"But you have not explained your interest in me," said Reg.

"No, I thought I would keep that to the last," he said, his voice growing sadder. "I never was much of a Society man, for although I have been through a lot, I never feel at home amongst fashionable folk, and Australian Society is rotten—I don't like it. But I chanced to be thrown into contact with a young girl, with whom I fell madly in love, and whom I endowed, as every man in love does, with all the virtues. I courted her for two years, and she professed to return my devotion. Now, her mother had a great fondness for Society ways and fads, and we were not the best of friends in consequence, but I thought we loved each other too well for that defect in my character to make any difference. The wedding-day was at last fixed. I had presented her with funds to buy her trousseau, as they were not at all well off, when a young sprig of English nobility visited the Colonies, and became acquainted with them. The mother played her cards well, for that cursed snob married my girl under my very nose, and used the trousseau I had provided. She sent me a letter, in which she stated she had never loved me as I deserved to be loved, and that she would offend her mother if she refused the Englishman."

"Did you care for her very much?" asked Reg.

"Except my mother, she was the only woman I ever loved, and when she threw me over it nearly killed me."

"She married this man?"

"Yes; and her mother had the cheek to ask me to the wedding, but, needless to say, I did not go. I very nearly went to the devil instead."

"Now, just listen to me. Suppose that man had come between you two, and, after separating you, had jilted and deserted the girl, and was directly the cause of her death, what would you have done then?" said Reg, excitedly.

Winter did not reply at once. He guessed instantly that Reg was referring to his own case.

"What would you have done?" asked Reg, again, impatiently.

"I think I should have shot him dead, or marked him for life," he answered, deliberately.

"Winter, shake hands. You are a man," said Reg, jumping off his bunk. "I apologise for my previous rudeness."

"Accepted, with pleasure," said Winter, cordially; and the two men shook hands.

Reg thereupon unfolded to him his whole history, which the reader knows. Winter listened attentively and, when he had finished, stood like a man dazed with horror. For the second time he put out his hand, and gripped Reg's hand with a grip that spoke volumes of sympathetic help. For a minute or two there was silence between the two men, which Winter broke by saying:

"Morris, I am an Australian. I know the Colonies well. You will let me join you?"

"Thanks, Winter; but I live for nothing but revenge."

"Then I will join you. You swore an oath to devote all your time and money to vengeance upon this man who has so foully wronged you. Let me swear too that I will join you. I will go with you, and the same spirit that animates you shall animate me too."

There was no mistaking the genuineness of the appeal, and Reg frankly gave him his hand. From that day they were "Reg" and "Hal" to each other, and Wyck had two determined men on his track, the one endowed with all the shrewdness of a keen detective, possessing also a thorough knowledge of Australian life and habits; the other of strong determination and obstinate will that no obstacles would foil. Both awkward customers to deal with, and whose bitter enmity no man could afford to despise.

From that day they were observed by all the passengers to be close friends, and they showed very plainly how little they wished to be disturbed by, or to come into contact with, the other passengers. Now it happened that, although there was a large number of passengers, eligible young men were scarce, and when two of the best-looking young fellows on board gave it to be clearly understood that they intended keeping aloof from the general company it naturally caused a little sensation.

"I can't understand them two gents. They be always together, always talk, talk; and when anybody speaks to them they appear offended. It's a shame they ain't more sociable, 'specially as my gals is fond of gentleman's company."

Both Reg and Hal overheard this remark from a stout, florid lady, who with her two daughters was starting on a tour through Australia. She was the wife of Samuel Lewis, cheesemonger, of Drury Lane: they had noticed a label on one of her boxes.

"I feel sorry for her and her daughters, don't you, Reg?" said Hal.

"I've not noticed them, old chap," he answered, indifferently.

"Look here, my boy. You must enliven up a bit. It's no use fretting. You can do nothing till you get to Adelaide, so let's have a bit of fun."

"I'll come round in time, old chap. I have felt better every day since meeting you."

"Yes, and I mean you to feel better still; but come away, here's that confounded old Tickell coming, he's dead set on us," as they dodged round some deck-chairs.

"Ha, gentlemen, here you are! I am so glad to see you. Would you try one of my cigars; they are really a first-class brand. No; you don't smoke cigars, eh? Sorry for that. Prefer a pipe, eh? Well, that's a nice one you are smoking, and it seems to colour well. Splendid thing, a meerschaum. I always smoke cherry-wood myself; see, this is one. I have some more down below like it. Would you care for one? I assure you they are something special; and this tobacco's simply—"

"Yes, yes," said Hal, stopping him abruptly. "I am sure all you say is quite correct, but we do not require anything to-day, and, moreover, we are engaged—"

"But, my dear sir, you know on board ship people are—"

"Supposed to mind their own business," said Hal, exasperated with the man's importunity.

"Yes, exactly, my dear sir, but when—"

"Look, Mr. Tickell, there's Mrs. Morgan beckoning to you," said Reg.

"Where? Ah, yes, I am sorry I must leave you: ta, ta; I'll see you again," and away he skipped to annoy someone else.

"Tickell is a specimen of that irritating species of human kind, the unsnubbable," said Hal.

Various attempts were made to penetrate their reserve, but without success, for they clearly gave everyone to understand that they preferred the company of each other, which did not tend to their popularity on board. Amongst the passengers was a young man who rejoiced in the high-sounding name of Hugh St. John Wilson-Mainwaring, and whose sense of self-importance was as extensive as his appellation. He was the younger son of a bishop, and intended to tour the Colonies at the expense of the inhabitants, feeling satisfied that he had only to make it known that his father was the Bishop of Doseminster to have the door of every aristocrat-loving Australian flung open wide in his honour. His voice had a delightful drawl that attracted the female portion of the passengers, and the little time of each day that was left to him after that which was occupied in the management of this characteristic, the manipulation of his eye-glass, and the exposure of the correct four inches of shirt-cuff, was devoted to the invention of inane practical jokes. He had successfully played "ripping good jokes, don't yer know" on most of the passengers, and one old squatter who was returning with his "missus" after doing England felt highly honoured at being made the butt of such aristocratic ingenuity.

"We must invite him to the station, missus," he said to his wife the evening after that event. "He would be such a catch for our Eliza."

Now Mr. Hugh St. John Wilson-Mainwaring had noticed that Hal and Reg invariably took possession of a couple of the most comfortable chairs on deck, which they placed in a sunny corner while they read, smoked, or talked together, and he determined to have a joke at their expense. He took the ladies into his confidence in his charming, affable way, and the Misses Lewis, especially, were delighted to be made partners in the attempt of a bishop's son to make these two young men who thought so much of themselves look ridiculous.

One afternoon Hal and Reg, coming on deck, found all the chairs occupied, and were compelled to seat themselves in a couple of hammock chairs, ingenious contrivances in which the back is supported in a notch cut for the purpose. Fortune favoured the bishop's hopeful offspring, for they were not only convenient for his purpose, but they occupied a conspicuous position. Reg and Hal were just dozing off, when he seized his opportunity and crawled quietly on his hands and knees behind Reg's chair, and tied a piece of string on to the support. Cautiously, and in the same monkey-like fashion, he returned, paying out his line as he went, and gleefully drew all his lady admirers' attention to his huge joke.

"You'll come down directly, Reg. They've tied a string to your chair," said Hal, in a whisper.

"Right! old chap. We'll see who will have the best joke. If I come down my back will be broken: understand?"

"Rather! Look out, he's got his string taut."

Scarcely had Hal finished when Reg's chair collapsed, and he fell on the broad of his back. Hal jumped up as if startled, and a violent peal of laughter burst out in all directions, but still Reg lay motionless. Hal went to his assistance, and in a scared voice, called out for the doctor. That gentleman happened to be close at hand, and soon a crowd gathered round.

"My back; it's broken," moaned Reg; and a litter was improvised, and he was carried to the surgery.

"Poor fellow!—How could you do it?—What a shame!—He'll die"—and similar expressions were hurled at the bishop's son, who became seriously alarmed.

When they reached the surgery, the doctor ordered all to leave, except Hal, and began to examine the wounded man.

"Stop," said Reg, pulling himself up. "It's all a joke. Keep it up, doctor."

The doctor was amazed at first, but expressed himself as quite agreeable to join in the plot. Hal left the cabin with a serious face, and met all the anxious enquirers at the door with one stern remark:

"He's dying. I'm going for the Captain."

Mr. Wilson-Mainwaring became seriously alarmed, turned pale, wrung his hands in despair, and gave vent to disjointed appeals and ejaculations. "It was only a joke. Oh! you know it was only a joke. Oh, my poor father! Why did I come? What shall I do?" until they were afraid he would throw himself overboard.

Hal, who had been enjoying his dilemma, now thought the joke had gone far enough, and opening the surgery door, pulled out Reg, smoking his pipe, and looking as if nothing had happened.

The laugh was now turned against Mr. Hugh St. John Wilson-Mainwaring, who disappeared below, and did not venture on deck for several days.

No one after this attempted to interfere with the two friends' mode of passing their time, and they were left undisturbed, and remained engrossed in each other's society. After an eventful voyage the ship arrived in due time at Adelaide.



CHAPTER VIII.

ADELAIDE.

"That's Largs Bay over there," said the officer on duty to the small group of passengers collected on deck to watch the approach of the vessel to her anchorage at Adelaide.

To none did the news come with greater pleasure than to Reg and Hal, who were impatient to get on to Wyck's track without delay. Reg had improved in spirits considerably since he had taken Hal into his confidence, but he remained as determined as ever to carry out his object.

Poor old Tickell had in vain tried to penetrate their reserve, and find out something about them, but he had to acknowledge they had seen through all his cunning devices. He knew everybody and everybody's business, from one end of the passenger list to the other, with the exception of these two. His failure here worried him, but still, though the voyage was fast terminating, he did not lose all hope of finding out something about them. As luck would have it, he found himself standing close beside the two who were occupying his thoughts.

"I am sorry we are going to part, gentlemen," he said, affably.

"Yes?" answered Hal, smiling.

"I shall miss your society. You are out here for pleasure, are you not?"

"Now, Tickell, my good fellow, drop all that," said Hal, seeing what was coming.

"No offence, my dear sir. On business, then?"

"Go to the devil, Tickell—or what is better, go and worry some of the old women," said Hal, turning away.

"Now, don't get cross, sir."

"You're an infernal old fool," said Reg, fairly losing his temper; and tucking Hal's arm under his own, strolled away.

"Well, I'm hanged if I can make them out," said Tickell, to Mrs. Morgan, who had come towards him.

"Found out anything, Mr. Tickell?" asked that lady, sweetly.

"No, just had another try, but no use."

"Wonder if they're criminals escaping from gaol," hazarded Mrs. Morgan, who had all the romantic imagination of her sex.

"No, more like lords in disguise," said Tickell, thoughtfully.

"You've hit it, Tickell," said Hal, passing by, not having heard the remark but guessing it referred to them.

"I knew it. I knew it," said Tickell, gleefully, as he rushed below to spread the news.

"Oh, my lords, I really beg your lordships' pardon," said Mrs. Morgan, apologetically.

"Pray what for, madam?" asked Reg, wondering if she had lost her senses.

"Well, you see, your lordships, neither me nor my gals ever guessed your lordships was what you are, or we would not have talked about you so familiar-like."

"My dear madam, we are no more lords than you are," said Hal, laughing at the joke.

"Here they are; here they are," cried Tickell, to a little crowd he had collected. "I found them out; I found them out."

"Found out what, Tickell?" asked Hal.

"I found you out, my lords. I knew all the time you were lords in disguise, but I did not like to say so," and Tickell skipped about and snapped his fingers with joy at the discovery.

A small tender now came alongside, and the Health Officer boarded the ship, and at once granted pratique, as there had been no sickness during the voyage. Several people accompanied him. Reg and Hal, taking advantage of the lull, escaped to their cabins, but no sooner were they there than the Captain rushed down to them, shook hands, and complimented them on their disguise. He had not taken any notice of them before, for he was a big man in his own estimation.

"I really feel annoyed at your not letting me into the secret of your identity, gentlemen, for there is great competition and jealousy between the captains on this route as to whose ship carries most members of the nobility in a year. I'd have put on extra steam had I known, and arrived a day sooner. You two will put me top of the list, and I shall be bound to have a big passenger list coming home."

"But, Captain, we are not lords or noblemen, or anything else," said Hal, laughing at the joke; but the Captain, being called on deck, left them with a hurried apology.

"That confounded old fool Tickell will get us into trouble yet," said Reg, as they both returned to the deck.

"That's them," said Tickell, pointing them out to a couple of young men standing by with note-books and pencils in their hands, whereupon both stepped up to them.

"My lords, I have the honour to represent the Advertiser. I should feel much obliged if you would give a few particulars of your visit to the Colony."

"I belong to the Register, my lords," said his companion, preparing to write.

"I am afraid, gentlemen, you are under some mistake," said Reg. "We are not lords, nor anything of the kind, we are happy to say. Here are our cards."

"But you are travelling incognito, perhaps?" suggested one.

"No, we are both Australian born, and if I don't make a mistake, I believe I recognise Joe Watson," answered Hal.

"That's my name. Why, now I know you—Winter; Hal Winter, of course," and they shook hands, laughing heartily over the joke.

"Then who is that old fool who told us a long yarn about your being lords in disguise? I am awfully sorry you are not."

"And why, Watson?" asked Hal.

"Oh, news is scarce, and the arrivals of nobility are welcomed nowadays. They catch on, you know."

"Don't understand, Watson."

"Why, from a matrimonial point of view. There are so many mammas lying in wait to receive them. But I must go. I am glad to see you, Winter; call at the office and look me up, some time or other."

"Certainly I will," and the two shook hands.

"Fancy that," said Hal, "he and I were at school together; we haven't seen each other for ten years."

"He does not seem over fond of the nobility, with all his enterprise," said Reg, smiling.

"No," answered Hal. "He is a young Australian. His father is one of the leading citizens, but when a man's on a paper he is not allowed to express his own opinions."

"Then the papers toady to the nobility?"

"Not exactly. I consider the Australian Press is second to none in the world, and both the papers these men represent would hold their own in any country; but they must study public taste, like any other public caterers, and they do so love a lord. See, they are both now engaged with the bishop's son."

The Captain did not seem so cordial to them as they left the ship, and he wore a disappointed look. As they said good-bye to all, and the tug started for shore, a figure on deck waved his hat and called out to them: "I found you out."

"Good-bye, you old idiot," shouted Hal, and an uproarious laugh greeted the amiable Tickell.

"It's nearly time they had an outer harbour here," said Reg, as he tried to dodge the spray flying over the side of the tug.

"Yes, you're right, but there seems to be too much jealousy amongst the three ports. Glenelg think they ought to have it, and the Semaphore, too, lays claim to it, and between the lot of them we have to land with a wet skin."

"Now then, gentlemen, hold tight," shouted the tug-captain, as a wave washed the small boat from stem to stern and drenched them to the skin.

After a tedious voyage they were landed at the pier, wet through and, having made arrangements about their luggage, they stepped into the train for Adelaide.

"Where shall we stay while in Adelaide, Hal?" asked Reg, when they were fast approaching the pretty little city.

"The 'York' is the tip-top house, but I should prefer the 'United Service.'"

"Good, the 'United Service' it shall be."

Half-an-hour later they stood at the door of the hotel, ready and fit for work.

"Hal, are you ready to begin the search?" asked Reg.

"Right you are. We'll go to Reuter's first, and see if there is a cable."

The office was in King William Street, close by and, on enquiry, a cable was handed to Reg. It read:

"Morris, Adelaide. All well. Revenge. Whyte."

"Yes, Whyte, we'll be revenged," said Reg, handing the telegram to Hal.

"So far, so good. What's the next move?"

"Wyck will arrive a stranger here. He will enquire for the best hotel, and will be told the 'York.' He will tip the man, and ask him if there are any good-looking girls there, and he will be told that old Ford won't have a barmaid about the place, and is fearfully particular. Then he'll ask for another, and he ought either to be told of the South Australian Club, the United Service, or the Southern Cross. All these keep saloon bars, so we cannot do better than enquire at them."

"Why do you think he will proceed in that way?"

"Wyck is fond of ladies, isn't he? Well, where would a stranger go to talk to a nice girl? He'd go to a saloon bar, where so many good-looking girls are found."

"You're right, old chap. Let's go over to the 'Cross.'"

On entering the small saloon, they found a handsome young lady in attendance. After calling for drinks, Hal asked her how long she had been there.

"I only came yesterday," she replied, sweetly.

"Good-bye, miss," said Hal, with equal sweetness.

Johnny Lord's and several more were visited, but without success, for no one knew of such a person as they were enquiring for.

On calling at the South Australian Club they were met by a very busy, energetic, little man, who said he was the proprietor, and seemed proud of it.

"Have you had a gentleman named Wyckliffe, stopping here?" asked Hal, as he stood sipping some iced wine.

"Yes I did. He stayed here three days."

"Do you know where he went when he left?"

"I fancy he left for Port Pirie; at least that's where I heard him say he was going to," answered the bustling little man as he hurried away.

"Did you know Wyckliffe?" asked Hal of the young lady who presided over the bar.

"Yes, I knew him slightly," she answered.

But the entrance of a gentleman of the masher type, who shook hands with her, and kept her in conversation with him, effectually prevented any further information being procured from that quarter. Hal and Reg therefore left.

"Hal," said Reg, anxiously, "is Adelaide a very holy city?"

"Why; whatever makes you ask that?"

"Well, in the first place I notice an enormous number of churches, and secondly, I hear you cannot get a drink on Sunday."

"That's true, but it came about in this way. When public-houses were open on Sunday, the churches were always empty. The parsons agitated the temperance party, and the result was the closing of the houses."

"And did that fill the churches?"

"Oh, no, it filled the clubs instead."

"I wonder if he would call on the Governor," said Hal, after a slight pause.

"Don't know, but he might. Shall we see?"

"No, thanks."

"Oh, I forgot. Of course you don't appreciate Governors."

"No, you are right there. I think them useless pieces of furniture to the Colonies. They do no good and are merely sent out for Society's sake to be able to entertain English visitors, when they come over at the Colony's expense. Now look at that little man in the carriage there, with a dog by his side. Well, he has more brains than any six Governors put together."

"Who is he?"

"He's the Lieutenant-Governor and Chief Justice, and one of the cleverest men Australia ever had."

"Why don't they appoint him Governor, then?"

"Well, my dear old chap, if you had a friend who was in trouble financially, or otherwise, you would do him a good turn, would you not? Well, English political leaders do the same."

"I see, there is a big salary attached to it. But, now, how about Wyck?"

"If he has returned to Adelaide we must find him. He may have seen the cable addressed to me, or he might have seen our names in the passenger list wired from Albany," said Hal, musingly.

"Then we had better continue our search, for he cannot now have much start on us," answered Reg, and they prepared to renew their enquiries at the hotels. Walking down Rundle Street, they called at the "Globe," and other places, without result, till dinner time caused them to adjourn.

"Let's have another nip of Mount Gambier whiskey," said Hal, "and after dinner we'll try Hindley Street."

While walking along King William Street continuing their search, Reg, who had continued closely observant, remarked:

"Is there anything exceptional about our appearance, Hal?"

"Why?"

"I was judging by the number of people who stare at us closely, and then turn round for a second look."

"That's one of the characteristics of Adelaide—curiosity. They do love to know who's who and, if they see a stranger, they like to know all about him," answered Hal, as a well-dressed lady passing them stared hard. "Now, come round this way, old chap. We must explore Hindley Street. It's a peculiar street, fashionable at one end, and——"

"Not fashionable at the other," added Reg.

"Exactly; there is a tribe of Mongolians and Asiatics inhabiting the lower quarters, but let's ask here where Mick Tier lives."

"What, Mick Tier, Slavin's friend when he was in England?"

"The same. Here he is," and a stout gentleman, who could turn the scale at eighteen stone, appeared.

They had half-an-hour's chat with their genial host, without being able to procure any additional information, and went on to the "Melbourne Hotel." They entered the saloon, and were smilingly greeted by a good-looking young lady.

"Good evening, Miss Wallace; how are you, this evening?" said Hal, leaning familiarly over the bar.

"Very well, thank you."

"Have you seen Wyck lately?"

"No, do you know him?" answered she, with a slight start.

"Oh, yes, I know him well. He told me to call and give you his best love, Gussy."

"That's very kind of him, and did he tell you my name?"

"Certainly. When did you see him last?"

"I don't remember. Why?" she asked, curiously. "But really I forget your name, though I remember your face."

"Thompson is my name. It is very unkind of you to forget me so soon."

"I don't remember the name."

"I saw Wyck at Port Pirie. He said he thought he was going on to Melbourne."

"But he did not go," said the girl, quickly, and Hal gave Reg a gentle touch with his foot.

"Where did he go to?"

"Come on, let us look round and see all the pretty girls," said a familiar voice behind them, and turning they saw Tickell and an elderly gentleman.

"Hullo, Morris and Winter. I've found you out," shouted Tickell.

Hal made a movement of annoyance, for he had seen the girl start at their names, and now felt sure she was in league with Wyck, and knew of his whereabouts.

"Will you join me, gentlemen?" said Tickell, between his smiles and smirks at the barmaid.

"No, thanks," said Hal, as he sat at a small table, with Reg alongside him.

"Confound that old fool, he's spoilt my game," said he, in a low tone, to Reg.

"How did you know her name, Hal!"

"My dear boy, if a girl leaves a letter on the shelves behind, addressed to Miss Wallace—"

"I see, but where did the Gussy come in?"

"Look at her brooch, and you will find that."

"Well, good-bye, my dear; awfully sorry I must go. Good-bye, gentlemen," and Tickell and his friend retired.

"You'll excuse me for a moment, sirs," said the barmaid, leaving her post, with a bow. Quick as lightning, Hal leant across and examined the envelope—

"Melbourne stamp, dated two days ago."

"And that's his writing, Hal," said Reg, excitedly.

They had scarcely time to settle themselves when the lady returned, carrying a sheet of blotting-paper, which she carelessly threw on the shelf under the counter.

"Same again, please, Gussy," said Hal, trying to be pleasant.

"My name is Miss Wallace, sir," said she, indignantly.

"I beg your pardon, madam."

"I don't believe you saw Mr. Wyckliffe at all. I know what you are after, but you won't see him again, for he has left for Western Australia."

"Is that so?" queried Hal, cynically. "Then he did not go to Melbourne, Miss Wallace?"

"No, Mr. Morris, he did not," she answered, with emphasis on the name Morris.

"I notice you had a letter from him," said Hal, quietly.

"I never had—" She got no further for, turning round, she found the envelope facing her. "You've been reading my letters while I was away," she called out, in a fury; then, noticing it was an envelope alone, she cooled down, and said:

"This was from my brother at Port Augusta."

"It's a pity all the Colonies do not adopt the same colour for their stamps, for, while Victoria is puce, South Australia is yellow," said Hal, carelessly pointing to the puce stamp, but the girl snatched it up, gave him an evil glance, and sat down to write a note.

The saloon was very tastefully arranged, and Gussy had forgotten that the wall at her back was covered with mirrors, otherwise she would not have been so hasty as to write on a telegraph form in a manner that was easily to be distinguished by both Hal and Reg.

"Come, Reg. We must go," said Hal, rising.

"Good-bye, Miss Wallace, I'm awfully sorry you are offended."

"She's going to send a telegram to him. We must try and get a look at the address," said Hal, as they once more found themselves in the street.

"How is that to be done?"

"Well, I don't know if you have noticed the way a messenger generally carries a telegram to the office."

"Can't say I have."

"Well, I amuse myself frequently by noticing these things, and I have observed that he invariably carries it in his hand, and reads it twice before sending it."

"Well, what of that?"

"In the first place it will enable us to see who the messenger is, and in the second we may be able to read the telegram as well as he," answered Hal, as he took up his position in a deep doorway on the side of the street opposite to the hotel.

Shortly afterwards they saw Gussy appear at the door, and look about her to see all was clear. A few minutes later a boy appeared carrying a telegram in his hand.

Walking on the opposite side of the street as far as King William Street, they shadowed him, and crossing the road walked close in his rear. As the lad stopped at the office, he opened the telegram, and looked at it. Hal at the same time glanced over his shoulder, and read:

V. Wyckliffe, Great Australian Palace, Melbourne. Morris and another called for you to-day. Going Melbourne. Look out. G——y.

"Hal, you're a wonder," said Reg when he became acquainted with the contents of the telegram.

"I reckon we're getting close on him now. He will only have three days' start of us," said Hal, complacently. "The guide says—'Express to Melbourne at 3.30., arriving at 10.30 next morning: boudoir car attached.'"

"Let's fill up the time by going to a music-hall," suggested Reg.

"Don't keep them here, my boy."

"What, no music-halls!"

"Well there is a small one run by Tommy Hudson, but it is used as a theatre. Adelaide people don't believe in leg-shows and ballets."

"But I thought they had the Gaiety people out here, and did a big business."

"Quite true, but it caused such an extra-ordinary number of divorce and breach of promise cases that they have not repeated it."

"Have they a decent theatre, then?"

"Yes, a capital one, run by good old Wybert Reeve, and as the Governor goes there to-night, there will be an extra crush."

"Does he influence the public?"

"Rather, my boy. I have seen the stalls and dress-circle quite empty one night and crowded the next to overflowing, all on account of the presence of the Governor and his wife."

"Then we had better not rob them of their enjoyment," said Reg, emphatically.

They spent the following morning in visiting the sights of Adelaide, that picturesquely placed and beautifully laid-out city, nestling by the broad waters (!) of the Torrens, beneath its background of lofty blue mountains; and took the afternoon express to Melbourne.



CHAPTER IX.

MELBOURNE.

After passing a somewhat restless night in the boudoir car they arrived at Melbourne. Boudoir cars are very comfortable and pleasant places in their way, but on this particular occasion they did not find it overwhelmingly pleasant, for their fellow-passengers had their own peculiar way of amusing themselves. For instance, a Melbournite and a Sydneyite had to share the same compartment, and any man who has travelled in Australia knows what that will lead to. It was a new experience to Reg. Hal, however, found himself fully occupied in closing his ears to the snores coming from a passenger in the next compartment.

"Talk about Sydney! Why, what have you got to talk about? You've a decent harbour through no fault of your own, and that's about all you can boast of," said the man from Melbourne.

"And what have you got? Just open the window, and everybody will know. Smellbourne is your proper title. I always have to carry disinfectants with me when I come here. Say, guard, see that those windows are closed," sang out the man from Sydney.

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the other, in retort. "We certainly have not your natural resources, but what we have we have made ourselves. Look at our splendid buildings, our streets, our cable tramcars, our prosperous country."

"Yes, look at them. Where are the men that built them? In gaol. How was the money to build them obtained? By robbing English capitalists. And what's the consequences? Why, they are all empty. Fancy, ten thousand empty houses in a small town like yours."

"And how about your empty houses? Your Parliament House? Bah! It's a bauble shop. While your members are fighting amongst themselves like cats and dogs, the country is going to the deuce."

"Guard, please separate those gentlemen," screamed a shrill voice from the lady's compartment.

"Stop your row, there," shouted the man who had been snoring so loudly, imagining their quarrel had woke him up, whereas, a kick from Hal had done it.

"Go to sleep, you fellows, blowing about Sydney and Melbourne. Why, our little town of Brisbane licks you both hollow," roared a tall man in pyjamas, jumping on the floor.

"Yes; before the flood," shouted the Sydney man.

"Look here, gentlemen. You will have to make less noise," said the collector, now appearing on the scene.

Thus it was that they were disturbed all night long and, on the following morning, things nearly approached a crisis, owing to the Sydney man ostentatiously producing camphor and eucalyptus and preparing to scatter them about to kill the noxious germs of Melbourne.

"That is a fair sample from the citizens of the two rival cities of the South," said Hal. "They are for ever fighting against one another. Jealousy is no name for the rivalry between them."

"It seems a pitiful waste of energy," answered Reg, strapping up his rugs, for they were nearing Melbourne; and soon the train ran in to Spencer Street Station.

Here all was noise and hurly-burly. Porters jostled the passengers and each other, and flung the luggage about. Cabbies yelled for fares, and everyone seemed bent on making as much noise and causing as much inconvenience as possible.

"Thank goodness, that's over," said Reg, when they had safely put themselves in a hansom. "Talk about London porters. They are not a patch on these fellows for banging your things about."

"That's true. In Melbourne, old man, everything must go with a rush," answered Hal, as the cab pulled up at the entrance to a tremendous building, some eight stories high.

"Fine place this, Hal."

"Yes, as far as appearances go. It's run on temperance principles, at a heavy loss every year."

"Who built it then?"

"There's his face on the wall there, somewhere. He's in gaol now, went with the land-boom when it bust."

"That's why they put his bust up," laughed Reg, dodging the portmanteau that was flung at him for his atrocious pun.

They booked their rooms on the advance system at the office, and started for a stroll round the streets of this marvellous city.

"By Jove, Hal," said Reg, pointing to a tall building known as a sky-scraper; "thirteen stories high. Is the man who built that doing a term too?"

"No he was too smart. He sold out and got knighted."

"Knighted for building a place like that?"

"Well you see he gave a big cheque to charity, and got it that way."

"Are they as easy to get as that?"

"Rather. One man built a university, and was given a handle to his name. England loves to encourage that sort of thing. But now to business. I noticed that girl at the Palace eye us pretty closely."

"We had better enquire, and see if we can hear of anything."

"Time is precious. Let's get back."

"Do you keep a record of all visitors staying here?" asked Hal of the young lady at the booking office.

"Yes, sir. What name are you enquiring for?"

"A friend of mine named Wyckliffe. Ah, I see you know him"—for he noticed the lady give a start of surprise.

"There was a gentleman of that name here, but he has gone to Adelaide," she answered, in rather a tremulous voice.

"Oh! it doesn't matter. He asked me to enquire for him, if I came to Melbourne. We have just arrived from Sydney."

"What a shame," said she, quite recovered. "He was expecting some friends, and said he was going to Adelaide to meet them."

"If you should hear from him, you might say Mr. Thompson was asking for him," said Hal, carelessly.

"How long are you staying, sir?"

"That all depends how we like the place," said Hal, as he left, followed by Reg.

"That girl is in it. I'll swear she knows where he is.—Query, how are we to get it out of her?"

"Where did those gentlemen come from?" asked the lady, of the porter.

"Adelaide express, miss," he answered.

"Are you sure?"

"Certain, miss, for I noticed the ticket on their luggage."

"I fancy they will have to look for him," she said to herself, smiling grimly.

Hal and Reg had walked as far as Bourke Street, when Hal suddenly turned to his companion and said:

"What fools we are, Reg. That wire was sent late at night, addressed to the Palace. We must find out who was on duty at that hour, for that girl surely would not be." Thereupon they wheeled round, and returned to the Palace.

"Say, porter; do you keep a night-porter here?" asked Hal, of the man in livery hanging about the hall.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know who was on duty the night before last?"

"I was, sir."

"Do you remember a telegram arriving for Mr. Wyckliffe?"

"Well, er, you see, sir—"

"I do see," said Hal, and, by a dexterous move, a half-crown-piece changed hands.

"Thomas' buildings are not far from here, sir. I'll shew you if you just step to the door," said the porter, leading the way to the street as he noticed the girl's eyes on him.

"Enquire at the Gaiety, Bourke Street," he whispered, and hurriedly withdrew, the happy possessor now of two half-crowns.

"What did those gentlemen want?" asked the lady, when the porter returned.

"They only wanted to know where Thomas' Buildings was, miss."

"Oh, all right," said she, apparently satisfied.

Hal and Reg lost no time in following up the clue given them, and a quarter of an hour later found them in one of the many saloons of the Gaiety Hotel, where they began to take stock of their surroundings. Both agreed that it had been well-named. Business seemed brisk, and liveliness and gaiety characterised everybody. They happed to have hit upon the same saloon that Wyck patronised. Had Hal known this he would perhaps have been more careful. Two young ladies were in attendance. One of a very winning appearance; the other rather plain.

"Have you seen Wyck lately?" asked Hal, of the pretty one.

"No, he's gone," said she, colouring to the roots of her hair, and then appearing annoyed at having spoken.

"Why do you want to know? Who are you?" she asked, in rather an excited way.

"My name is Thompson. Wyck is a great friend of mine. We came out in the same boat from London," said Hal, carelessly.

"You are staying at the 'Australian,' are you not?"

"Yes, why?"

"Oh, nothing. I thought I saw you there the other day. Miss Kelley, will you mind my bar for a few minutes?" and she hurried away.

"You've upset Miss Harris," said the other lady, coming forward.

"I am sorry. It was quite unintentional," said Hal.

"You know she and Wyck are great friends?"

"Well, I heard something about it, but as Wyck is such an outrageous flirt I did not take much notice of it."

"But they are engaged and going to be married shortly."

"Lucky fellow," answered Hal, with a smile.

"Infernal, lying scoundrel," added Reg, under his breath.

"Miss Harris not in?" asked a rough-looking fellow, putting his head through the doorway.

"She'll be back directly," answered Miss Kelley.

"Oh, never mind," said the man, disappearing.

"That's Wyck's old cabby," she said to Hal, and Reg, excusing himself, got up and went outside.

"Is that gentleman your friend?" she asked.

"An acquaintance," he answered. "But you and Miss Harris are not friends."

"I never said so, sir," said she, shortly.

"No, there's no necessity for that."

"She's a niece of the proprietor."

"I see, and has a lot of privileges which the others don't like."

"Who told you that?" said the girl, in surprise, but not denying the truth of the statement.

"When did you last see Wyck?" continued Hal.

"Yesterday afternoon. He came in in a very hurried manner, quite unusual in him, and called Miss Harris aside and held a long confab with her. He seemed upset, and so was she, for she left the bar, crying, and did not come back till the evening."

"How long had she known him?"

"That's the funny part of it. She only met him three days before. It seems to have been a regular case of love at first sight. She is a very proud and haughty girl, especially to strangers. It was reported once that a private secretary of the Governor's was going to marry her. Certainly he used to pay her a lot of attention, but he married an heiress instead."

"Did she fret then?"

"No, she laughed it off and treated it as a joke."

"Tell me this before I go. Did Wyck say anything to her about a telegram when he called?"

"Yes, I remember he did, for it was sent on here from the Australian; but why are you so inquisitive?"

"You won't mention a word of our conversation to Miss Harris, but just tell me what size gloves you take, and how many buttons."

"Six-and-a-quarter, twelve buttons."

"Thanks! good-bye!" and he left her, well-satisfied with his enquiries.

"I thought you were never coming," said Reg, as they met at the door. "Short, thick-set man, wearing soft felt hat, black coat, riding breeches, and top-boots; drives a hansom with a smart grey horse; No. 1246A."

"You could not hear his name, of course?"

"I heard someone call out, 'Good-day, Dick,' as he left. What's the next move?"

"A fashionable one. Where shall we go—Buckley and Nunn's or Robertson and Moffat's?"

"What for—gloves?"

"Yes, six and a quarter, and twenty buttons."

"No, surely."

"Twenty did I say? No, the young lady is modest. A dozen will satisfy her," said Hal, leading the way.

The gloves were bought and posted to Miss Kelley, and Hal told Reg all about the courtship.

"A proud, haughty girl is what he delights in," said Reg, though he mentally added that his Amy was not of that character.

"Our next move is to find out Dick's character and his habits, for from the way she referred to him, I fancy Dick is of some material assistance to him," said Hal, dodging his way through the crowded thoroughfares. "We'd better, therefore, find his cab-rank first."

"Can you tell me—" he enquired of the first gentleman he met.

"No, got no time," said the individual addressed, as he bustled away at the rate of ten miles an hour.

"Where are the cab-ranks?" he asked another.

"Up there, round the corner," replied this one, without stopping, and being well out of range before Hal had understood his reply.

After trying to extract the information from about a dozen people, he gave it up, for every man he spoke to seemed to be in a greater hurry than his fellows. "One continued rush," said Hal, "all day long; each trying to out-do the others in business, but it all ends in the mushroom style, for they boom up everything to ten times its value, and when the relapse comes matters are fifty times worse. That's Melbourne."

After several unsuccessful attempts to find a cab-rank on which was a hansom with a grey horse, they at last saw one in Swansea Street, but to their chagrin, before they could get to it, they saw a hansom with a grey horse and a driver answering to Dick's description drive away.

"That looks like Dick," said Reg, excitedly.

"Here you are, gintlemen, jump in," said the driver of a cab, with a strong Irish accent, as he brought his vehicle to a standstill alongside them.

Acting on impulse they jumped in.



CHAPTER X.

CABBIES.

Hal and Reg had merely acted on impulse when they entered the cab. All they wanted was to get the cab out of the neighbourhood of the rank. So they ordered the driver to take them to Hosie's Hotel, in Flinders Street. Going along, a smart landau passed them, carrying a young man.

"Look, Hal," cried Reg, pointing him out. "There is our friend, the bishop's son. Wonder whose carriage he is in."

"Don't know, but it is exactly as I told you. He'll live for twelve months or more among our bloated aristocracy, who will feel only too honoured to have him as their guest."

"I suppose he has money?"

"Not necessarily. He can borrow, and they will be only too glad to lend. As soon as he is tired of one, he can go to another, and so on until he plays them all out. Finally, he marries an heiress, and goes home to spend her money amongst his friends and relations," said the cynical Hal.

The cab brought them to the hotel, and, alighting there, they ordered a boy to the horse's head, and asked the cabby to join them in a drink.

"What's your name, cabby?" asked Hal, as he handed him a pint of beer.

"Terence O'Flynn, with the accent on the 'ynn.'"

"Very nice name, too. Did you notice that cab with the grey horse drive away as we drove up?"

"Sure I did, for wasn't he foreninst me?"

"Do you know the driver's name?"

"Rather! It's Dick Burton he is, and no other."

"Where's he gone to now, Terence?"

"Sure, and I cannot tell you. He is a lucky devil is Dick, and always manages to get hold of a soft line."

"What do you call a soft line, Terence?"

"Why, gents like yourselves, with plenty of brass."

"I see, and for that reason you want us to take your cab, eh? You want a soft line, too."

"Oh! I don't mean it that way. You see, a soft line is when a fellow pays his cabby a sov., instead of a bob."

"But these sort are scarce now, Terence?"

"I don't know about that. That fellow, Dick, allus seems to spot 'em. Why look at that chap Wyck who——"

"Are you a mate of Dick's?"

"Well, you see, we go for a booze sometimes together."

"Come on! Drive us to Tattersall's stables."

"Right you are, boss," answered Terence, as he mounted the box, and cracking his whip, drove them quickly to the stables.

"Drive right in, Terence," shouted Hal.

"Take that horse out and give him a good feed," said Reg to the groom in charge as they alighted. "Now come along, Terence."

But Terence was too amazed to stir. All his Irish wit had left him, and he did not feel certain his fare were not softies. He stood with his hat in one hand and, scratching his head with the other, gazed blankly at his horse being led away to the stable.

"Come on, Terence," called Hal again; but Terence did not appear inclined to stir.

"I'll fix him, Hal," said Reg, going to the groom and paying for an hour's feed in advance. This had the desired effect, and Terence followed them without a word, but his perplexed thoughts ran thus:

"Now be jabers, by ould Oireland, here's a couple of queer coves. What the divil are they up to at all, at all? Maybe it's information they'll be wanting about Dick. Terence O'Flynn mind what you're up to—that's what Biddy, the darlint, would say if she were here, and by jabers I'll take her advice."

Hal and Reg in the meantime walked to the Palace, and calling Terence in, took the lift to the fifth floor, and went to their room.

"Sit down, Terence," said Reg, pushing a chair forward.

"You mean straight, gentlemen, I hope, 'cos I have a big family, and sure they'll all be kilt intirely should anything happen to me."

"Terence O'Flynn, we—"

"Begging your honours' pardon, the accent's on the—"

"Never mind the accent now, Terence. We mean business. We want you to tell us all you know about Wyck and his cabby, Dick Burton. If you can give us any particulars that will assist us, we will pay for the information," said Hal, producing two or three sovereigns and jingling them together.

As soon as Terence saw the sovereigns all his Irish avarice was roused.

"You want information," asked he.

"Yes, that's what we want, Terence," said Reg.

"Well then, how much are ye prepared to pay for it, for I may say the information I can give is the rarest quality to be had anywhere at double the price."

"That's your game, is it, my boy," said Hal, rising. "Now I'll pay you what I think fit, and you'll take it and be satisfied, and no hanky panky."

"Oh, beg pardon, your honour. I did not mean—"

"Never mind what you mean. Understand what I mean. In the first place you will have to swear secrecy."

"What's that: must I join a secret society? Oh, no, I'd die first, for what would Biddy and Father Doolan say?"

"I only want you to promise not to repeat anything you hear, nor anything that takes place in this room."

"I'll swear to that all right, your honour."

"Good. Now then kiss that pistol," said Hal, producing a small Derringer from his pocket.

"Kiss that craythure! Why it's a gun, and may be loaded. It may kill me. Oh, Biddy, Biddy, your darlint is going to be kilt entoirely! I can see your game. You are going to kill me and make me swear to say nothing about it."

"I'll hold the barrel towards me. You kiss the stock," said Hal, laughing.

"Well hold it tight, your honour, for if it goes off it might kick me with its rump."

"D—n you block-headed Irishman," said Hal, losing his temper.

"I'll kiss it; I'll kiss it; and if it do kick I'll open my mouth."

"Say after me then—I swear to keep this meeting secret."

"I won't, I won't; for I'll have to confess to Father Doolan. Oh, Biddy, Biddy, your darlint is amongst burglars!"

"Now then, Terence O'Flynn, with the accent on the 'ynn,' you are a silly fool, but you have sworn to keep secret all that passes here, and to assist us, for which we will pay you—"

"Barring Father—"

"Shut up. Wait till I've finished. When did you first see this Wyck, whom you called a soft line?"

"The first time I saw him was the second cos I only had a back view first. It was one morning just as I drove to the stand, about ten o'clock. I was in my cab, and Dick Burton was just foreninst of me. I twigged a fellow coming along who looked like a swell looking out for a cab, so I drove up to him before Dick could, but by jabers if he did not pass me right by and beckon to Dick. That was Wyck. I was a bit cross all day, and when I saw Dick in the evening I asked him who he was. 'He's my property,' says he. 'He's a good un, and allus pays in gold.' Dick drove him about for several days, and last night he comes to me in great excitement. 'Terence,' says he, 'we'll go on the booze.' 'All right,' says I; and we had a regular good booze, we had. Bill was regular screwed, and he told me his pigeon had gone away and left him. He's gone to the "toight little island." That's what we call Tasmania, sir; and that's all I know, so help me."

"Where did Wyck live?"

"At the Gaiety. He was a bit sweet on a gal there. Lord, he was a lady's man, he was. Always had them out driving."

"What sort of a man is Dick Burton?" asked Reg, now speaking for the first time.

"Well, sir, I don't like to say bad of any man if I could say good, but Dick Burton is a bad egg, sir."

"What do you mean by a bad egg?"

"Well, as I said before, I don't—"

"Yes, we know all that."

"Well, sir, I don't like to say bad, I don't; but Dick ain't to be trusted. He's been mixed up in several dirty jobs."

"That will do now, Terence. If you are careful and mind what you are about, you will have a soft line. Your address is you say 470, Lonsdale Street, West, so we know where to find you. Here are a couple of sovereigns, and you are to keep a sharp look out on Dick for us. Remember this," and he touched the revolver. "Good-day. There's the lift."

"No, your honour, thank you. I've not got half-an-hour to waste; I'd rather go down the steps, that'll only take five minutes," with that Terence disappeared.

"We must enquire about Tasmania at once, Hal," said Reg.

On enquiry they found that there was no boat leaving for Tasmania for several days, so they decided to spend the time in looking round to see if they could come across Dick Burton and his grey horse.

They went off to the usual stand, but neither Terence nor Dick was there, but turning, they found themselves in luck's way for once, for they met the identical cab driving towards them. They hailed him, and directed him to drive to Cumberland Hotel, Fitzroy.

Arriving there they engaged a private parlour, found up a boy to hold the horse, and invited Dick in. The man's face and manner marked him as all Terence described.

"What's the game, gents?" said he, "something good on?"

"I can't say there is anything particular on, but you shall be well paid for your time, and will not be a loser," answered Hal.

"Quite right, gentlemen, but you ain't the sort to bring fellows like me here for nothing, so again I asks, what's your game?" and Dick smiled benignly at them, and noisily expectorated into the fire-place.

"You know a gentleman named Wyckliffe, I believe?"

"Yes, he does me the honour to ride in my cab."

"He's a friend of ours," continued Hal, "and to tell you the truth, he is going it a bit strong; in fact, too strong for his income to stand it."

"Never did it with me, sir. Fact was, he was rather mean, and often barneyed over a few bob. I was jolly glad when he cleared, for he began to be too familiar-like, and I don't like chaps who run up a score with a cabby. He owes me twenty quid now. Of course, I reckon he'll pay it, for he told me he was a bit stiff, but that his friends would settle up, so if you'll kindly hand over twenty sovs, I'll give yer a receipt," said Dick, quite unconcerned.

Hal and Reg were as much surprised at Dick's news, as at his manner of imparting it.

"My time's money, so if you want to part up, I'll tell you what I'll do. I ain' a hard one to chaps stuck. Give me a tenner, and we'll cry quits."

"Where's Wyck now?" asked Hal, sharply, looking Dick straight in the face, a gaze he did not approve of.

"He ain't far away, quite close handy; but what do you want to know for?" asked Dick, in return, on the aggressive.

"Merely wished to look him up," said Hal.

"Oh! well, that alters the case. I thought you was after him to do him an injury and, as he has been a good friend to me, I'll stick to him. I'll tell yer what I'll do, gents. I'm a bit short, and will run the risk of offending him, but if you plank down a fiver, I'll guarantee to bring him here to-night."

"How can you do that, when he's in Tasmania?" said Reg.

"Who told you he'd gone there? Well, well; they was getting at yer. He's not in Tasmania," answered Dick, putting on an innocent air. But finding he had given himself away, he began to get into a rage.

"We'll have another drink, and bring this interview to a close. You can drive us back to Collins Street, Dick."

Dick obeyed in a surly way, and when they pulled up at the Palace, Hal asked him the damage.

"A sov.—and no humbug," was the reply.

"Your fare is two shillings," said Hal.

"It's a sov. or a summons, so please yourself," retorted Dick.

"I'll pay it you, but it's a swindle, and you know it, but, mark my words, Dick, when swindlers swindle people, then it is time for people to swindle swindlers," said Hal, handing him the money.

"Oh, go to the d—," said Dick, shortly, and whipping up his horse, drove rapidly away. Terence appeared then on the scene, and received the order to follow him and report.

"Come up as far as Menzie's Hotel, Reg," said Hal. "I have a little bit of business to do there."

Off they go, but Reg is puzzled to find out what the business is, for all Hal does is to call for drinks, take a sheet of paper from the rack, and scribble a few words, put it in an envelope, and leave again.

Back in their room at the Palace, Hal explains the purpose of his visit to Menzie's.

"It was this address I wanted," said he, producing a couple of sheets of paper having the name of the hotel stamped on them. "These are for our friend, Dick. I intend to swindle the swindler," he added, as he handed Reg the letter he had written, as follows:

"Dear Dick Burton,

"A chum of mine recommends you as being the very man I want to assist me in a little bit of fun. Meet me at Pier Hotel, St. Kilda, on Tuesday, at 10.45, and bring a good horse. There's a lady in it.

"Yours, etc., "WATSON.

"P.S.—Enquire for letter of instruction at the bar."

"That's for Dick at this end. Now for another at the other end," and he sat down and wrote:

"Melbourne.

"MY DEAR RICHARD,

"I am very much obliged by your coming. Did you ever hear of a case in which a swindler was swindled? This is one. Remember honesty is the best policy.

"Yours etc., "WATSON."

"The first I will post to-night, and the second I will leave at the hotel to be called for."

About eight o'clock Terence turned up, and reported having shadowed Dick first to the Telegraph office, then to the Gaiety, and out to the Cumberland, before he came back to the stand. This seemed satisfactory news to the boys, and they again tipped Terence, and after giving him a few further instructions, let him go.

"Now for Tasmania," said Hal.

They found the Pateena was advertised to leave at noon for Launceston, and were successful in securing a couple of good berths. In the midst of their packing the following morning, it flashed upon Hal that he had made no arrangements whereby Terence could communicate with them, so they walked towards his stand, but finding both Dick and Terence there, they passed on. As a young urchin calling out "Monthly Guide" passed by them, Reg stopped him, and told him to follow them to the hotel.

"I'm fly, governor; go ahead," he said.

Shortly after the youngster joined them, and Hal gave him a note for Terence, instructing him where to write.

"Take this," he said, "to the second cab on the stand, with the black horse, No. 1974, and here's a shilling for you."

"Eight you are, boss; but I suppose yer going to shout."

"Certainly, what will you have—lemonade, ginger-pop?—"

"Go along with yer. A glass of beer, and not too much froth on it is my style. Ginger-pop, indeed! Do you take me for a temperance lecturer? Here's to yer, governor. I'll fix yer note for yer: never fear. Good-day."

"Now we can catch the boat nicely, Reg," said Hal, when they had done laughing over this depraved juvenile.

"I say," said Reg. "Did it strike you that Wyck might have crossed in the same boat? We may be able to pick up something from some of the officers. I suppose we are free from the 'lords in disguise' business this time?"

"We can feel safe on that score. The Tasmanians are too slow to trouble about us; and not only that, but it might be dangerous to mention it."

"Why?"

"I'll tell you later on."



CHAPTER XI.

LAUNCESTON.

"What time do you expect to make Launceston, Mr. Wilson?" asked Hal, of the chief officer of the Pateena during his watch.

"At mid-day, all being well, sir."

"Do you remember having a passenger named Wyckliffe, on board during your last trip across?"

"Wyckliffe, or Wyck, as they called him—rather, do I not?—the funniest thing I ever saw"—here Wilson fairly roared at the recollection of the incident. This interested the boys, and they begged Wilson to tell them the joke.

"There was a lady in it, I bet," said Hal.

"You are right; there was. It was like this. We had a pretty big passenger list, and amongst them was a Mr. Goodchild and his daughter—but perhaps you know them?"

On being assured the contrary, he continued:

"This Goodchild is a very wealthy squatter, and lives about twenty miles from Launceston. He made his money in the early days: how I don't know, but he had something to do with convicts. At any rate, he's very rich, and owns a lot of country. His only daughter, May, is a girl of twenty-one, with about as pretty a face as one can see in a day's march. Goody—as we call him behind his back—adores this girl. She is everything to him, and he lives for her; he jealously watches her and wards off every man who comes near her. He once nearly snapped my head off for bringing her a chair. She is a good girl and tries her best to please and humour him in every way, taking very little notice of anybody else. This Wyckliffe seemed to have no difficulty in making himself popular with the ladies, and began to pay special attention to Miss Goody. Old Goody noticed this, and twice carried his daughter away from him. Tea being over, old Goody had stayed below to finish one of his yarns, and did not notice his daughter had left the saloon. Coming to an interesting episode, he happened to look round, and missed his daughter. That yarn was never finished, for he rushed on deck, and sure enough found those two promenading arm in arm. He tore the girl away, and carried her below, shouting out to Wyck: 'I'll come back and deal with you directly, you infernal scoundrel. You reprobate, etc., etc.' 'A nice evening, Mr. Goodchild,' answered Wyck, as cool as possible, 'I'm sorry you are cross.' Well, old Goody kept his daughter down below, and wandered about himself in a frenzied condition. My watch was up at twelve, and we had a whiskey together before turning in. About four bells I heard a tremendous row; jumped out of my bunk, and ran up on deck, and the sight that met my eyes nearly killed me with laughter. It appeared that both Miss Goody and Wyck had made the acquaintance of an engaged couple who spent the whole voyage in spooning. They did not like to go on deck by themselves at such an early hour, and so had arranged that Wyck and Miss Goody should join them. This plan was carried out, and all four were having a jolly time when old Goody, unable to sleep, came on deck for a little fresh air, and was in the midst of them before they guessed their danger. Then the fun commenced. Wyck pushed Miss Goody on one side, and the old chap, with a war-whoop, made for him, but came seriously to grief by catching his foot in one of the hawsers; and, falling on his stomach, lay there yelling 'Murder!' Both Wyck and his daughter tried to help him up, but when he found who it was, he chased him round the deck. The noise was terrifying, and the picture the ship presented was intensely amusing. Ladies and children in their night-gear, gentlemen in pyjamas, all had rushed up in their excitement, feeling sure the ship was wrecked and, seeing Goody racing about, forgot all about their appearance, and enjoyed the fun. Suddenly an old maid appeared in her dressing-gown and, catching sight of her niece in worse than deshabille, shouted out, 'Maria, come here, you disgraceful creature. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.' That was the signal for them all to realise their position, and it was a case of 'rats to their holes.' In two minutes the deck was clear. It was the joke of the voyage, but did not end there, for when old Goody, looking very cross, accompanied his daughter to breakfast next day, he took care to seat her and himself in two vacant chairs which were occupied on either side. Goody had an excellent appetite, and did full justice to the good things provided, but he was so fully engaged that he did not notice that the young man on his daughter's right, had slipped away to another seat. Wyck came down and seeing the vacant chair, took possession of it, much to the amusement of all around. While old Goody was engaged in devouring a large helping of curry, and was in the act of raising his cup to wash down an extra large mouthful, he suddenly caught sight of Wyck talking to his daughter. His amazement, his rage and his greediness acting altogether at the same moment, brought about a calamity. He tried to swallow his food; he tried to put down his cup; he tried to swear and he tried to catch hold of Wyck all at once, and the result was disaster. The curry stuck in his throat, the coffee spilt all down his shirt-front, and in the struggle his chair gave way beneath him and he was landed on the floor with half the table on the top of him. There he lay sputtering, kicking and swearing, and the shrieks of laughter from the other passengers were almost deafening; in fact so great was the noise that the steerage passengers and crew came bolting to the cabin. Goody was borne off to his cabin, and he kept his daughter by him until we were at the wharf. We all supposed that Wyck was a lover of hers, but since then I have heard he met her here for the first time. But there goes the breakfast bell, and you had better secure your chairs," said he, abruptly, and as the captain came on deck he hustled the two from the bridge.

When Wilson's watch was up, he again came aft to his two friends, and suggested they should go with him to the fore-cabin where they could see some fun, as there were a great number of miners making for Tasmania at that time, and the boat was crowded with them. Although only allowed to carry sixty, nearly double that number was on board and, in consequence, some little trouble was experienced in serving their meals.

"Now watch the fun," said Wilson, as two dirty-looking stewards came from the galley, each carrying two large tin dishes smoking from the fire. One contained chops, the other boiled potatoes. These they placed on a table, and the whole of the miners rushed and scrambled for them.

From the seething mass of human beings one would emerge with a chop in one hand, and a potato in the other, and race away to a quiet corner to enjoy them. It looked like a huge monkey-cage at feeding-time.

After this sensation, Reg and Hal promenaded the deck, smoking and chatting.

"Why did you say it was dangerous to mention lords in disguise here?" said Reg.

"Oh, I'll tell you," said Hal. "You see, last year Tasmania was very short of visitors. Now, there was a barber in Sydney whose business was bad, so he decided to boom Tasmania. He assumed the name of a bogus viscount and, leaving his wife and children behind, went for a holiday with a young lady of the theatre. Of course, the good news that a viscount and viscountess were on their way to Tasmania soon spread, and great preparations were made for their arrival. They were invited everywhere to all the aristocratic places, and were made no end of. Well, to make a long story short, the game was exposed by means of the deserted wife applying for maintenance. The barber is now in gaol."

"But surely his manners must have shewn him up?"

"I'll give you, in answer, the opinion of an old resident who met them. He said he and his missus liked that viscount because he put on no side, and talked and laughed in such a way that they felt quite at home with him. I must add that this gentleman was absent for a trip when the trial was on."

The boat was now coming alongside the Pier at Launceston, the pretty little capital of Northern Tasmania, nestling cosily at the foot of its surrounding hills. Landing, they went at once to the Brisbane Hotel.

"Launceston is small in comparison with Melbourne," said Hal, "and, being only twenty hours' distance by steamer, it naturally endeavours to copy her in many ways: certainly the business people have a touch of Melbourne in their ways, and they are as proud of their muddy little river, as Adelaide is of her lake."

They both lost no time in proceeding on the war-path, and immediately commenced on the hotels which kept saloons. The number was not large, but to their surprise they could not find the slightest trace of Wyck.

"Perhaps he is going for higher game," said Reg, as they walked down Brisbane Street, struck, as every visitor is, with the overwhelming extent to which female beauty was represented there.

"He is probably still devoting himself to Miss Goodchild, but I do not think he would have much chance, as her father would not let him come near the place."

"My dear fellow," answered Reg, sadly, "Whyte forbade Amy to see him, and yet she went."

As they continued their walk, Hal made the following comments, as was his wont:

"Tasmanian people are decidedly slow. They do not care to hurry and bustle about, but take their own time. Launceston has a great deal of the leisurely element, but so many Victorians have gone over there to settle that the older residents have had to enliven themselves a bit. Launceston and Hobart are as jealous of each other, if not more so, than Melbourne and Sydney. Launceston is the best business town, so many mines having been opened up on the North-West coast, but their sore point is their mud-hole, the Tamar; while Hobart has one of the finest harbours in the world. Launceston people repudiate their connection with 'that old convict settlement' and claim to rightly belong to Melbourne."

At dinner they made acquaintance with a young fellow named McKintosh, who had been a passenger on the boat with Wyck, so they carried him off to the smoking-room for a jaw.

McKintosh verified the first mate's account of the contretemps on board, and remarked that the strangest feature about it was the girl's infatuation.

"Do you know them at all?" asked Hal, puffing vigorously at his cigar.

"Oh, yes, I have known the old man for some years, as I am a frequent visitor here. I met him in town to-day, and I have never seen a man so changed in so short a time. He seems completely upset. I should advise Wyck to keep out of his way, for if he meets him there will be bloodshed."

"Did you see anything of Wyck after landing?"

"Once I saw him in the street, but I don't know where he is staying. Do you know him?"

"I met him in England," answered Reg, quietly.

"He's the funniest chap I ever saw," continued McKintosh. "He shared my cabin, and just before landing I went down to pack. I had tennis shoes on, and I came upon him unawares, and he seemed a bit flurried."

"What was he doing then?"

"I don't know, exactly, but he seemed to be whittling a stick—a black stick with a lot of notches in it."

"My God!" said Reg, startled out of his reserve.

"What's the matter?" said McKintosh.

"Nothing," answered Reg, as, excusing himself, he left the room.

"He's subject to sudden attacks like that. Don't mind them," said Hal to McKintosh, in a casual way; and, bidding him good-night, left the room.

When he joined Reg in the room they shared, he was taken aback at what he saw. Reg was polishing his die with a chamois leather, and his face wore an expression of sternness.

"Hal, old chap. We must get this in use at once."

"My dear boy, we cannot go faster than we are going. We have not lost an instant up till now."

"Where does this Goodchild live?"

"His place is ten miles from here, on the North-Western line. He has a private siding called Lewisham."

"One of us had better go and see him. How do the trains run? Where's the guide?"

"Here you are. The first train leaves at 8.10. I think I had better go, and leave you to get our things packed and square up, in case I send you a wire."

"Yes, all right. I should like to sympathize with him, but I may get another chance. This is the only thing that gives me relief," added Reg, holding up his die, "when I think that some day it will be used for the purpose that I had it made for."

"Let's hope so, old chap. But now to bed."



CHAPTER XII.

GOODCHILD'S.

The North-Western express pulled up for a few moments at the Lewisham siding, and Hal alighted with a "Thank you, sir; that's the house, over there," from the guard; and the train proceeded on its way.

The house referred to was a mansion in size. It was surrounded by beautiful trees, and stood in well-kept grounds, in the midst of which a lake could be discerned glistening in the sun. The country round was the pick of the land, for Goodchild's father had taken it up in the early days, when every pound in cash that a man could show entitled him to an acre of land. No check being put on this rough-and-ready mode of procedure, the sovereign was frequently passed on to a friend to show, who would secure another portion and hand over the title to his principal, receiving something for his trouble. Most of the rich estates in Tasmania were originally obtained in this manner. Hal walked along the path leading to the house, lost in admiration of its beautiful, natural surroundings. His arrival was apparently noted, for an elderly man came out to meet him.

"Mr. Goodchild, I believe?"

"Yes, that's my name," and he gave his visitor a close scrutiny, wondering what his errand could be.

"My name is Winter, sir, and I have called for the purpose of having some conversation with you."

"What is your business, sir?"

"If we could go inside we could talk it over."

"Are you a book-traveller, or anything of that kind?" asked he, snappishly, "for if you are I cannot see you."

"No, sir, I am not. I have called on business too important to be discussed out here."

"Then you had better come inside and tell it," he answered, leading the way into the house.

"I called to see you about that fellow Wyckliffe," said Hal, as he sat down in the library.

"What about him? Are you a friend of his?" snarled the old man.

"No, I am not; and that is my reason for calling on you."

"Curse him, I say. Curse him," added the old man, emphatically.

"You're not the first who has had cause to do that," said Hal, solemnly, wishing to gain his host's confidence.

"Do you know him then?"

"By reputation, yes; otherwise, no."

"Then why do you call on me?"

"Mr. Goodchild, my errand may seem a strange one, but I have had a detailed account given me of his blackguardly behaviour to you and your daughter."

"But what has that to do with you?" he asked, excitedly.

"Stay, Mr. Goodchild. I will tell you all. My friend Morris and I are on his tracks to revenge a cruel wrong he did." And Hal thereupon told him the whole story from the beginning. "Now, sir, I come to offer you my assistance to shew him to your daughter in his true light."

"But she's gone," he burst out.

"Where?" cried Hal, "not with him?"

"God knows, I don't," and the poor old fellow hid his face in his hands, and sobbed.

"You must tell me all, sir. Tell me all: there is no time to be lost," said Hal, excitedly.

"There's not much to tell, sir. He will be able to add another notch to his stick, for he has literally broken my heart. I never have discussed my private affairs with anyone, sir, but I will tell you my story, for I feel you are to be trusted.

"She is my only child. I loved her mother dearly for sixteen years, and all that time it was our great sorrow that we were childless, and I fervently thanked God on the day she told me our hopes were to be realized. Had I known the trouble that child was to cost me, I would have been less fervent. A little girl was born to us, and a week later she was motherless."

"Go on," said Hal, encouragingly, as Goody stopped and hesitated.

"Well, it took me a long time to console myself with a little bundle of flesh like that. But as she grew up I found all my love returning, and then I had only one thing to live for—my daughter May. I loved her with a jealous love, and I guarded and watched over her as one might a precious jewel. She has had the best teachers. She can ride, drive, play on half-a-dozen instruments. Our one great joy and happiness was to be together, and I dreaded the day when her hand would be asked in marriage. We had never been separated, and when we started on our return journey from Melbourne, where we had been on a visit, I little thought what was before me." Here the heart-broken old man again broke down.

"Come, come, bear up, sir. Don't give way," said Hal, comforting him.

"My dear lad. I am a rich man, and would willingly lay down twenty thousand pounds to have my girl back in her old place beside me."

"And so you shall, sir," said Hal, reassuringly.

"How?" asked he.

"First tell me all that occurred after your arrival."

"Well I took good care that that scoundrel should not see her again after breakfast, and when we got ashore we drove in a closed carriage to the station, and came on here."

"Well, what then?"

"She became very sulky, would not talk, and shut herself up; neglected her pets, and all her favourite occupations; avoided me as much as she could. I tried to coax her. I tried everything I knew, but to no avail. She seemed to have forgotten me, and to think of no one but that fellow, and I have since found out that he followed her here and twice met her clandestinely."

"I can quite understand that. It's his infernal mesmeric business."

"Yes, I guessed things were not all straight, but I was completely powerless, and yesterday she had a letter from him, from Hobart."

"Hobart! How did you know it was from him?" asked Hal, with excitement.

"She told me so, and she said she was going to meet him."

"What did you say?"

"What could I? When I offered to go with her, she told me straight out, in a manner she had never used to me before, that she was going alone. At that I lost my temper, and I said—go. And she left by last night's express."

"Do you know what time the next train passes?" asked Hal.

"Yes, there will be one in half-an-hour. Why?"

"Never mind why, but get a few things together, and be ready to go by it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that if your daughter sees him, it will be too late."

"I understand," he said, and lost no time in doing as he was bidden.

The private signal was hoisted at the siding, and the train stopping, they both got in. As it passed the next station Hal threw out a note, with half-a-crown wrapped inside it, asking the station-master to forward a telegram to Reg to meet them at Launceston station.

"This is my friend Morris, Mr. Goodchild," said Hal, introducing Reg, whom they found waiting for them; and ten minutes later, by special arrangement with his highness the guard, the three had a first-class compartment in the Hobart express all to themselves. By the time Hobart was reached, all three thoroughly understood each other.

"Really, gentlemen, I don't know how to thank you for the trouble you are taking; certainly I am rich, and I shall be most happy to place my purse at your disposal."

"We appreciate your offer, sir, but we have enough to go on with," said Hal.

"And as for the rest," chimed in Reg, "we are just as anxious to get hold of Wyck as you are, sir."

"Gentlemen, I am an old man, but should harm have come to my——"

"Come, come, sir, don't look at it like that," said Hal, making light of it, for he could plainly see that the old gentleman was working himself up to a highly-excitable state.

"Here we are," said Reg, taking his cue from Hal. "By Jove, what a glorious place; what magnificent scenery; well may Tasmanians be proud of it!"

"Where do you stay when in Hobart?" asked Hal of the old man.

"At 'Eastella.' The proprietress, Mrs. Eastwood, is an old friend of mine."

"If you will be guided by us, sir, you will stay at the 'Orient' with us."

"I am entirely in your hands, gentlemen."

Hobart is known as "Sleepy Hollow." The train was slow, the porters leisurely, the cab-horses comatose, and it was only after considerable delay that they arrived at the "Orient" and took their rooms.

"Excuse us for a moment," said Hal, leading Reg away. "I am going to Eastella to enquire. The girl may be there, and so may he. I may book a room for a week. In the meantime, keep an eye on Goody, and don't go out until I return and let you know the result," he said, when Goody was out of earshot.

Reg assented, and returned to his companion. Hal had no difficulty in finding his way to Eastella, and, noting it was a first-class place, he sent in his card, with the intimation that he wished to see the proprietress. A few minutes later he was ushered into a snug little office, and found himself face to face with a pleasant-featured, homely lady of some fifty summers, seated at a desk heaped up with papers.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Winter?" she enquired, rising and greeting him.

"Yes, Mrs. Eastwood, I want to stay here for a week."

"Certainly; that will cost you three guineas," she said, making out a receipt.

Hal paid the bill, with a mental tribute of admiration of her business-like ways.

"Have you a Miss Goodchild staying here?" he asked.

"Yes; why do you ask?"

"Have you a Mr. Wyckliffe?"

"No, he's not here at present. I expect him back in a day or two," she answered, wonderingly.

"Then they have not met?" said Hal, in some excitement.

"No, of course not; but who are you? I hope you are not an enquiry agent, for if you are—"

"No, no, madam! but you cannot think what a relief to me your answer was."

"Will you kindly explain?" said she, looking at him curiously.

"You know that Miss Goodchild has left her home and father, to meet him here?"

"No, I do not; although she's certainly not herself. But who are you?"

"My dear madam, forgive my haste; but I will explain everything to you later. I must run off now to tell Mr. Goodchild the good news."

"Why, where's Mr. Goodchild?"

"Staying at the 'Orient,' by my advice. But now, one more question, madam—Do you know where Wyckliffe is now?"

"He's yachting off Port Arthur. I sent a telegram on to him to-day, which had been waiting here for him for two days." Here, the entrance of a maid-servant for instructions, gave Hal the opportunity of leaving; and, taking a cab, he was soon back at the "Orient."

"It's all right, Reg," he shouted. "Where's Goody?"

"He's in the drawing-room, pacing it like a wild beast in a cage."

"Good news, Mr. Goodchild. They have not met yet," said Hal, shaking him by the hand.

"Thank God!" said the old man, fervently, and the relief was so great, that he sank on his knees by the sofa.

Hal and Reg left the room: the old man's thankfulness was too sacred to be overlooked.

"Have you found him?" asked Reg.

"Yes, he's at Port Arthur."

"Where's that?"

"It's the old convict settlement, about forty miles from here."

"How do you get to it—by rail?"

"No, we must go by boat. If you'll look after Goody, I'll run down to the wharf and make arrangements."

"Hal, old boy, where should I be without you?" said Reg, turning a face full of gratitude on his friend.

"Nonsense. We must lose no time," and he hurriedly left in the direction of the harbour. Alongside Elizabeth Pier he found a small steam-boat and, as smoke was coming from her, he concluded she was in use.

"Ship ahoy, there!" he sung out.

"What's up, boss?" said a young fellow, putting his head through the hatchway.

"Is the skipper aboard?"

"Yes, he's for'ard in his cabin. He's gone to bed."

"Are you there, skipper," said Hal, knocking at the door of a small cabin.

"Hallo, there; what's the matter?" shouted a voice from the inside, and presently the door opened and a head was thrust out.

"Can you take us to Port Arthur, to-night?"

"What?"

"Can you take us to Port Arthur, to-night?"

"No, I'll be hanged if I can."

"That's all right then. Sorry I disturbed you," said Hal, walking away.

"Hold hard, boss. Don't be in such a blooming hurry," called out the skipper, appearing on the deck, buttoning up his garments.

"Now then, what's it you want?"

"I want to go to Port Arthur, to-night."

"Impossible, why it's ten o'clock now."

"Well, I want to start at once."

"Won't Norfolk Bay do you? It's only eight miles away: just a nice walk."

"Why Norfolk Bay?"

"Why, because Port Arthur lies outside, and to go there you have to face open sea, and it looks like blowing a bit. While if you go to Norfolk Bay, you are under shelter."

"I see; the boat is hardly big enough for the open sea."

"What! this boat! Go along with yer. I'd cross the Atlantic in her. She'd face—"

"All right. Eight miles is not much of a walk. Can you start at twelve sharp? And if a fiver will squeeze matters so that we can return to-morrow—"

"That'll do, sir. Twelve sharp it is. Now then boy, fire up like—"

"What's the name of your boat?" asked Hal.

"Tarantula."

"And her Captain?"

"Captain John White, R.N."

Having made all arrangements, Hal returned to the hotel, where he found Goody quieted down and in quite an amiable mood, ready to cry for joy when Hal told him he was sure he would be able to take his daughter back with him. He bade Reg be ready by twelve sharp.

"Twelve sharp it is, my boy," said Reg. "And I hope I shall have a chance of handling this toy"—and he touched the morocco case which held the die.



CHAPTER XIII.

PORT ARTHUR.

"Good-bye, Mr. Goodchild. Be sure and carry out our instructions and, above all things, wire if you hear anything of Wyckliffe," said Hal, as he and Reg stepped on board the little steamer.

"You can depend on me, gentlemen. Good-bye, and God bless you," answered he from the pier.

"Now then, skipper, full speed ahead."

"Ay, ay, sir. Let her go, boy."

Once more the boys were on the deep. As the little boat steamed ahead, increasing the distance between them and the pier, they watched the figure of Goody standing by the gas-lamp. He had resisted all their endeavours to make him go to bed, and insisted on coming down to the pier to see them off.

"What time do you reckon to get there, skipper?" asked Reg, as they prepared to turn in.

"About day-break, sir. I'll call you," answered the skipper, as he took the wheel.

A gruff voice bawling "All for shore," wakened them the next morning and, mounting to the deck they found the steamer was just entering the picturesque little bay. The sun was gilding the line of rugged hills that surrounded the bay and glinting on the water, and they both exclaimed in delight at the lovely scene before them.

The steamer was made fast alongside the little pier and, accompanied by the skipper they made their way to the hotel, an old building standing on the slope of the hill, a few hundred yards away.

"Mornin', skipper. You're early," said a rough old fellow, appearing in the doorway.

"So we are, Clarke."

"Is there any conveyance to be had here to take us to Port Arthur?" asked Hal.

"None, unless you wire to old Brown at the Port to bring his cart over."

"Then we'll walk. Where's the road?"

"Go right ahead, then turn to the right and follow the telegraph wire. It will take you right into the Port," said Clarke, pointing out the direction.

"I suppose you don't know if there is a yacht lying there?"

"Yes there is, or at least there was yesterday. It belongs to a young fellow named Wyckliffe, who sent word he was coming my way to-day, as he expected a lady," answered Clarke, with a smile.

"Well, good-bye, we will be back some time to-day," as they started on their journey.

They found the road very hilly, and monotonous, lined on either side with thick scrub and dotted here and there with the solitary house of a selector. Having completed the ascent of a fairly high hill, they got their first view of Port Arthur, where it lay in a small valley surrounded with rough and mountainous country. Huge masses of ruins lay in all directions, for it was on the shores of this loveliest of bays that the early convict settlement was made. This fair spot, one of Nature's most exuberant freaks, was the scene, in that fearful past, of many a deed of atrocious barbarity. Very few houses still remain entire. Many familiar English trees surround the blackened ruins of the little church, which was destroyed by fire some years ago. Round its deserted walls the ivy still clings, hiding its ruins with a tender cloak of greenery as one who says, "Je meurs ou je m'attache."

"I can't see anything of the yacht," said Reg, as he glanced anxiously round the bay.

"No, none of the boats there could be called a yacht. Say, where's the hotel?" asked he of an old fellow standing by.

"That's it, straight ahead," said the man, pointing to what appeared to be a private residence. In former days it had been the house of the Governor of that noble settlement.

"Good-morning sir," said Hal, to a man who was holding up the door of the hotel with his shoulder.

"Good-morning gentlemen," and he straightened himself and stood on one side.

"This is a pretty place."

"Yes it is, sir."

"We were expecting to find a friend of ours here with his yacht, but we can't see anything of him."

"What was his name?" asked the landlord, for it was he.

"Wyckliffe," answered Hal, carelessly, though the nerves of both he and Reg were strained to the utmost.

"He's gone, gentlemen. You are too late."

A smothered oath burst from Reg's lips.

"How long was he here?" asked Hal, entering and sitting down.

"Let's see, this is Thursday. He came here on Tuesday evening, and sailed the yacht round from Hobart. But I say, gentlemen, do you happen to know anybody named Dick Burton?" said the landlord, with a cunning smile.

"Yes, why?" said Reg.

"Well, he sent this wire to Wyckliffe," and he took down a telegram from a shelf behind him, and handed it to Hal, who read:—

"Wyckliffe, Launceston, or Hobart. Two men enquiring. Morris one. Fancy they left for Tasmania. Dick Burton."