down from Cumberland House. Seems good to get back!" He took off his
hat and met the riverman's eyes squarely. "Do you happen to know if
McDowell is at barracks?" he asked.

"He is," said Duggan.

That was all. He was looking at Keith with a curious directness. Keith
held his breath. He would have given a good deal to have seen behind
Duggan's beard. There was a hard note in the riverman's voice, too. It
puzzled him. And there was a flash of sullen fire in his eyes at the
mention of McDowell's name. "The Inspector's there--sittin' tight," he
added, and to Keith's amazement brushed past him without another word
and disappeared into the bush.

This, at least, was not like the good-humored Duggan of four years ago.
Keith replaced his hat and went on. At the farther side of the clearing
he turned and looked back. Duggan stood in the open roadway, his hands
thrust deep in his pockets, staring after him. Keith waved his hand,
but Duggan did not respond. He stood like a sphinx, his big red beard
glowing in the early sun, and watched Keith until he was gone.

To Keith this first experiment in the matter of testing an identity was
a disappointment. It was not only disappointing but filled him with
apprehension. It was true that Duggan had not recognized him as John
Keith, BUT NEITHER HAD HE RECOGNIZED HIM AS DERWENT CONNISTON! And
Duggan was not a man to forget in three or four years--or half a
lifetime, for that matter. He saw himself facing a new and unexpected
situation. What if McDowell, like Duggan, saw in him nothing more than
a stranger? The Englishman's last words pounded in his head again like
little fists beating home a truth, "You win or lose the moment McDowell