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."

She left them, nodding slightly to Keith.

When she was gone, a puzzled look filled the Inspector's eyes. "She has
been like that for the last six months," he explained. "Tremendously
interested in this man Keith and his fate. I don't believe that I have
watched for your return more anxiously than she has, Conniston. And the
curious part of it is she seemed to have no interest in the matter at
all until six months ago. Sometimes I am afraid that brooding over her
father's death has unsettled her a little. A mighty pretty girl,
Conniston. A mighty pretty girl, indeed! And her brother is a skunk.
Pst! You haven't forgotten him?"

He drew a chair up close to his own and motioned Keith to be seated.
"You're changed, Conniston!"

The words came out of him like a shot. So unexpected were they that
Keith felt the effect of them in every nerve of his body. He sensed
instantly what McDowell meant. He was NOT like the Englishman; he
lacked his mannerisms, his cool and superior suavity, the inimitable
quality of his nerve and sportsmanship. Even as he met the disquieting
directness of the Inspector's eyes, he could see Conniston sitting in
his place, rolling his mustache between his forefinger and thumb, and
smiling as though he had gone into the north but yesterday and had
returned today. That was what McDowell was missing in him, the soul of
Conniston himself--Conniston, the ne plus ultra of presence and amiable
condescension, the man who could look the Inspector or the High
Commissioner himself between the eyes, and, serenely indifferent to
Service regulations, say, "Fine morning, old top!" Keith was not
without his own sense of humor. How the Englishman's ghost must be
raging if it was in the room at the present moment! He grinned and
shrugged his shoulders.

"Were you ever up there--through the Long Night--alone?" he asked