The Valley of Silent Men | Page 6

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!"
Kedsty spoke to the girl. For half an hour she read her notes, and after
that Kent wrote his name on the last page. Then Kedsty rose from his
chair.
"We have finished, gentlemen," he said.
They trailed out, the girl hurrying through the door first in her desire to
free herself of an ordeal that had strained every nerve in her body. The
commander of N Division was last to go. Cardigan hesitated, as if to
remain, but Kedsty motioned him on. It was Kedsty who closed the
door, and as he closed it he looked back, and for a flash Kent met his
eyes squarely. In that moment he received an impression which he had

not caught while the Inspector was in the room. It was like an electrical
shock in its unexpectedness, and Kedsty must have seen the effect of it
in his face, for he moved back quickly and closed the door. In that
instant Kent had seen in Kedsty's eyes and face a look that was not only
of horror, but what in the face and eyes of another man he would have
sworn was fear.
It was a gruesome moment in which to smile, but Kent smiled. The
shock was over. By the rules of the Criminal Code he knew that Kedsty
even now was instructing Staff-Sergeant O'Connor to detail an officer
to guard his door. The fact that he was ready to pop off at any moment
would make no difference in the regulations of the law. And Kedsty
was a stickler for the law as it was written. Through the closed door he
heard voices indistinctly. Then there were footsteps, dying away. He
could hear the heavy thump, thump of O'Connor's big feet. O'Connor
had always walked like that, even on the trail.
Softly then the door reopened, and Father Layonne, the little missioner,
came in. Kent knew that this would be so, for Father Layonne knew
neither code nor creed that did not reach all the hearts of the wilderness.
He came back, and sat down close to Kent, and took one of his hands
and held it closely in both of his own. They were not the soft, smooth
hands of the priestly hierarchy, but were hard with the callosity of toil,
yet gentle with the gentleness of a great sympathy. He had loved Kent
yesterday, when Kent had stood clean in the eyes of both God and men,
and he still loved him today, when his soul was stained with a thing
that must be washed away with his own