Yet Kedsty, of the five about Kent, was most disturbed.  His face was ash-gray.  A number of times Kent had detected a broken note in his voice.  He had seen his hands grip at the arms of the chair he sat in until the cords stood out on them as if about to burst.  He had never seen Kedsty sweat until now.

Twice the Inspector had wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.  He was no longer Minisak—­“The Rock”—­a name given to him by the Crees.  The armor that no shaft had ever penetrated seemed to have dropped from him.  He had ceased to be Kedsty, the most dreaded inquisitor in the service.  He was nervous, and Kent could see that he was fighting to repossess himself.

“Of course you know what this means to the Service,” he said in a hard, low voice.  “It means—­”

“Disgrace,” nodded Kent.  “I know.  It means a black spot on the otherwise bright escutcheon of N Division.  But it can’t be helped.  I killed John Barkley.  The man you’ve got in the guard-house, condemned to be hanged by the neck until he is dead, is innocent.  I understand.  It won’t be nice for the Service to let it be known that a sergeant in His Majesty’s Royal Mounted is an ordinary murderer, but—­”

“Not an ordinary murderer,” interrupted Kedsty.  “As you have described it, the crime was deliberate—­horrible and inexcusable to its last detail.  You were not moved by a sudden passion.  You tortured your victim.  It is inconceivable!”

“And yet true,” said Kent.

He was looking at the stenographer’s slim fingers as they put down his words and Kedsty’s.  A bit of sunshine touched her bowed head, and he observed the red lights in her hair.  His eyes swept to O’Connor, and in that moment the commander of N Division bent over him, so close that his face almost touched Kent’s, and he whispered, in a voice so low that no one of the other four could hear,

“Kent—­you lie!”

“No, it is true,” replied Kent.

Kedsty drew back, again wiping the moisture from his forehead.

“I killed Barkley, and I killed him as I planned that he should die,” Kent went on.  “It was my desire that he should suffer.  The one thing which I shall not tell you is why I killed him.  But it was a sufficient reason.”

He saw the shuddering tremor that swept through the shoulders of the girl who was putting down the condemning notes.

“And you refuse to confess your motive?”

“Absolutely—­except that he had wronged me in a way that deserved death.”

“And you make this confession knowing that you are about to die?”

The flicker of a smile passed over Kent’s lips.  He looked at O’Connor and for an instant saw in O’Connor’s eyes a flash of their old comradeship.

“Yes.  Dr. Cardigan has told me.  Otherwise I should have let the man in the guard-house hang.  It’s simply that this accursed bullet has spoiled my luck—­and saved him!”