Kitabı oku: «The Tale of Timber Town», sayfa 10

CHAPTER XIX

A Den of Thieves

Down a by-lane in the outskirts of Timber Town stood a dilapidated wooden cottage. Its windows lacked many panes, its walls were bare of paint, the shingles of its roof were rotten and scanty; it seemed uninhabitable and empty, and yet, as night fell, within it there burned a light. Moreover, there were other signs of life within its crazy walls, for when all without was quiet and dark, the door opened and a bare-headed man emerged.

“Carny!” he called.

A whistle sounded down the lane, and soon a figure advanced from the shadow of a hedge and stood in the light of the open door.

“We’ve only waited near an hour for you,” said the first man. “If you’ve orders to be on time, be on time. D’you expect the whole push to dance attendance on you?”

“Now, Dolphin, draw it mild. That blame pretty girl at The Lucky Digger kept me, an’ wouldn’t let me go, though I told her I had a most important engagement.”

“Petticoats an’ our business don’t go together,” gruffly responded Dolphin. “Best give ’em a wide berth till we’ve finished our work here and got away.”

The two men entered the house, and the door was shut.

At a bare, white-pine table sat two other men, the sour-faced Garstang and the young fellow who answered to the name of Sweet William.

“Come in, come in,” said the latter, “and stop barrackin’ like two old washerwomen. Keep yer breath to discuss the biz.”

Dolphin and Carnac drew chairs to the table, on which stood a guttering candle, glued to the wood with its own grease.

“Charming residence,” remarked Carnac, elegant in a black velvet coat, as he glanced round the bare and battered room.

“Sweet William Villa,” said the young man. “I pay no rent; and mighty comfortable it is too, when you have a umberella to keep out the rain.”

“Our business,” said the pugnacious-looking Dolphin, “is to square up, which hasn’t been done since we cleaned out the digger that William hocussed.”

He drew a handful of notes and gold from his pocket, and placed it on the table.

“Gently,” said Sweet William, who took Carnac’s hat, and placed it over the money. “Wait till I fix my blind.” Snatching a blanket from a bed made upon the bare floor, he hung it on two nails above the window, so as to effectually bar the inquisitive gaze of chance wayfarers. “Damme, a bloke would think you wanted to advertise the firm and publish our balance-sheet.” Stepping down to the floor, he replaced Carnac’s hat upon its owner’s head, and said “Fire away.”

Each man placed his money in front of him, and rendered his account. Then Dolphin took all the money, counted it, and divided it into four equal heaps, three of which he distributed, and one of which he retained.

“Fifty-seven quid,” said Sweet William, when he had counted his money. “A very nice dividend for the week. I think I’ll give up batching here, and live at The Lucky Digger and have a spree.”

“Not much, William,” broke in Dolphin. “Keep yourself in hand, my son. Wait till we’ve made our real haul and got away with the loot: then you can go on the burst till all’s blue. Each man wants his wits about him, for the present.”

“You mean the bank,” said Carnac.

The leader of the gang nodded.

“I’ve fossicked around the premises,” continued the gentleman in the velvet coat, “and I must confess that they’re the most trifling push I ever saw. There’s the manager, a feeble rat of a man; another fellow that’s short-sighted and wears specs.; a boy, and the teller, a swell who wears gloves on his boots and looks as if he laced himself up in stays.”

“I reckon there’s a rusty old revolver hanging on a nail somewheres,” remarked Garstang.

“Most likely,” said Dolphin, “but our plan is to walk in comfortable and easy just before closing-time. I’ll present a faked-up cheque which’ll cause a consultation between the teller and the short-sighted party. In the meantime, Carnac will interview the manager about sending a draft to his wife in England. You, Garstang, will stand ready to bar the front door, and William will attend to the office-boy and the door at the back. Just as the clerks are talking about the cheque, I’ll whip out my weapon and bail ’em up, and then the scheme will go like clock-work.”

“But suppose there’s a mob of customers in the place?” asked Garstang.

“A lot of harmless sheep!” replied Dolphin. “It’ll be your duty to bail them up. There’s a big strong-room at the back, well-ventilated, commodious, and dry. We’ll hustle everybody into that, and you and William will stand guard over them. Then Carnac will bring the manager from his room, and with the persuasion of two pistols at his head the little old gentleman will no doubt do the civil in showing us where he stows his dollars. There’ll be plenty of time: the bank will be closed just as in the ordinary course of things. We’ll do the job thoroughly, and when we’ve cleaned the place out, we’ll lock all the parties up in the strong-room, and quit by the back door as soon as it’s dusk.”

“Sounds O.K.,” remarked Sweet William, “but there’ll be a picnic before morning. I reckon we’ll need to get away pretty sudden.”

“That can be arranged in two ways,” said Dolphin. “First, we can choose a day when a steamer is leaving port early in the evening, say, eight o’clock; or we can take to the bush, and make our way across country. I’ve turned over both plans in my mind, and I rather prefer the latter. But that is a point I leave to you – I’ll fall in with the opinion of the majority.”

“Yes,” said Garstang, “it looks as if it must succeed: it looks as if it can’t go wrong. Our leader Dolphin, the brains of the gang, has apparently fixed up everything; the details are all thought out; the men are ready and available, but – ”

“But what?” asked Dolphin gruffly. “Are you going to back down? Frightened of getting a bit of lead from a rusty old revolver, eh?”

“It ain’t that,” replied the ugliest member of the gang, “but supposin’ there’s no money in the bloomin’ bank, what then?”

A roar of laughter greeted his surmise.

“What d’you suppose the bank’s for,” asked Carnac, “if not to store up money?”

“Whips and whips of money,” observed Sweet William, the stem of his lighted pipe between his teeth. “You go with a legitimate cheque for, say, £550, and you’d get it cashed all right.”

“Certainly”; replied Garstang, “in notes. And that’s where we’d fall in. Every number is known, and so soon as we tried to cash the dirty paper, we’d get lagged. Even if we passed ’em at pubs, we’d be traced. What we want is gold – nothing but gold. And I’d be surprised if they have a thousand sovereigns in the bank.”

“If they have,” remarked Dolphin, “you’ll get two-fifty. Isn’t that good enough?”

“That’s it,” retorted his troublesome follower, “there’s considerable risk about the business, in spite of you fixing all the details so neat and easy. I ask, ‘Is it good enough to get about ten years for the sake of £250?’”

“Just what I thought,” exclaimed Dolphin. “You’re a cock-tail. In your old age you’ve grown white-livered. I guess, Garstang, you’d better retire, and leave those to carry out the work who don’t know what fear is.”

“That’s so,” echoed Carnac, drumming the table with his white fingers.

“You don’t ketch my meaning,” growled Garstang, angry and surly. “What I want is a big haul, and damn the risk. There’s no white liver about me, but I say, ‘Let’s wait till we’ve reason to know that the bank’s safe is heavily loaded.’ I say, ‘Wait till we know extra big payments have been made into it.’ Let’s get all we can for our trouble.”

“’Ere, ’ere,” said Sweet William. “I’m there. Same sentiment ’ere,” and he smote his narrow chest.

“But how are we to find out the bank’s business?” asked Dolphin. “Lor’ bless us, if the manager would tip us the wink, we’d be all right.”

“Get me took in as extry clerk,” suggested William. “Blame me, if I don’t apply for the billet to-morrow morning.”

“Go on chiacking,” said Garstang; “poke borak – it don’t hurt me. But if you want to do anything in a workmanlike and perfessional manner, listen to advice. Isn’t shipments of virgin gold made from the Coast? Isn’t such shipments made public by the newspapers? Very good. When we see a steamer has brought up a pile of gold, where’s it put but in the bank? There’s our chance. D’you follow? Then we’ll be sure to get something for our pains.”

“’Ere, ’ere!” cried Sweet William, smacking the now leering Garstang on the back. “Good on you. Maximum return for minimum risk.”

Carnac joined in the laugh. “You’re not so thick-headed after all,” he said to the crooked-faced man.

“Nor ’e ain’t so awful white-livered neither,” said William.

Dolphin, whose eyes were fixed on the table contemplatively, was silent for a while. When the noise made by the other three had terminated, he said, “Well, have it as you like. But how will the scheme fit in with the steamer business?”

“First rate,” answered William. “Where there’s gold there’ll be a steamer to take it away, won’t there?”

“And when the steamer doesn’t get its gold at the appointed time,” replied Dolphin, “the whole town will be roused to hunt for it. That’s no game for us. I agree to waiting for gold to be lodged in the bank, but if that does’t come off within reasonable time, I’m for taking the chance that’s offered. I’m willing to wait a fortnight. How’d that suit you, Garstang?”

“I’m agreeable,” said the sour-faced man.

“And in the meanwhile,” added the leader, “we don’t know one another. If we meet, we don’t so much as pass the time of day. D’you all understand?”

The three answered affirmatively, and Sweet William said, “Don’t never any of you chaps come near my shanty. This meetin’ stands adjourned sine die.”

“If there’s a notice in the newspaper of gold arriving, that means we meet here at once,” said Dolphin, “otherwise we meet this day fortnight. Is that clear?”

“Yes, that’s clear,” said Garstang.

“Certainly,” said Carnac, “perfectly clear.”

“An’, please, when you go,” said Sweet William, “don’t raise the whole neighbourhood, but make a git one by one, and disperse promiscuous, as if you’d never met in your beautiful lives.”

The four men were now standing round the table.

“Good night all,” said Dolphin, and he went out quietly by the front door.

“Remember what the boss says about the wine,” remarked William, when the leader of the gang had gone. “No boozing and giving the show away. You’re to be strictly sober for a fortnight, Garstang. And, Carny, if that girl at The Lucky Digger tries to pump you as to what your lay is, tell ’er you’ve come to buy a little property and settle down. She’ll think you mean marrying.”

Carnac smiled. “You might be my grandfather, William,” he said.

“Personally, I’m a shearer that’s havin’ a very mild sort of spree and knockin’ down his cheque most careful. You’ve bin aboard a ship, ain’t you, Garstang?”

“D’you suppose I swam out to this blanky country?” said the crooked-featured gentleman.

“Then you’re a sailor that’s bin paid off and taken your discharge.”

Carnac had his hand on the latch of the door through which Dolphin had disappeared.

“No, no; you go out the back way,” said William, who conducted the man in the velvet coat into the back yard, and turned him into a paddock full of cabbages, whence he might find his way as best he could to the roadway.

When the youthful William returned, Garstang was smoking; his elbows on the table, and his ugly head resting in his hands.

“You seem bloomin’ comfortable, Garstang.”

“I’d be a darn sight more comfortabler for a drop of grog, William.”

William took a bottle from beneath his bed.

“Just eleven o’clock,” said the younger man, looking at his watch. “This house closes punctual. You shall have one nip, mister, and then I chuck you out.”

He poured the contents of the bottle into the solitary mug, and added water from a jug with a broken lip. Then the two rogues drank alternately.

“What do you intend to do when you’ve made your pile, Garstang?”

“Me? I’m goin’ back to London and set up in a nice little public, missis, barmaid, and boots, complete, and live a quiet, virtuous life. That’s me. I should prefer somewheres down Woolwich way – I’m very fond of the military.”

“I’m goin’ to travel,” said William. “I’m anxious for to see things and improve me mind. First, I’ll go to America – I’m awful soft on the Yanks, and can’t help thinkin’ that ’Frisco’s the place for a chap with talent. Then I’ll work East and see New York, and by-and-by I’ll go over to Europe an’ call on the principal Crown Heads – not the little ’uns, you understand, like Portugal and Belgium, or fry of that sort: they ain’t no class – an’ then I’ll marry a real fine girl, a reg’lar top-notcher with whips of dollars, an’ go and live at Monte Carlo. How’s that for a programme, eh?”

“Nice and complete. But I rayther expect the Crown ’Eads’d be one too many for you. The Czar o’ Rooshia, f’r instance, I fancy he’d exile you to Siberia.”

“But that’d be agin international law an’ all rule an’ precedent – I’d tell ’im I was a British subject born in Australia, and wrap a Union Jack around me stummick, an’ dare ’im to come on. How’d that be for high?”

“You’d be ’igh enough. You’d be ’anded over to th’ British authorities – they’d see you went ’igh enough. The experience of men of our perfession is, lie very low, live very quiet, don’t attract no attention whatever – when you’ve succeeded in makin’ your pile. That’s why I say a public: you’ve a few select pals, the best of liquor, and just as much excitement as a ordinary man needs. I say that, upon retirement, for men of our perfession a public’s the thing.”

“How’d a theayter do?”

“Too noisy an’ unrestful, William. An’ then think of all the wimmen – they’d bother a man silly.”

“What d’you say to a song and dance ’all?”

“’Tain’t so bad. But them places, William, I’ve always noticed, has a tendency to grow immoral. Now, a elderly gent, who’s on the down-grade and ’as ’ad ’is experiences, don’t exactly want that. No, I’m dead set on a public. I think that fills the bill completely.”

“But we can’t all go into the grog business.”

“I don’t see why. ’Tain’t as if we was a regiment of soldiers. There’s but four of us.”

“Oh, well, the liquor’s finished. You can make a git, Garstang. But, if you ask me what I’ll do with this pile as soon as it’s made, I say I still have a hankerin’ after the Crown Heads. They must be most interestin’ blokes to talk to: you see, they’ve had such experience. I’m dead nuts on Crown Heads.”

“And they’re dead nuts on the ’eads of the likes of you, William. Good-night.”

“So-long, Garstang. Keep good.”

And with those words terminated the gathering of the four greatest rogues who ever were in Timber Town.

CHAPTER XX

Gold and Roses

The Pilot’s daughter was walking in her garden.

The clematis which shaded the verandah was a rich mass of purple flowers, where bees sucked their store of honey; the rose bushes, in the glory of their second blooming, scented the air, while about their roots grew masses of mignonette.

Along the winding paths the girl walked; a pair of garden scissors in one hand and a basket in the other. She passed under a latticed arch over which climbed a luxuriant Cloth of Gold, heavy with innumerable flowers. Standing on tip-toe, with her arms above her head, she cut half-a-dozen yellow buds, which she placed in the basket. Passing on, she came to the pink glory of the garden, Maria Pare, a mass of brown shoots and clusters of opening buds whose colour surpassed in delicacy the softest tint of the pink sea-shell. Here she culled barely a dozen roses where she might have gathered thirty. “Yellow and pink,” she mused. “Now for something bright.” She walked along the path till she came to M’sieu Cordier, brilliant with the reddest of blooms. She stole but six of the best, and laid them in the basket. “We want more scent,” she said. There was La France growing close beside; its great petals, pearly white on the inside and rich cerise without, smelling deliciously. She robbed the bush of only its most perfect flowers, for though there were many buds but few were developed.

Next, she came to the type of her own innocence, The Maiden Blush, whose half-opened buds are the perfect emblem of maidenhood, but whose full-blown flowers are, to put it bluntly, symbolical of her who, in middle life, has developed extravagantly. But here again was no perfume. The mistress passed on to the queen of the garden, La Rosiere, fragrant beyond all other roses, its reflexed, claret-coloured petals soft and velvety, its leaves – when did a rose’s greenery fail to be its perfect complement? – tinged underneath with a faint blush of its own deep colour.

She looked at the yellow, red, and pink flowers in her basket, and said, “There’s no white.” Now white roses are often papery, but there was at least one in the garden worthy of being grouped with the beauties in the basket. It was The Bride, typical, in its snowy chastity and by reason of a pale green tint at the base of its petals, of that purity and innocence which are the bride’s best dowry.

Rose cut a dozen long-stemmed flowers from this lovely bush, and then – whether it was because of the sentiment conveyed by the blooms she had gathered, or the effect of the landscape, is a mystery unsolved – her eyes wandered from the garden to the far-off hills. With the richly-laden basket on her arm, she gazed at the blue haze which hung over mountain and forest. Regardless of her pleasant occupation, forgetful that the fragrant flowers in the basket would wither in the glaring sun, she stood, looking sadly at the landscape, as though in a dream.

What were her thoughts? Perhaps of the glorious work of the Master-Builder; perhaps of the tints and shades where the blue of the forest, the brown of the fern-clad foot-hills, the buff of the sun-dried grass, mottled the panorama which lay spread before her. But if so, why did she sigh? Does the contour of a hill suffuse the eye? Not a hundred-thousand hills could in themselves cause a sob, not even the gentle sob which amounted to no more than a painful little catch in Rose’s creamy throat.

She was standing on the top of the bank, which was surmounted by a white fence; her knee resting on the garden-seat upon which she had placed her basket, whilst in reverie her spirit was carried beyond the blue mountains. But there appeared behind her the bulky form of her father, who walked in carpet slippers upon the gravel of the path.

“Rosebud, my gal.” The stentorian tones of the old sailor’s voice woke her suddenly from her day-dream. “There’s a party in the parlour waitin’ the pleasure of your company, a party mighty anxious for to converse with a clean white woman by way of a change.”

The girl quickly took up her flowers.

“Who can it possibly be, father?”

“Come and see, my gal; come and see.”

The old fellow went before, and his daughter followed him into the house. There, in the parlour, seated at the table, was Captain Sartoris.

Rose gave way to a little exclamation of surprise and pleasure; and was advancing to greet her visitor, when he arrested her with a gesture of his hand.

“Don’t come too nigh, Miss Summerhayes,” he said, with mock gravity. “I might ha’ got the plague or the yaller fever. A man out o’ currantine is to be approached with caution. Jest stand up agin’ the sideboard, my dear, and let me look at you.” The girl put down her roses, and posed as desired.

“Very pretty,” said Sartoris. “Pink-and-white, pure bred, English – which, after being boxed in with a menag’ry o’ Chinamen and Malays, is wholesome and reassuring.”

“Are you out for good, Captain?”

“They can put me aboard who can catch me, my dear. I’d run into the bush, and live like a savage. I’m not much of a mountaineer, but you would see how I could travel.”

“But what was the disease?” asked the Pilot.

“Some sort of special Chinese fever; something bred o’ dirt and filth and foulness; a complaint you have to live amongst for weeks, before you’ll get it; a kind o’ beri-beri or break-bone, which was new to the doctors here. I’ve been disinfected and fumigated till I couldn’t hardly breathe. Races has their special diseases, just the same as they has their special foods: this war’n’t an English sickness; all its characteristics were Chinee, and it killed the Captain because he’d lived that long with Chinamen that, I firmly believe, his pigtail had begun to shoot. Furrin crews, furrin crews! Give me the British sailor, an’ I’ll sail my ship anywhere.”

“And run her on the rocks, at the end of the voyage,” growled the Pilot.

“I never came ashore to argify,” retorted the Captain. “But if it comes to a matter of navigation, there are points I could give any man, even pilots.”

Seeing that the bone of contention was about to be gnawed by the sea-dogs, Rose interposed with a question.

“Have you just come ashore, Captain?”

“In a manner o’ speakin’ he has,” answered her father, who took the words out of his friend’s mouth, “and in a manner o’ speakin’ he hasn’t. You see, my dear, we went for a little preliminary cruise.”

“The first thing your father told me was about this here robbery of mails. ‘When was that?’ I asked. ‘On the night of the 8th or early morning of the 9th,’ he says. That was when the captain of the barque died. I remembered it well. ‘Summerhayes,’ I said, ‘I have a notion.’ And this is the result, my dear.”

From the capacious pocket of his thick pilot-jacket he pulled a brown and charred piece of canvas.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I haven’t the least idea,” replied Rose.

“Does it look as though it might be a part of a mail-bag?” asked Sartoris. “Look at the sealing-wax sticking to it. Now look at that.” He drew from the deep of another pocket a rusty knife.

“It was found near the other,” he said. “Its blade was open. And what’s that engraved on the name-plate? – your eyes are younger than mine, my dear.” The sailor handed the knife to Rose, who read the name, and exclaimed, “B. Tresco!”

“That’s what the Pilot made it,” said Sartoris. “And it’s what I made it. We’re all agreed that B. Tresco, whoever he may be, was the owner of that knife. Now this is evidence: that knife was found in conjunction with this here bit of brown canvas, which I take to be part of a mail-bag; and the two of ’em were beside the ashes of a fire, above high water-mark. On a certain night I saw a fire lighted at that spot: that night was the night the skipper of the barque died and the night when the mails were robbed. You see, when things are pieced together it looks bad for B. Tresco.”

“I know him quite well,” said Rose: “he’s the goldsmith. What would he have to do with the delivery of mails?”

“Things have got this far,” said the Pilot. “The postal authorities say all the bags weren’t delivered on board. They don’t accuse anyone of robbery as yet, but they want the names of the boat’s crew. These Mr. Crookenden says he can’t give, as the crew was a special one, and the man in charge of the boat is away. But from the evidence that Sartoris has brought, it looks as if Tresco could throw light on the matter.”

“It’s for the police to take the thing up,” said Sartoris. “I’m not a detective meself; I’m just a plain sailor – I don’t pretend to be good at following up clues. But if the police want this here clue, they can have it. It’s the best one of its kind I ever come across: look at it from whatever side you please. It’s almost as perfect a clue as you could have, if you had one made to order. A policeman that couldn’t follow up that clue – ‘Tresco’ on the knife, and, alongside of it, the bit of mail-bag – why, he ought to be turned loose in an unsympathising world, and break stones for a living. It’s a beautiful clue. It’s a clue a man can take a pride in; found all ready on the beach; just a-waitin’ to be picked up, and along comes a chuckle-headed old salt and grabs it. Now, that clue ought to be worth a matter of a hundred pound to the Government. What reward is offered, Pilot?”

“There’s none, as I’m aware of,” answered Summerhayes. “But if the post-master is a charitable sort of chap, he might be inclined to recommend, say, fifty; you bein’ a castaway sailor in very ’umble circumstances. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll see the Mayor.”

“Oh, you will!” exclaimed Sartoris. “You’d better advertise: ‘Poor, distressed sailor. All contributions thankfully received.’ No, sir, don’t think you can pauperise me. A man who can find a clue like that” – he brought the palm of his right hand down with a smack upon the table, where Tresco’s knife lay – “a man who can find that, sir, can make his way in any community!”

Just at that moment there were heavy footsteps upon the verandah, and a knocking at the front door.

Rose, who was sitting near the window, made a step or two towards the passage, but the old Pilot, who from where he stood could see through the glass of the front door, forestalled her, and she seated herself opposite the skipper and his clues.

“So you think of visiting the police sergeant?” she asked, by way of keeping up the conversation.

But the skipper’s whole attention was fixed on the voices in the next room, into which the Pilot had conducted his visitor.

“H’m,” said Sartoris, “I had an idea I knew the voice, but I must have been mistaken. Who is the party, Miss Rose?”

“I haven’t the slightest clue,” replied the girl, smiling. “Father has such a number of strange friends in the port that I’ve long given up trying to keep count of them. They come at all hours, about all sorts of things.”

The words were hardly out of her mouth, when the Pilot, wearing a most serious expression of face, entered the room.

“Well, well,” he said, “well, well. Who’d ha’ thought it? Dear, dear. Of all the extraordinary things! Now, Cap’n Sartoris, if you’d ’a’ asked me, I’d ’a’ said the thing was impossible, impossible. Such things goes in streaks, and his, to all intents and purposes, was a bad ’n; and then it turns out like this. It’s most remarkable, most extraordinary. It’s beyond me. I don’t fathom it.”

“What the deuce an’ all are you talkin’ about, Summerhayes?” Sartoris spoke most deprecatingly. “A man would think you’d buried a shipmate, or even lost your ship.”

“Eh? What?” the Pilot thundered. “Lost my ship? No, no. I’ve bin wrecked in a fruiter off the coast of Sardinia, an’ I’ve bin cast away on the island of Curacoa, but it was always in another man’s vessel. No, sir, I never failed to bring the owners’ property safe into port. Any fool can run his ship on shore, and litter her cargo along half-a-mile of sea coast.”

“We’ve heard that argyment before,” said Sartoris. “We quite understand – you couldn’t do such a thing if you tried. You’re a most exceptional person, and I’m proud to know you; but what’s this dreadful thing that’s redooced you to such a state of bad temper, that your best friends ’d hardly know you? I ask you that, Summerhayes. Is it anything to do with these clues that’s on the table?”

“Clues be – !” It is sad to relate that the Pilot of Timber Town was about to use a strong expression, which only the presence of his daughter prevented. “Come out of that room there,” he roared. “Come, an’ show yourself.”

There was a heavy tread in the passage, and presently there entered the room a very shabby figure of a man. A ruddy beard obscured his face; his hair badly needed cutting; his boots were dirty and much worn; his hands bore marks of hard work, but his eyes were bright, and the colour of his cheek was healthy, and for all the noise he made as he walked there was strength in his movements and elasticity in his steps.

Without a word of introduction, he held out his hand to Miss Summerhayes, who took it frankly.

Captain Sartoris had risen to his feet.

“How d’y do, sir,” he said, as he shook hands. “I hope I see you well, sir. Have you come far, or do you live close handy?”

“I’ve come a matter of twenty miles or so to-day,” said the tall stranger.

“Farming in the bush, I suppose,” said Sartoris. “Very nice occupation, farming, I should think.” He closely eyed the ragged man. “Or perhaps you fell down a precipice of jagged stones which tore you considerable. Anyhow, I’m glad I see you well, sir, very glad I see you well.”

There was a rumbling noise like the echo of distant thunder reverberating through the hills. Rose and Sartoris almost simultaneously fixed their eyes upon the Pilot.

Summerhayes’s huge person was heaving with suppressed merriment, his face was red, and his mouth was shut tight lest he should explode with laughter. But when he saw the two pairs of bewildered eyes staring at him, he burst into a laugh such as made the wooden walls of the house quiver.

Sartoris stood, regarding the Pilot as though he trembled for his friend’s senses; and a look of alarm showed itself in Rose’s face.

“You don’t know him!” cried the Pilot, pulling himself together. But the Titanic laughter again took hold of him, and shook his vast frame. “You’ve travelled with him, you’ve sailed with him, you’ve known him, Sartoris – you’ve bin shipwrecked with him!” Here the paroxysm seized the Pilot anew; and when it had subsided it left him exhausted and feeble. He sank limply upon the old-fashioned sofa, and said, almost in a whisper, “It’s Jack Scarlett, and you didn’t know him; Jack Scarlett, back from the diggings, with his swag full of gold – and you thought him a stranger.”

It was now the turn of Rose and the skipper to laugh. Jack, who up to this point had kept a straight face, joined his merriment to theirs, and rushing forward they each shook him by the hand again, but in a totally different manner from that of their former greeting.

Out of his “jumper” the fortunate digger pulled a long chamois-leather bag, tied at the neck with a boot-lace. Taking a soup-plate from the sideboard, he emptied the contents of the bag into it, and before the astonished eyes of the onlookers lay a heap of yellow gold.

They stared, and were speechless.

From about his waist Scarlett untied a long leather belt, which proved to be lined with gold. But the soup-plate would hold no more, and so the lucky digger poured the residue in a heap upon the polished table. Next, he went out to the verandah, and undoing his swag, he returned with a tin canister which had been wrapped in his blankets. This also was full of gold, and taking off its lid, he added its contents to the pile upon the table.