Police.
"Mighty good cigars, eh, Steele ?" he asked, turning slowly toward the window.

"The commissioner sent 'em up to me from Regina.

Nothing like a good cigar on a dreary day like this.

Whew, listen to the wind--straight from Medicine Hat!" For a few moments he looked out upon the cheerless drab roofs of the barracks, with their wisps of pale smoke swirling upward into the leaden sky; counted the dozen gnarled and scrubby trees, as had become a habit with him; rested his eyes upon the black and shriveled remnants of summer flower-beds thrusting their frost-shrunken stalks through the snow, and then, almost as if he were speaking to himself, he said, "Steele, are you beautyproof ?" There was no banter in his voice.

It was low, so low that it had in it the ring of something more than mere desire for answer, and when the inspector turned, Philip observed a thing that he had never seen before--a flush in MacGregor's face.