I have the honour to be, sir,
Your obedient servant,
R. S. Kellett, Sergeant, N.W.M.P.
Hector was at work on his account of the attempted revolution, for despatch to the Commissioner. For the last time, before enclosing it, he read Sergeant Kellett's report, carefully and deliberately. Then he thought deeply over Welland's part in the affair and especially of the last words of his enemy, gasped into Hector's ear as he lay dying on the platform, shot through the lungs:
"Adair—if you remember who I really am—for God's sake don't betray me!"
Here, in writing his report, he had a glorious opportunity of paying the dead man back in his own coin—of telling the world that Steven Molyneux was really Joseph Welland, ex-criminal; and that the man to whom the people had entrusted great power had misused it in an attempt to bring about revolution within the Dominion. No good purpose would be served—but revenge is sweet. In his hands alone rested the dead man's honour. He alone possessed the facts.
He turned back to the report—to the paragraph which the Prime Minister himself was to read in Parliament a few months later, in moving a vote of thanks to Superintendent Adair:
'Referring to the attached report from Sergeant Kellett, although the man Perkins actually had acted as one of my agents, there is no evidence to support the statement that he did the shooting, nor to show that the late Mr. Molyneux was concerned in the revolutionary plot. I think this should be sufficient to clear Mr. Molyneux's reputation. Despite Sergeant Kellett's view, I am of the opinion that Perkins was not of sound mind when he made his statement.'
So might Molyneux's reputation be preserved, at no expense to Perkins.
A few words more completed the report. The door opened softly. Frances came in.
"Dare I intrude——" she whispered, "now?"