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California, New Mexico, Arizona, all lost to Mexico. There are still plenty of annexationists in Congress looking for a justification to relieve us of territory.”
    “Britain is not Mexico. She would not sit idly by and allow such a thing to happen. It would mean war.”
    “Perhaps. It is true Britain is not Mexico. She possesses a vast empire. Which is to say there are many pots on Britain’s stove that require tending. One may boil over before it is noticed. I,” said Scott primly, “do not want to be that pot.”
    “A mere three hundred police scattered over the entire North-West, how are we to do what you demand? Custer lost nearly that many at the Little Bighorn. You expect us to do the impossible – me in particular.”
    Scott hunched forward, enunciating very slowly, very clearly, “If you are not up to the task then I must find a man who is.”
    For the first time, Walsh felt how unbearably hot and humid the room was. He realized he was sweating profusely. Yet the old man across the desk from him looked cool as a cucumber. Maybe it was the thinness of his vegetable-nourished blood. He caught a whiff of Scott’s musty suit, the distinctive odour of mothballs. That stink summed up the old codger, a man who gave more thought to protecting a threadbare suit than he did to ensuring the safety of the North-West Mounted Police he had sprinkled all over the West. “Such a man does not exist,” he finally replied, after a stubborn silence.
    “Major Walsh,you wish to tender your resignation?”
    Walsh shifted on his chair, cleared his throat. Mary’s hopes were two ticks away from being fulfilled. Who was James Morrow Walsh if he wasn’t Major Walsh? “No,” he said quietly, “I do not wish to tender my resignation.”
    “Are you prepared to follow the directions of this department, faithfully, without hesitation or mental reservations? Think carefully before you reply.”
    “I am.”
    Scott leaned back in his chair; the stench of camphor retreated. “You have many admirable qualities, Sub-Inspector Walsh. Commissioner Macleod thinks very highly of you. You are an efficient officer, you are brave, you have inspired a remarkable loyalty and admiration in the men of B Troop. In a word, you are a leader. But I have heard other reports on your character and seen proof of them today. You go your own way; you act as if you were a law unto yourself. I am here to inform you you are not a law unto yourself. You are an instrument of government policy. That is all. You are a tool. My tool. You are on trial.” On trial . Exactly Mary’s words when she told him there was a job waiting for him as superintendent of hotel chamber pots. “Do you wish to correct any of my observations?”
    “No, let them stand.”
    “Very good. I am glad we see eye to eye. I think it advisable that you seize the earliest opportunity to embark for the West. If you require travel funds, apply to my clerk for a chit.”
    “Thank you.”
    Scott fished a hunter watch out of his vest pocket, glanced at it. “I believe I am running behind in my appointments.”
    “Of course.” Walsh stood abruptly; his chair skidded back.
    “Good day, Sub-Inspector.”
    “Good day, Mr. Secretary.”
    It was a little before six o’clock when Walsh walked out into the sweltering day, hand tightly gripped to the handle of his bag. The sky was grey and heavy; he felt as if he were drawing breath through a steaming-hot washcloth. Shivering with rage, he stalked along the bank of the Rideau Canal, his anger slowly bleeding away into bleak despondency. He stared numbly at the heavily laden boats wallowing their way somewhere. His mind, struggling to parse what had just happened to him, was as sluggish and difficult to steer as a coal barge. He couldn’t understand what had just transpired. Scott had as good as called him untrustworthy, a harum-scarum fellow. Absolute rubbish; he is sound as British sterling. Who had answered the call to duty before you could