“Beauty-proof?” He repeated the words, looking keenly at the other.  “Yes, I think I am, sir.”

“You think you are?”

“I am quite sure that I am.  Inspector.  That is as far as I can go.”

The inspector seated himself at his desk and opened a drawer.  From it he took a photograph.  For some time he gazed at it in silence, puffing out clouds of smoke from his cigar.  Then, without lifting his eyes from the picture, he said:  “I am going to put you up against a queer case, Steele, and the strangest thing about it is its very simplicity.  It’s a job for the greenest rookie in the service, and yet I swear that there isn’t another man in Saskatchewan to whom I would talk as I am about to talk to you.  Rather paradoxical, isn’t it?”

“Rather,” agreed Philip.

“And yet not when you come to understand the circumstances,” continued the inspector, placing the photograph face down on the table and looking at the other through a purple cloud of tobacco smoke.  “You see, Steele, I know who you are.  I know that your father is Philip Steele, the big Chicago banker.  I know that you are up here for romance and adventure rather than for any other thing there is in the service.  I know, too, that you are no prairie chicken, and that most of your life has been spent where you see beautiful women every hour of the day, and where soft voices and tender smiles aren’t the most wonderful things in the world, as they sometimes are up here.  Fact is, we have a way of our own of running down records—­”

“And a confounded clever one it must be,” interrupted Philip irreverently.  “Had you any—­any particular reason for supposing me to be ‘beauty-proof,’ as you call it?” he added coldly.

“I’ve told you my only reason,” said the inspector, leaning over his desk.  “You’ve seen so many pretty faces, Steele, and you’ve associated with them so long that one up here isn’t going to turn your head.  Now—­”

MacGregor hesitated, and laughed.  The flush grew deeper in his cheeks, and he looked again at the photograph.

“I’m going to be frank with you,” he went on.  “This young woman called on me yesterday, and within a quarter of an hour—­fifteen minutes, mind you!—­she had me going like a fool!  Understand?  I’m not proof—­against her—­and yet I’m growing old in the service and haven’t had a love affair since—­a long time ago.  I’m going to send you up to the Wekusko camp, above Le Pas, to bring down a prisoner.  The man is her husband, and he almost killed Hodges, who is chief of construction up there.  The minimum he’ll get is ten years, and this woman is moving heaven and earth to save him.  So help me God, Steele, if I was one of the youngsters, and she came to me as she did yesterday, I believe I’d let him give me the slip!  But it mustn’t happen.  Understand?  It mustn’t happen.  We’ve got to bring that man down, and we’ve got to give him the law.  Simple thing, isn’t it—­this bringing a prisoner down from Wekusko!  Any rookie could do it, couldn’t he?  And yet—­”