
writing his words of a few hours before: "Whatever happens, bring back
your prisoner."

There was no signature to this slip,