Title:      The Swampers (1897)
Author:     Nisbet, Hume
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Title:      The Swampers (1897)
Author:     Nisbet, Hume





THE SWAMPERS
A Romance of the Westralian Goldfields




TO DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY, NOVELIST.
I BEG TO DEDICATE THIS ROMANCE
WITH PROFOUND ADMIRATION FOR HIS GENIUS.




PREFACE.

I HAVE to thank the following gentlemen for the prompt and hearty
assistance which they have given me in books, maps, and personal
information about West Australia and its Goldfields at the present hour.
Having taken full advantage of such valuable information, I trust that
the reader will find this romance correct in its local colouring and
statistics. To Mr. Albert F. Calvert, M.E., F.R.G.S., &c., &c., Author
of "The Exploration of Australia"; "Western Australia and its
Goldfields"; Editor and Proprietor of The West Australian Review, for
his magnificent and exhaustive works and maps. Also to those other
friends, Messrs. Critchill; Ernest H. Gough; Graham Hill; Philip
Mennell, F.R.G.S., &c., Author of "The Coming Colony," "Dictionary of
Australian Biography," &c., &c., and Editor and Proprietor of The
British Australasian; also to Mr. John Wilson, first Mayor of
Kalgourlie. To all these gentlemen and others who have supplied me with
information I beg to offer my most grateful thanks.

I must appeal to the good sense of my West Australian readers, and trust
that they will not try to see real personages in my fictitious
creations. Kalgourlie is as yet a small, if it is a rapidly-growing
town, and each resident is known to his fellow-townsmen. The
peculiarities of mankind are so mixed and generalized that it is not at
all difficult for a reader to fix an original for my fancy study in any
spot where men and women congregate. This habit, so unfair and crippling
to an author's liberty of action, I must particularly warn you against
indulging in. I built the "Chester Hotel" entirely at my own expense,
and as my own speculation. The material was not Hessian, but a finer web
of stuff which I spun from my own brain. Sarah Hall, Rosa Chester,
Anthony Vandyke Jenkins, Bob Wallace, and my other characters, all came
from the same source, and are as Mercutio says:

"The children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy."

Therefore you must take them as such, and not localize or incarnate one
of them. On this privileged ground I strictly take my stand.

Regarding any mild criticism that I may have written throughout these
pages concerning the fair City of Sydney, I have no apology to make
other than that perhaps my various visits may have been timed
unfortunately when the inhabitants were suffering from some insensate
epidemic. Perhaps they have lucid intervals between these public and
social epidemics of folly and unreason, and that during these intervals
they act like their neighbours, Victoria, Queensland, and South
Australia, but if so, I have not had the good fortune to land amongst
them at such happy intervals; therefore I can only speak as I find
people, and the natives of Sydney have not impressed me so favourably as
their neighbour colonials of Melbourne, Brisbane, and Adelaide have
done, either for their probity, generosity, or common sense. As for that
worm "Puffadder," with his blasphemous, brutal, and poisonous organ, I
do not think any self-respecting colonial will care how much a reptile
like this is criticised or censured. He may spit out his venom, but he
would do that under any circumstances, particularly when his victim's
back is turned upon him. His unsexed contributors may also snarl and
yelp, while his senile admirers, who have debauched the little brains
which originally they may have possessed, with his absinthe doses,
doubtless will gnash their gums and cry for gore, but as "Walker,
London," remarks: "That is noth ink."

My story is before you, sympathetic or hostile readers, and I trust it
may interest you with all its faults. The characters are purely
imaginative, but some of the incidents are drawn from facts, and in the
descriptions I have done my utmost to be exact and realistic.

THE AUTHOR.



CONTENTS.

I.--THE DEN OF THE MODERN WIZARD
II.--A CONFIDENTIAL CONVERSATION
III.--THE NEW ESTABLISHMENT
IV.--TREASURE TROVE
V.--JACK MILTON AT HOME
VI.--JACK MILTON'S ESCAPE
VII.--THE INTERVIEW
VIII.--COUSINS
IX.--JACK MILTON WAITS
X.--AN UNPLEASANT DREAM
XI.--ON THE WALLABY TRACK
XII.--ANTHONY VANDYKE JENKINS
XIII.--THE PROSPERITY AND FALL OF JENKINS
XIV.--JACK MILTON MAKES FOR THE WEST
XV.--THE DREAM MINE
XVI.--ROSA'S SECOND MARRIAGE
XVII.--TRACKED
XVIII.--THE OLD, OLD GAME
XIX.--JACK MILTON IS TAKEN IN CHARGE
XX.--ROSA GETS INITIATED IN MINING PARLANCE
XXI.--JACK MILTON AND HIS COLOURED FRIENDS
XXII.--TO KALGOURLIE
XXIII.--THE SWAMPERS
XXIV.--CHESTER TAKES A MONTH'S LEAVE
XXV.--JACK MILTON'S DISCOVERY
XXVI.--THE COURTSHIP OF BOB WALLACE
XXVII.--MEETING OF JACK AND ROSA
XXVIII.--JACK MILTON AT KALGOURLIE
XXIX.--"WHERE THE WEARY CEASE TO TROUBLE AND THE WICKED ARE AT REST"



THE SWAMPERS




Chapter I. The Den of the Modern Wizard.

PROFESSOR MORTIKALI sat in his inner sanctum waiting for customers.

It was a hot day, during the early portion of the month of March, 1896,
and although the Professor had all his blinds drawn down, and occupied
the coolest corner of the Arcade, still he could not shut out those
intense waves of Sydney heat that swept in, between the crevices of the
doors and windows, although he managed to shut out a good deal of the
intense light.

Never had such a hot season been in the memory of the oldest colonist as
this heat wave of 1896. From January 1st to the 24th it had ranged from
112 degrees to 129 degrees in the shade in New South Wales, and people
had dropped dead wholesale throughout the colony. In many of the inland
townships the people had been panic-stricken, and fish were killed in
the creeks and lakes by tons upon tons. It had cooled off a little by
March, yet there were days, and this was one of them, when the heat fury
of January seemed to repeat itself.

The Professor liked shadow, for he was a modern wizard and his business
did not require much light; indeed the less light that was thrown upon
it, the better it was conducted; therefore, it was not often that the
green venetian blinds were drawn up.

The Professor was at present resting on his oars, for it was the slack
hour of the day, the hour when no one, unless absolutely forced to come
out, would care to face the terrific sun-glare of mid-day.

The Professor was of that peculiar craft which flourished so much during
the earlier centuries, and has more or less flourished ever since under
various disguises. He belonged to the tribe of the witch of Endor, that
profession of seers and fore-tellers whom King Saul tried to put down in
his vigorous and virtuous years, and afterwards weakly consulted in his
decline; the same craft which that modern Solomon, King James I. of
England, so rigorously hunted to death, and which might have died
naturally only for the efforts of the Pschychological Society, and that
able editor of Border-land, the discoverer of the fourth dimension.

It is not a profitable profession in merry old England, where the police
imitate the tactics of Kings Saul and James, and take as much delight in
making raids, as lively terriers do in hunting out rabbits. But in
progressive New South Wales, where convict laws still hold sway, and men
are hanged for attempted murder, while judges dictate to jurymen, as the
celebrated Jeffreys used to do, where even the judges themselves consult
the witches; fortune-telling and witchcraft thrive wonderfully, even in
the midst of the universal depression which of late has fallen upon the.
colonies.

In the Sydney of to-day you may see, amongst other closed places of
business, the shutters up of many public houses and bars; the reason of
this is that they have been raided by the police, because the
proprietors have been selling poison undiluted to their customers, and
although the colonised stomach can stand a good deal in the way of
vitriol, and blue-stone, yet when the landlord omits to give his
customers even the flavour of brandy, rum or whisky, then his fate as a
landlord is decided.

They are a proud and conservative race, the New South Welshmen; they
cannot stand the slightest approach to a joke about their country. You
may abuse England or London as much as you are disposed to an
Englishman, and he will only laugh unctuously, but you must not take the
same liberty with a New South Welshman. His harbour is the most
beautiful harbour in the world. If you admit this, yet suggest that the
buildings might be just a little more classic, he will grow pale with
passion and cut you dead. If you venture to hint that morality in its
aesthetic quality is not so strictly observed amongst the politicians
and tradesmen as it might be, he will consider it time to regard you as
a dangerous person and a fit subject for the martial law that hangs
first and tries afterwards, and is still in such active force in that
sun-laved colony.

They aim to be very high-toned in Sydney, and imitate as nearly as they
can the manners of fashionable London; therefore if an accomplished
swindler or thief comes amongst them and knows his business thoroughly,
he is nearly sure to be successful, for the veneer being all that they
aspire to themselves, so are they satisfied with it in their visitors.
In Victoria and Queensland the inhabitants are less conservative and
much more level-headed.

Professor Mortikali was a wonderful man in his way, and pursued various
branches as a livelihood. On his brass plate was written: "Professor
Mortikali, Psychometrist, Pneumatologist, Futurist and Magneto-Electric
Healer." He called his establishment the Egyptian-Mystic Hall and Health
Sanatorium, and had on his bills a wide range of subjects, from
character delineating by Phrenology and Physiognomy, Fortune-telling by
Cards, Palmistry or Astrology, with the art of healing all diseases by
Hypnotic treatment.

There are hundreds in the same line of business throughout Sydney, and
all apparently flourishing more or less, despite the dull times. In the
Arcade were three rivals, while along the principal streets every fifth
or sixth shop bears the sign of a Futurist, or an Astrologer, with all
the paraphernalia exhibited in the windows which one expects to witness
in the windows of a wizard.

In the newspapers also of this enlightened and conservative country,
along with singular gems of poetry, in the form of memoriam verses, you
may read every day, advertisements like the following: "Wanted, a
loving, clairvoyant, test-lady, with means preferred, as life partner,
by Magnetic Healer, etc.," and yet no one laughs either at the verses or
the advertisements, they have become so accustomed to both. But they get
terribly vicious if any stranger attempts to criticise their
politicians, or their professionals.

Professor Mortikali had his front window artfully set out, a plaster
cast of the hand of Deeming the murderer, with casts and photographs of
actors, clergymen, and other distinct types were displayed. A
phrenological head stood on a stucco pillar, and the complete skeleton
of a baby dangled inside a glass case, specimens of snakes and tape
worms were coiled in bottles, or dried and stuffed, and grouped about,
while the invariable alligator, which Hogarth has accustomed us to in
his pictures of the Quack, was likewise displayed.

A curtain, half-drawn back from the doorway, revealed the image of a
gipsy holding out her hand to be crossed with silver, while at a little
counter sat an attractive-looking girl, costumed in black velvet,
scarlet facings, and glittering metallic discs, such as we were used to
gaze on at "fairs" in our youthful days. There was no attempt at
advancement, or dressing up to date in this establishment. The
old-fashioned arrangements appeared to answer the purpose perfectly, the
same amount of rouge and powder on the face of this attractive handmaid
to the wizard, the generous display of snowy neck, and the usual
surroundings of curtains, herbs and stuffed monstrosities, they were all
there, while inside waited the Futurist and Faith-Healer.

At this precise hour of mid-day the Professor and his handmaid were both
similarly occupied in discussing their lunch. Hers was a slight
refection, as befitted a Sydney nymph of her light and powdery nature. A
couple of tarts, and an ice-cream, which she had procured at the next
door. The ice she had finished first, before it became quite liquid, and
now she was leisurely discussing the fruit and pastry.

Inside the sanctum the Professor was having a heavier meal, as befitted
the nerve wear and tear of his occupation; an underdone beef-steak with
a chunk of bread and a tankard of colonial beer, vulgarly called
"swanky."

The Professor was a man well advanced in years, of an ordinary height
and inclined to run to stoutness. He wore his iron-grey tresses long, so
that they fell over his back in a lank and straggly fashion, his beard
and moustache also were grey and mangy, while his rubicund complexion,
commonplace features, and very small eyes, reminded one somehow of a
mendicant friar of the Middle Ages.

His small eyes were crow-like and rather vacant in their expression, and
what linen he displayed was of the dirtiest and most rumpled
description. His garments also, although at one date black, had
evidently been purchased at a second-hand establishment, and were both
frayed and rusty as well as badly fitting, and being originally of the
dress-suit order, gave him the appearance of a broken-down waiter at a
poor restaurant.

He was not a wholesome-looking object, while he wolfed his steak as a
dog might devour its meal; the steak was badly cut and indifferently
cooked, the intense heat of the atmosphere, the perspiration running
from the Professor's forehead and cheeks in dirty rivulets, and his
dirty hands helping the fork. Ignorant, low-bred, square-pointed
fingers, unclipped nails in deepest mourning, and, added to this, that
vacuous mouth, with the slobbering lips taking in the steak with such
evident unction, and the solitary unwashed tooth emphasizing that moist
unction, rendered this hypnotic disciple of "Border-land" rather
gruesome than pleasant.

As he sat, he scratched his head sometimes with his dirty nails,
sometimes with his greasy fork; he also fumbled suggestively about his
half-opened waistcoat as one is used to see tramps do when they fancy
themselves unobserved; altogether, this Sydney interpreter of
"Border-land" lore gave one the decided impression of that drawing in
Punch, by Harry Furness, of the man who wrote about Pears' Soap. "Two
years ago I used your soap, since when I have used no other." Harry
Furness's model was attentuated and unkempt, but fancy a professor of
mystic lore, in a badly-fitting waiter's dress-suit; the knees baggy,
and the vest over tight. The angry buttons threatening to sever. Burly
as a friar of old and soft as a retired bantam boxer, with a vacuous
countenance, and crow-like eyes, always on the goggle, and you have the
Professor, or ancient wizard up to date.

Supplement this with the awful heat of a Sydney mid-summer day, an
underdone steak cut in colonial fashion, and cooked ditto; the natural
perspiration and fumes of an unwashable tramp, decked up in an old dress
suit, and you may realise the picture of this High Priest of the temple
of mystery without further description.

He had just finished his gorge and imbibed his last drop of colonial
"swanky," when the hand-maid popped in her head, and shedding a tiny
stream of pearl powder, which after all sweetened the apartment a
little, announced in brassy tones: "Are ye done, Perfessor, for there's
a laydy a-waiting ter consult yer?"

The Professor bundled his plates and beer-mug to a side table, where he
covered them with an old newspaper, then dusting the crumbs aside with
his hand, and wiping his hands again on the tails of his coat he
produced a greasy pack of cards, and said with calm dignity: "Yes,
Matilder, show the party in."

The party entered, a young woman of about twenty-five, fashionably
dressed and according to the season, in virgin white, with a Donna-like
bunch of snowy ostrich feathers in her hat, and a cloud or dust-veil
about her face; she was slim-built and graceful in figure, and the
Professor, who loved the fair sex, took notice that she had a wealth of
golden-brown hair under the drooping feathers.

"Sit down, my dear," he said with a smirk on his sweaty and greasy red
face, and the party sat and silently looked at him through her cloud.
"Is it your fortune ye want to know? By the cards or by the hand?--or
are you in any other trouble that a man of my experience can help you?
Girls will be girls, you know, my dear, therefore you may safely give me
your confidence, for it won't be abused."

He bared his lonely tooth and regarded her with a senile smile, while
his crow-like, vacant gaze tried to get behind the cloud.

The visitor laughed softly yet enjoyably, then after a pause she
replied, removing her white gloves at the same time:

"No, old man, I don't want any confidence business. I only want you to
tell my fortune by my hands and by the cards."

"It's unlucky, they say, to do both at one sitting, yet, if you turn
round and go to the door and cross back again, that will break the
charm. Which will you have first?"

"My hand, Professor; tell me what I've done and what I'm going to do,
and then I can ask you other questions when we come to the cards."

She held out her hands, palms upward, to him, while he took a magnifying
glass, and after giving himself a preliminary hitch and scratch, he
stooped over them to examine.

Shapely hands they were, with tapering long fingers and fleshy palms,
which had hard and well-defined lines running across them. "You are
married," the Professor said after a pause. "Well, what of that?"

"No more than you think of it yourself, my dear. You have had some
troubles in the past, and have had some adventures; but your marriage
has not been a happy one, there are no children, and you'd like to be
free of your bond." "Yes, and shall I?" "I see a death here, and a
little trouble, but your line of life is clear." "Shall I be married
again?" "Yes, and have much prosperity in the future." "That'll do, when
will it come off?" "How old are you?" "Twenty-six." "You'll be married
again before you are twenty-eight." "Budgerrie for you, old man; now
let's try the cards." She rose abruptly and went to the door, returning
in a moment, while the Professor arranged his cards.

"There's an old fellow waiting for his fortune, at the door, Professor.
Will you take him or me first?" she asked as she returned.

"Ladies first, of course," answered the Professor gallantly, again
baring his solitary tooth. "Drive ahead then, for I am in a hurry," said
the young woman curtly. "Shuffle and cut." After she had done so, he
began to read:

"There is a dark man here close beside you, your husband, I should say,
but you turn your back on him--you take hearts, do you not?" "Yes,"
replied the young woman. "There's a diamond man facing you, that is the
one you fancy." "Go on."

"You'll get that diamond man, but the club man will cause you some
trouble; there's a death here----" "To the club man?" eagerly. "I don't
know yet. Shuffle again and I'll tell you."

Thrice did the cloud-veiled woman, with the strong white hands, shuffle
the cards, and then he answered her curiosity and desires.

"Yes, the club man will pass from your path, and the diamond man is the
winner." "Thank Heaven for that!" as she paid him his fee and went
forth, brushing by the white-haired customer who was waiting his turn.

She did not look at the white-haired customer, and she was too closely
veiled for any one to see her features, yet he glanced after her through
his blue glasses in a curious way as she went out of the doorway, then
he sought the Professor.

A tall and singularly powerful-looking man he was, this second visitor,
dressed in thin grey serge, smooth faced, and with a shock of white hair
that fell about his shoulders after the style of the ex-Premier of New
South Wales--that leonine and doggerel verse writer, Sir Henry Parkes.
Indeed for a moment the Professor thought that this much-married
politician must have shaved, and mounted blue glasses as a sort of
disguise, but he soon recovered himself, with the assurance gained from
knowledge that this eminent man would never sink his personality, no
matter what position he chose to take up, therefore he became composed
and ready for his visitor. "I want my future read," said the stranger.
"By the palm, or by the cards?" "The hand will do." He stretched a
sinewy hand out to the Professor's magnifying glass. "You've experienced
troubles in the past." "Yes."

"But you have a singularly open and confiding as well as a generous
nature. I may say that you are a man who has been imposed upon by false
friends, and may be again if you are not particularly careful. You----"
"What a confounded old fraud you are to be sure, Jeremiah Judge."

The stranger, as he uttered these words, his left hand still lying under
the Professor's magnifying glass, removed with his right hand the blue
spectacles and snowy wig, and revealed a hard-faced but handsome young
man, with short cropped black hair, and glittering black eyes. "Fancy me
being sucked in by anyone!"

The Professor fell back on his chair, confounded, his crow-blue eyes
almost starting out of his head as he uttered the feeble cry: "Jack
Milton, by George!"



Chapter II. A Confidential Conversation.

"YES, you genial old humbug, I've come back once more to do some
business in Sydney."

As he spoke, Jack Milton, as he had just been called, leaned back in his
chair and regarded the pneumatologist with a benevolent, yet
contemptuous air of patronage.

"Still trying your best in your small way to do the public, I see,
Jeremiah, and doing it shabbily at that, per usual."

The psychometrist got upon his ambling legs, with a gushing air of
welcome illuminating his steaming face, and parting his vacuous mouth.

"My dear, dear boy, who'd have expected to see you here? I thought your
time wasn't up for another twelve months; how have you done it?" "Ah! I
behaved myself and kidded the sky-clerk, therefore got my ticket." "What
was the little item?"

"A mere trifle in the past, something I did in Melbourne long ago, and
which I had forgotten, or I should not have gone there quite so openly,
but the 'Tecks'remembered me and laid me up by the heels for a spell;
however, it wasn't an unmixed evil, for being in lavender gave me the
repose that I required, and put the Sydney scenters quite off my track."

"Good--very good," chuckled the Professor, rubbing his hands together
and gazing admiringly on the powerful figure before him. "You'll find
hosts of friends who are glad to see Jack Milton amongst them again, and
none more so than your 'umble servant."

While the old humbug was speaking, the young man carefully replaced his
white wig and blue spectacles, and became once more a kind of benevolent
replica of a clean-shaved Sir Henry Parkes.

"I have made an appointment with my lawyer to meet me here, Jeremiah--or
as you call yourself now, Professor Mortikali. I thought it safer than
at his own office." "Much safer, and more secluded." "So I thought."
"But how did you find me out, Jack, eh?"

"Well you are not exactly the kind of coon to give an 'agent'much
trouble, if he wanted to get on your tracks; I knew you'd be up to some
business of this kind where spirits or mesmerism had a share in it----"
"Call it hypnotism, Jack, or psychometry." "Yes, that's exactly how I
spotted you, old boy. I looked out all the sign-boards, as I came along,
for the most jaw-cracking words. I knew your weakness for that sort of
thing. Palmist or Futurist wouldn't be good enough for you, therefore
when I came to Professor Mortikali, Psychometrist, Pneumatologist, &c.,
I felt sure I had run my fox to his hole, and I wasn't far out."

"No, Jack, you'd make a first-rate detective, if you wasn't better than
that, a first-class----"

"Crib-cracker, eh? It takes a thief to catch a thief, but I don't belong
to that race who can utilize their experience to snare their own kind. I
have always been and always shall be grit to my pals. Is this much of a
trade?"

He looked about him with a little disgust, and at the shabby Professor
with a humorous air of pity.

"Fairly," observed the pyschometrist. "I hold my own; this is the slack
time of the day, but at night they come up wonderful, considering."

"You haven't got a fashionable class of customers I can see, or you'd be
better togged up. Never mind! I'll put you up to something good before
many days are over our heads."

"No, Jack, no, I'd rather not!" cried the Professor nervously. "I don't
mind helping you when the game is safe, but you are so reckless, my dear
boy, and don't at all consider personal safety. Now you see, I'm doing
small things, and the police don't touch me at 'em, but one never knows
where he'd land, if this business spread out into many more new
branches."

"Bah! The business I'm going to set you up is strictly in your own line,
Psychometry and the other P. H.'s. You're too cramped here. You want
bigger and more fashionable premises, and to get yourself togged up more
like an orthodox medical Professor, and less like a broken-down waiter,
and I've spotted the shop that'll suit you to a nicety. Do you know that
place where 'Brisco'the jeweller used to be, in George Street?" "With
the bank on one side, and the pawn-broker on the other?"

"Exactly. Would those diggings suit you to open a branch establishment
of the Faith Healing and Fortune-telling fake?"

"What d'ye mean, Jack Milton? D'ye know them 'ere premises will cost in
rent and taxes near to a thousand a year?" "Well!"

"And the fixing of them up properly, with furniture, carpets and sofas,
&c., &c., will come to nigh five hundred quid."

"You've hit it pretty nearly, I should say, to do it properly," replied
Jack calmly. "You'll want some attractive-looking girls, with a little
more style than this one here, and some respectable toggery for yourself
Yes, you'll need all that money, and more perhaps, till business comes
in." "Yes, and who's a-going to pay for all this outlay."

"I will, my sage psychometrist. I think there are vast possibilities in
this business of yours if properly worked in this city, and as I happen
to have the sponduloux, or will have if my lawyer, who'll be here
presently, isn't a fool as well as a rogue, I'll set you up and be your
sleeping partner. I'm going to make a boom in the prediction business.
We'll take in the national 'sports'and give the 'juggins'tips from
spirit land; we'll pitch our placards and bills about like snow-flakes
and make the press-men our serfs by advertising; but, you must try to
acquire the art of washing yourself and changing your linen at least
three times a week while the hot weather lasts, or it'll be all bunkum.
Do you savy, my odoriferous psychometrist--don't you see what I mean?
Plenty of water, Pears' soap, fresh linen, and a trifle of Jockey Club
or Cherry Blossom for the sake of business, also a nail brush and a
little attention to the nails, at present in deepest mourning for your
rubbishy sins, which ain't worth so much respect; lemons are first-class
articles for cleaning the hands and nails; and the Sydney waterworks are
lavish with their supply."

"I ain't at all averse to washing in the warm weather," observed the
Professor with an injured air. "I likewise like a frequent change of
shirts and collars, and feel kindly drawn to clerical neck-cloths, if I
had the articles to work on."

"You'll have them. Meantime, I want you to keep out your customers, or
read their fortunes at your outside counter, this afternoon while my man
of business is engaged with me, and we'll arrange all that afterwards.
By Jove! you'd be a great man, Professor, if you had a fair chance, and
I'm going to give you that chance."

"Will you have anything to drink now?" said the Professor respectfully,
for Jack Milton had spoken to him in the lordly manner of one who has
means at command, and the panderer reverenced him accordingly.

"Not at present, I have a lawyer to talk to and I bet he won't imbibe
until he has finished this interview, and neither shall I. I say, do you
know anything about my wife?" "I don't know exactly where she lives, of
course, but I have seen her." "Lately?" "Yes, just recently, I may say."
"Yes--yes; and is she looking well--my Rosa, my darling?"

A wonderful change took place in the disguised housebreaker as he asked
these questions; he was no longer cynical nor supercilious, but eager
and boyish, while by contrast the Professor seemed to become ill at ease
and constrained. "You are proud of her yet, I see, Jack." "Of course,
why should I not be?--my wife, the woman I love and have always kept as
well as I could. She doesn't know what I have had to do for a living and
to keep her comfortable, unless my lawyer has proved a traitor; which I
hope he hasn't for his own sake--tell me, what do you know about her?"
"Did you see the young lady in white who went out of here as you
entered?" "Yes." "That was your wife."

"I thought there was something familiar in her figure and walk, but what
was she doing here?" "She came to have her fortune read."

"I know, the little stupid, she wanted to learn when her husband would
be home again, eh?"

The Professor looked at the eager face before him as if he were making
up his mind to say something difficult, and then he replied: "Yes, that
was what she wanted to know."

"Of course, and you gave the little jade a lot of idle promises and sent
her away happy?"

"Yes, in the usual fashion. I promised her a lot according to her
desires, and sent her away fairly well pleased." "Good! I'll make you a
true prophet this time, you old scoundrel, ha, ha, ha!" At this moment
the hand-maid put in her head, and said: "There's a gent outside as have
called by appointment."

"That's my man," cried Jack cheerily. "Show him in, Molly, my darling,
and you," to the Professor, "clear out till I'm done with him."

As he spoke, there entered a well set-up man of about thirty-three, with
a blonde moustache and close-cropped fair hair, blue eyes a trifle
closely set together, and a vulture-like nose. He was a keen-looking,
business-like man, well dressed and well groomed, and one who would not
be likely to let scruples stand in the way of personal advantage.

At his watch chain he carried, as an appendage, a pair of compasses and
square, his neck-tie pin was also adorned with the same quaint design,
while on the fourth finger of his left hand he wore a plain gold
signet-ring with the same device; evidently showing to all the world
that he was not at all ashamed of the society to which he belonged.

As he entered, he looked at the white wig and blue spectacles, with an
air of perplexity for an instant, until the wearer of these gave him a
quick sign, then he advanced smilingly, and said: "How do you do, Mr.
Milton?" "All right, my friend, sit down." The Professor had cleared out
of the sanctum by this time, dropping the heavy curtain behind him, and
leaving the lawyer and his client together. "Well, Mr. Chester, have you
carried out my instructions?"

"Yes, Milton, I have carried out your instructions to the letter, and, I
need not tell you, at considerable risk to myself."

The lawyer, now that they were alone, spoke in a severe tone of voice,
as one might use to a criminal whose case is in hand, but who has placed
himself beyond the reach of ordinary courtesy, while the ticket-of-leave
man listened meekly and without appearing to observe the curtness.

"I have invested your money, as you desired, in my own name. I do not
ask you how it was made, I have no desire to know, and I am happy to say
it is yielding fair returns, even in these depressed times. Your wife is
under the impression that you are still in the South Seas,
treasure-seeking, and I have delivered regularly to her the letters you
forwarded to me." "You have been a true friend to me, Chester. Where is
my wife now living?" "With her parents; they have removed lately to the
Glebe; this is her address." He handed an envelope over as he spoke, and
waited further enquiries. "Is--is Rosa well?"

"Yes; last time I saw my cousin, she was very well indeed. Do you intend
to visit her at once? For candidly, I don't think it would be advisable
if you desire to keep your past a secret from the poor girl."

"No; I have some business to do before I can see her, or let her know I
am in Sydney. When I am ready I should like you still to act as my
friend and break the tidings of my arrival to her gently, as I don't
want to agitate her. We have been so long separated that it mightn't do
to jump in on her all of a sudden."

The lawyer looked at the blue spectacles demurely for a moment, and then
he said:

"That is only a right resolve on your part, and I will do all I can to
help you, not to startle Rosa."

"I am dying to see the darling, but when I next come to her I hope to be
beyond the necessity of leaving her any more. I have a little
speculation on hand which, if it comes off successfully, will enable me
to retire and live comfortably. Meantime----"

"Yes?"

"I require some ready money to enable me to carry out this
speculation." "How much do you require?"

"Fifteen hundred pounds for a few weeks only, and with it I hope to
clear fifty times that amount." "It is a large sum to get hold of at so
short a notice, for your property is all tied up at present; still, if
you can assure me that it is only for a few weeks and the return is
sure, I think it might be managed."

"Within a fortnight from the time I get this advance I shall be able to
place in your keeping perhaps a hundred times the amount."

"Very well; to-morrow night, I'll give you an open cheque, and an
introduction to the bank. Have you any choice of banks?" "Yes, I should
like to open an account at the 'Fiji Limited,'George Street." "Very
good, I'll see to that--what name shall I make the cheque payable to?"
"John Williams." "Any further instructions?"

"No--only, if you are near the Glebe at any time, you may say to Rosa
that you expect me back soon."

"I shall make it a point to call upon my uncle and aunt to-night, and
will deliver your message to my cousin at the same time."

"You are a good fellow, Chester, to befriend me, like this after what
I've done, and believe me, whatever happens to me I trust to be able to
keep the knowledge of it from your cousin."

"I hope so--indeed I expect so much from you, for that is only your duty
towards your innocent wife and her relations."

"Don't fear for me, I'll be secretive and game enough, Does--does Rosa
speak much about me?"

"Of course the poor child misses you dreadfully, but as I have paid her
income regularly, she is comfortable enough and not under the same
anxiety regarding ways and means as are some wives here. She looks
forward to your return as a wealthy man, and she is anticipating a good
time in England and the Continent, when that comes off."

"She'll have it too, the angel, whoever suffers, by George! That puts
new blood into me, and my next diving operation will be a big success,
you bet."

"Good-bye for the present," said the lawyer with a smile, as he rose
briskly. "I'll come here with the cheque to-morrow night about nine
o'clock--you'll be here?" "Yes--Good-bye."

Mr. Chester took up his slate tinted kid gloves with his stick and hat,
and quitted his companion with a quick step, without shaking hands with
him or looking back, while the disguised man watched his retreat with
eyes that showed a little moisture behind his darkened spectacles.

"He is a fine fellow, if a bit cold and stiff with me; many a one in his
position would have plundered me wholesale, with all that money at his
discretion, while I'd only have had to grin and bear it; but Arthur
Chester wouldn't do that. I expect he thinks one thief is enough in the
family; besides, he is too fond of Rosa to do her a wrong."

His strong and resolute head drooped for a moment on his hand, as he
thought on the Sydney girl, whose love he had won under false pretences,
and away from this same cousin. True, the family had been poor enough
when he first came amongst them as a man with an assured income, a
fiction he had managed to keep up, with the aid of Arthur Chester, ever
since. Arthur Chester, who had only been a subordinate until, with those
ill-gotten gains, he was able to begin business for himself, for Jack
Milton had been a daring and successful disciple of the late Charles
Peace, except for that slight mistake of his in Victoria. He had been
prudent enough to work alone as much as possible and confide a few of
his secrets and what money he stole to this cousin of his wife, only
when forced to do so.

"I wonder if it is principle that makes Chester so stand-offish with me;
he was glad enough to borrow my money when he was a clerk, and the
receiver isn't much better, if any, than the thief; I hadn't been in
jail then though, at least he didn't know it if I had, and he pretends,
rarely, not to know where my money comes from. Perhaps he is jealous of
me with Rosa, and I cannot blame him if he is, for who could help being
in love with that little angel?"

The Professor broke in here upon the cogitations of the housebreaker,
and instantly his careless mocking manner returned.

"Well, you old scarecrow, I've settled matters with my lawyer and we are
to have the supplies needful for taking those premises, so now I am off
to arrange with the landlord about terms and occupation. You keep out of
it for the present until I can make you look respectable, if that is
possible, and brace up your tottering mind to be in possession and a
fashionable soothsayer by the end of the week."

With these bantering remarks, he put on his soft hat and sauntered out
to the blazing sunshine leaving the foolish psychometrist in a rapture
of admiration and rosy visions.



Chapter III. The New Establishment.

IF the Professor had reason to be a proud man, four days afterwards, he
could hardly be said to be a completely happy one. He was possessed of
vanity and ignorance enough to have accepted any post, but the position
wanted grappling with and getting accustomed to. These daily ablutions
were decidedly irksome, and after being accustomed to limp linen, to be
imprisoned in stiffly-starched shirts and collars was a trial, to say
nothing about the soft carpets, and the flashy furniture, all on the
hire system, which awed his silly soul. The habit of scratching was an
ancient one and not easy to set aside, still he did his best to live up
to his new surroundings and forego that luxury.

Jack Milton, in his character of John Williams, had engaged the servants
and young ladies to wait upon expected clients. The Professor found them
all on the spot when he arrived, with his bran new wardrobe, to take
possession. Attractive and exceedingly sharp-looking girls, in sedate
and well-fitting costumes, and a page-boy to open the door, with a face
like a knife newly ground and eyes like a snake; not many page boys,
even of the keenest colonial produce, would have had a chance with this
remarkable boy, for activity, wide-awakeness and composure. He was a
demon page, who could anticipate an order before it was half thought
out, far less expressed.

The cook and housemaid were not beautiful, but they were agile and
wonderfully constructed; quiet, freckled-faced women, who performed
their duties deftly, and moved about the house like Malays or Chinamen.
There was also a man kept on the premises to split wood in the cellar
and look after the horse and dog-cart in the yard, for the Professor was
stinted in nothing by his liberal patron; this man likewise had been
chosen for his strength of muscles rather than his good looks, and he
was very modest, for he seldom went out to the street. His duties lay
solely in the back kitchen, cellars, and yard.

The sleeping partner and financier of the business took up his abode on
the premises, and had his meals with the Professor, and generous meals
they were, both as regards viands and liquors. The Professor for the
first time in his chequered career had the delight of quaffing champagne
and burgundy with his tucker, and like the hero he was, he went into
those delights with heart-felt pleasure and thirsty energy when the
daily duties were over. Each night after the hours of consultation,
supper came on, and he never rose from that supper, but drank on, until
he found the soft carpet sufficient as a couch for the night. Jack
Milton had been correct in his estimate of the gullibility of the Sydney
people when the bait is presented to them with a blaze and glitter. In
his small and mean way the Professor had been able to keep himself
going, with the low fees asked for his priceless services, but he was
astonished now at the crowds who waited in his ante-rooms, and the
golden offerings which poured in during the fashionable hours of
consultation. As soon as the fashionables grasped the fact that such an
establishment had opened in the locality, and columns of advertisements
made them suppose that there must be money at the back of the concern,
they at once patronized it. And because it looked genuine and like a
success, the public made it so, with their generous fees. Psychometry
became a theme of conversation from Potts' Point to Botany Bay, and the
Psychometrist a decided boom. Of course this peculiarity of encouraging
and bending down to apparent success is not altogether confined to
Sydney, although in other places the public may not be quite so quickly
got at by such shams, nor so candid in their contempt for failure or
poverty.

"Make hay while your sun shines," Jack would say as he roused up the
Professor from his hog-like repose each morning and superintended his
bath and dressing. "Get as drunk as you like when business is over, but
you must look capable to use the rake during the day."

Yet although he was so strict with Mortikali, the sleeping partner,
after he had braced up and set the fraudulent machine going, would prove
his position in the firm by going off to his own bed and sleeping for
the best part of the day. It was astonishing what a quantity of sleep he
could do with. He said that he did not sleep well at nights, and that
was why he took so much of it during the day. Certainly in the mornings
he did look worn and wearied enough to justify his assertion that he
could not sleep well at nights.

"I'll have to put you under my magnetic treatment, my boy, if you don't
get better. Let me give you a few passes now," remarked the Professor
when he had picked himself up from the floor and cleared his muddled
faculties somewhat with a shower-bath. "Them wines do pour the illectric
force into a sensitive like me; I felt all of a tingle this morning,
just see how my arms and hands are a-shaking; it's the healing power
a-filling me to bursting point, that's what it is; my old mother, who
was a rare mejum, used to tell me, I had the god-like gifts to make my
fortune as a healer, and, by George! I begin to believe she was in the
right."

He was engaged, while gabbling on, in making hypnotic passes round the
recumbent head of his stalwart friend, who had pitched himself wearily
upon one of the couches in their private dining room. "So your mother
was a mejum, was she?" sleepily answered the drowsy Jack. "Ay, one of
the right old school, and no gammon about her; she wouldn't give a
séance for nothink, not she, like as some of them blooming fools do now.
Her familiar spurruts only worked for the £ s. d."

"Good old party, and what about your wife and family--where have you
left them? Eh?"

"Don't mention them," replied the Psychometrist with vicious emphasis.
"I have cast them out of my heart for ever, leastways they chucked me
out, the unnatural mob. That woman, my wife, fell to religion--the
Methodists took her in hand and spoilt a first-rate trance mejum. She'd
have nothink to do with me afterwards, and said that my gifts came from
the devil, and what d'ye think my eldest son had the impudence to tell
me?" "I give it up."

"That I was as ignorant as an unweaned pig--there, now, what d'ye think
of that from a man's own son?"

Jack Milton, who had been gradually succumbing under his protégé's
passes, or from his own fatigue, rallied a little at this, and burst
into a hearty laugh, which however he qualified by saying: "It was
cheek, and no mistake."

"What d'ye think, my boy, but that wasn't all, for he followed this
nasty remark by taking me by the scruff of my neck and pitching me into
the street, telling me never to darken the door or disgrace them again
with my lousy presence. Ah! if they could see me now, though, wouldn't
they feel ashamed."

"It's quite likely they would," murmured the patient, as he succumbed
and fell asleep.

Barney, the stable hand and wood-chopper, was like his master during
these hot mornings, and did a considerable amount of sleeping among the
straw in the stable, after he had attended to the pony and split what
wood was needed for the kitchen; however, as these were nearly all the
duties yet asked of him, no one complained about his drowsy habits. The
weather was too oppressively hot for anyone to work much, except the
Professor, until the night came, and his work was not over-taxing either
to the mind or muscles. He knew the formula of the cards, and how to
prattle about the lines of life, girdle of Venus, and mount of Mars,
with the breaks and crosses in between. His customers were also fairly
credulous and not over critical either about the predictions or manners
of the predictor. He was now well-dressed, his hair and beard were
tidily trimmed, and his surroundings were flashy, and those completed
the illusion. Each victim came to him desirous of listening, and with
wishes to be gratified, and they gave him the key to those wishes
quickly enough, therefore he sent them away happy, for he predicted
exactly what they wanted to come to pass. His fees had been raised to
suit his new surroundings, one guinea for the future, revealed either by
card or palm; four guineas if the stars were consulted, and a chart
drawn out. He generously threw in a little phrenology, palmistry, and
card shuffling along with the astrology for the same fee. His massage
and magnetic treatment was a ten-guinea per visit affair, and a course,
or series, of visits were required before success could be promised.

As we have said, the Professor became an instant and pronounced success,
for although the establishment had only been opened for six days, he had
hardly time at this stage to bolt his lunch, through the flux of
customers, while the sovereigns and shillings rolled into his coffers in
a perpetual stream. It was better than a gold mine while it lasted.

"A pity these booms are so soon over," murmured Jack Milton regretfully
to himself, as he took charge of the money each night, allowing the
Professor just enough for his daily expenses. "I might have settled down
comfortably in this business and dropped the other, but it can't go on."

Perhaps one cause of this rapid success was that this knavish and
foolish fraud of a Futurist had as firm a belief in the spirits, the
cards, palmistry and the stars as his customers had, or pretended to
have. He had before now paid his half-sovereigns to get his own future
divulged by other professors in his own craft, and they in return came
to him, now that he was successful, to see how he did it, and learn a
trick, or out of good faith, and it was his bona fide air of faith and
credence which helped to impose on others. A man must be in earnest even
in roguery, to become a success. Cynics are never successful
money-makers.

The new branch which had been added to the business, the selling of
certain "tips" for the coming races and sports, caused the Professor a
good deal of uneasiness and feeble remonstrance before he would consent
to take it up, for he knew nothing about horses, cricket adepts, or
other gambling transactions, and he said "the spurruts" were not always
to be depended on in such mundane matters. "They are tricky and play
larks at times, and then where will we be?--busted!"

But Jack was confident about the success of this branch. He knew all the
tricks of the turf and would not admit of failure. He could tell when
the spirits were likely to give false information, he said, and put them
on the right track, "so plunge, my sage, philosopher and friend, for
plunging is our game now."

The Professor yielded, as he generally had to do when the daring Jack
commanded. The first race would be over in eight more days, and this was
Friday of their second week in possession, and that must either "bust"
them up, or else draw the whole colony swarming into their net. The
Psychometrist trembled, but accepted the position, and braced up his
courage by sundry glasses of brandy and soda, while the sporting victims
came in and paid lavishly for the "certain tips," promising him the fate
of the welsher if he proved a false prophet. Each night also, while the
wearied Futurist drank himself into a blissful state of unconsciousness
with the generous juices of old France, Jack sat smoking hard, and
concocting fresh advertisements for the newspapers in the name of
"Mortikali the Great." Florid and humorous compositions, regardless of
expense, these were of Jack's, which filled whole columns, and delighted
both the readers and proprietors of the different papers, and the
editors proved their gratitude by giving the Professor and his
establishment constant pars. extra, and appreciative interviews.

"Won't all them advertisements swamp our profits, mate?" the Professor
would feebly ask.

"Not a bit of it, our arrangement is to pay at the end of the month, as
we do the furniture establishment, and we'll have lots of money by that
time." "How did you manage it?"

"Easy enough; in these dull times people are only too pleased to give
credit. I paid our landlord a month in advance, and got him down to the
Marble Hall to speak about it and my bank account which I showed him.
Free drinks at the same Marble den of Tattersall's and the
'Australian,'with a little discreet bounce, fluency of gab and display
of jewellery, drew the blinders over the eyes of the Press. They can
only see the road I lead them into now. Do you savy, old sage and
psychometrist, eh?" "You're a big man, Jack, and ought to die a
millionaire." "I ought, and I hope to live one also."

A short time afterwards, as soon as the Professor had found his
customary couch on the carpet, Jack Milton, attired in his white wig and
blue spectacles, took his usual prowl round the newspaper offices,
handing in his copy, and shouting drinks; afterwards visiting the
fashionable places of resort and paying his money like a man, amongst
both dudes and capitalists; then, on his way back, he dropped a letter
into a post pillar for Mr. Arthur Chester, solicitor.

On his return he put on an old suit and woke up the strong-armed Barney,
and went with him for an hour or two of real hard labour in the cellar,
for when they came from those underground regions, they were covered
with dirt and sweating profusely, yet both appeared satisfied.

"That job's ready at last, Barney, my boy, and to-morrow night we'll all
have to lend a hand."

"It'll be as clean a job as I ever was in, captain; when you take a
thing in hand you does it neatly."

Jack smiled at the compliment from his henchman, and after a drink of
brandy and soda, they both went like brothers into the bath-room, and,
after a good wash, for the first time during those past six days sought
their beds before daylight.

On Saturday forenoon Jack paid an early visit to the bank next door,
paying in a good number of sovereigns, and enjoying a pleasant half
hour's chat with the genial manager in his private den. The letter which
Mr. Chester received ran as follows:

"Tell Rosa and her people that I have landed in Melbourne, and will be
home on Sunday night.

"I shall also be at your house very early on Sunday morning, with the
treasure I spoke about; leave your back yard and stable doors open for
me, so that I needn't disturb the neighbours getting in, and be prepared
for me.

"Jack."

"We shall all be prepared for you, Mr. Jack," murmured Mr. Chester, with
a sinister smile, as he read and destroyed this interesting epistle.



Chapter IV. Treasure Trove.

ONE o'clock Sunday morning, and four resolute men are assembled in the
dining-room discussing steaks underdone and strong tea, for they are
different from the Professor, who lies in a hoggish state of stupor
beneath them. They have much to do to-night that will make or mar them,
and they require no wines nor spirits to brace their courage up to the
sticking point for daring robbery, or cold-blooded murder. They are
colonial born and the grandsons of convicts, inured to the sport of
hunting from their earliest years, and astute as savages on the
war-path; besides, they would rather gain their livelihood in this way,
with its deadly risks, than live by any other means. They cannot help
themselves, they are wild beasts, with a coating of craft and cunning,
bred from convict fathers and mothers, and gifted with only the one
ambition, to excel in this business.

There is not one of them who has not been state-school trained, and
educated as highly as the standards can make them. They can all spell
fairly, and can write with a flowing hand. They don't make any mistakes
in grammar, they know their geography and some have even advanced in
Euclid, but they are one and all hunters and sons of sportsmen. They
like the excitements of the chase, and they will have it, even at the
risk of their necks. Their present sports are a pawn-broker's shop and a
colonial bank that has not yet failed.

Jack Milton is the only one amongst them who has no convict antecedents.
He had become a master criminal, as Cromwell became a soldier, through
the force of circumstances, but now he dominated them. They wanted fresh
blood and a leader, for although they were wicked enough and false
enough, yet the creative and inventive genius seemed to be destroyed.
New South Wales seems always to want a leader, yet never to find one who
does not swindle the country. There are no patriots amongst them. They
cannot hit upon patriots, simply for the reason that patriots come
plainly and simply costumed and without ostentation, whereas they want a
flourish of trumpets, as the ancient Jews did when they looked towards a
Messiah. Perhaps also it is the warmth or some other degenerating
quality in the atmosphere that may be the cause of this deplorable
decadence, but although the children of the second and third generation
are wonderfully sharp, false, and crafty, they have not the quality to
grasp greatness of soul, nor that grandeur of simplicity which stamps
the hero. They can appreciate the smartness of a swindler after they are
swindled, and indeed they seem to admire this sharpness, but they cannot
comprehend an honest man. Jack Milton was a big fellow amongst them, he
could plan and execute grand coups, and he had, what they could not
exactly comprehend, a staunch interest in his friends, therefore they
appreciated his talents to plot out schemes, and get them out of the
scrapes, and they instinctively bent to the principle which they could
not understand, his good faith. Each man of that small gang would have
sold Jack Milton if it had been made worth his while, yet each man knew
that he could trust Jack Milton to a pennyweight. It takes a lot of
personality to persuade state-school trained savages to trust in anyone.

The women were there, the smart handmaids whom Jack had chosen. They
were the keenest criminals in Sydney, who had managed to escape, for six
full days, the supervision of the colonial detectives. The page boy was
a young imp who had served him on former occasions, and who could be
trusted as a setter. The cook and housemaid had discarded their
petticoats and now appeared daring young, callous cornstalks, and
sun-freckled demons who would pause at nothing.

"Girls," observed Jack when supper was finished, "you know your duty
while we work. Cecil, my son, every three minutes, when you see the
policeman approach, give us the hint, he passes and looks into the open
pawnshop every three minutes, six minutes will do our business there if
all goes well. The bank is guarded by a watchman, a housekeeper and a
confidential clerk; a dog was also there an hour ago, but Barney has
silenced him. I'll undertake to silence the watchman, the housekeeper
and the clerk. Do you require any more grub or liquor?" "No, boss, we
have had enough. We are ready."

"Come along then, get to your posts, Cecil and you girls: three quarters
of an hour are all I need to do the whole business in, the biggest in my
life."

"What about the Professor?" enquired Barney, looking down on that
prostrate hero.

"Oh, he is all safe, I dosed his last glass of Burgundy," replied Jack.
"Come on, boys, and brace yourselves up for work. The pawnshop first."

They all put crape masks over their features, by way of precaution, not
that they expected to be seen, yet still it was best to be on the safe
side.

Silently they followed one another downstairs and into the commodious
cellars of the establishment, the Professor still sleeping the sleep of
unconscious infancy, while the girls and the page boy crept outside. It
was with some pride that Barney showed them the excavations he had made
on the one side, from the cellar to the bank, and on the other from the
cellar to the pawnshop. They had the game clear before them if they
could escape the watchful gaze of the police on the one side and the
inmates on the other. Jack and Barney were the mechanical engineers of
the concern; they had bored the hole, and in a few seconds made the trap
door to admit them to the premises of the pawnbroker, then they were all
through and in the full glare of the gas light, and the open windows to
whoever passed, for the pawnbroker had no shutters.

Jack and Barney waited a second and then they rushed forward, pulling
down and piling up boxes and packages between them and the windows. In
two minutes exactly, the barricades were raised in a natural fashion,
and they could lie panting behind, while the policeman made his usual
survey.

The next portion of the work was easy as far as detection went, although
requiring immense presence of mind and personal strength.

Three great safes were standing by the walls filled with valuables and
money; but Jack Milton had his plans arranged beforehand, therefore,
getting all the clothing and soft pledges he could from the shelves, he
pitched them on the floor and then, with their crow-bars and levers they
overturned the safes, and rolling them one after the other, shot them
down into their excavated shaft, where they could break them open and
examine them at their leisure. It took the four burglars nine minutes to
remove these iron safes, that would have taken expert workmen a couple
of hours, such is the effect of sport or excitement on the spirits and
muscles of men. The other business was simple after this exploit, to
dart to the till and rifle it between the visits of the police and to
take what else was of value, leaving the show-cases untouched in the
windows. In fifteen minutes from the time they had entered the
pawnbroker's premises, the deed was completed and the pledges were their
property.

Jack Milton left Barney and the other two men to break open the safes in
the cellars while he penetrated the bank.

It was not difficult to enter, for he had undermined the place and
silenced the watchdog. He also knew where the confidential clerk and
housekeeper slept, and where he was likely to find the watchman.

One of the young men who had acted as a servant went with him, and
together they stole upon the watchman, who was fortunately nodding by
his table in an ante-room, a chloroform-saturated handkerchief soon
settled him, and then they proceeded upstairs.

Fate had gone well with Jack Milton up to now. The housekeeper was
easily managed, for she was asleep when they entered her bedroom, so
that she never knew what caused her to sink into a deeper and more
peaceful slumber, but with the confidential clerk it was otherwise.

A toothache had kept him awake that Sunday morning, so that, as the
crape-masked burglars entered the room, he leapt from his bed and
confronted them with a loud cry. Then it was all over for the
confidential clerk, for without a pause Jack rushed upon him and pinning
him up against the wall, gave him the garrotter-grip, one grasp first on
the shoulder and the elbow driven with sudden and savage force against
the larynx, silencing his voice and breaking the apple. With a gurgling
sound the poor man sank to the ground and all was quiet. Jack Milton was
a murderer.

He looked at his victim for a second with horror in his eyes, then with
a heavy groan he dragged his accomplice away and made towards the loot.
It would be time enough to think of his crime afterwards, at present his
blood was fired up for the sport.

* * * * *

The dying cry of the clerk had not reached the policeman outside, and
all the streets were peaceful on this Sabbath morning. Only Jack Milton
knew that one life had been sacrificed on this raid, and he kept that
secret to himself, so as not to disturb the unholy glee of his
confederates over their winnings.

It has been a rich loot, all in all, with the pawnbroker's pledges and
the bank hoardings, and he may now retire and exist in love and comfort
on his lion's share of the proceeds. He is a wealthy man now, with what
he has made to-night and what he had before. But that poor confidential
clerk's death has to be avenged.

It does not take long to win a battle, kill a stag, or break into a
bank; by three o'clock in the morning the confederates had divided their
loot and made all their arrangements to part company. Jack Milton has
his share, all in coins, jewels, and ingots, in his dogcart ready to
drive off, and the others are satisfied with theirs.

A boat at the wharf waits to take them off to a ship ready to sail, and
a couple of cabs, already arranged for, hang about a side street. They
are taking a parting cup, and Jack stands amongst them silently, and
thinking of that dead clerk, whom the others know nothing about yet. The
clerk who will hang him, if he is not careful. "Well, mates, you are
satisfied, I hope?" says Jack, quietly.

"Thoroughly, boss. You have carried out the contract like a man. We may
now leave old Sydney for a spell, but won't there be a blooming racket
on Monday morning?"

"I expect there will be, but you'll be out of it, and I can cover my
tracks. Mates, I have been a good pal to you, have I not?" "The best
going!"

"Then do me a favour. Take this drunken sot, the Professor, with you,
and land him somewhere, for it won't do to leave him here."

"You are right, mate, he might split on us," said Barney. "We'll land
him in America, where he is sure to prosper in that business of his."
"That will do, Barney, take him with you, and here, give him these five
hundred quids. We couldn't have done without him, and it's only right we
should look after a chum."

"Particularly if he is dangerous, as this one happens to be; here, boys,
hoist the carcase along with the property."

They raised the intoxicated and drugged Psychometrist and dragged him
off to the cabs at the corner along with the loot, while Jack watched
them going with an abstracted air.

Half an hour afterwards the Psychometric establishment was minus
servants, attendants and Professor, then Jack turned with a heavy sigh,
and led the pony, with the laden dog-cart, into the street.

He locked up the back-yard gate and no one checked his course as he went
along. The policeman at the corner touched his hat to him when he passed
by. He thought nothing of the eccentric movements of the white-haired
partner of the Fashionable Fortune-teller, for he had become used to his
ways; often had that pony taken an early morning exercise during the
past week.

As he drove along he looked at the stars and tried to console himself
with the reflection that no one could foretell what might happen in a
campaign. Warriors go out to battle and kill for their country, and no
one thinks of blaming them.

A life had been taken that night accidentally. On Monday morning there
would be wild excitement, and a big reward for the murderer, but he
would be with his faithful and lovely Rosa then, with all his traces
covered and an assured future before him; that surely was worth the
candle he had burnt, the risks he had run.

Four o'clock and he was at Mr. Chester's house, the bachelor's
establishment which this astute lawyer kept.

Jack Milton knew very well that the housekeeper would have a holiday on
this morning, therefore he felt safe as he led his horse and trap inside
the back gate, and when he had shut that, he knocked at the kitchen door
softly. A moment, and then the door opened gently and a voice asked:
"Who is there?" "Jack, with some baggage." "Bring it inside."

Mr. Chester did not help the housebreaker with his burden, and the
packages were lifted from the dog-cart and carried indoors in the dark;
then, when the door was closed and fastened, Mr. Chester struck a light
and looked at his visitor with a scrutinizing gaze. "What is this you
have brought in these bags?"

"Fifty thousand pounds in gold," replied Jack Milton quietly. "Put them
away for me and invest them."

"All right, leave them there for the present."

"Have you told Rosa I'll be home to-night?"

"Yes, she expects you," replied the lawyer.

"Good, I'll go now."

"Good morning."

"Good morning."

They parted with these words and Jack led his pony and empty dog-cart
out of the gate, which the lawyer closed and barred after him. After
which he drove away into the country at a furious pace.



Chapter V. Jack Milton at Home.

THEY had a small tea-party at Trumpet Tree Cottage on the Sunday night
when Jack Milton came back after his two years' absence.

It is only right and proper for a man to apprise his wife and friends of
his home-coming, whether he has been absent for a short or long
period--particularly if for a long period.

Surprises are seldom pleasant either to the receiver or the one who
gives them; some men in Jack's position might have felt inclined to play
the romantic and time-honoured joke of entering the Cottage suddenly and
disguised in rags, just to see how darling Rosa and her parents would
receive him. Jack could hardly do this, even if he had been disposed,
since he had entrusted a considerable sum of money to Rosa's cousin
before he went away. He was not disposed however to this sort of
romance. He had always liked to pose as a rich man; he liked also to be
entertained and made much of by his friends, and did not care how much
he spent to gain this end.

He loved his wife Rosa with all the reasonless intensity of his lawless
nature, and to have doubted her so far as to have tested her truth was
beyond his strength. She had said she loved him, and she had married
him, which seemed proof sufficient for his vanity and his desires. She
seemed delighted with his presence. Therefore, like a good husband, he
took it for granted that she mourned his absence as good wives ought to
do. The lamps were lighted and all the stars were out when he drove up
to the front gate, not this time in the dog-cart, or with his white wig
on, but in a cab, with portmanteau and bag beside him, as if he had just
come from a journey.

Rosa was on the look-out for his arrival, and ran eagerly from the
verandah up the little walk to the gate, and here she flung herself into
his arms, regardless of the grinning driver. "At last, you old darling
Jack."

"At last, my fairy," replied her husband fondly, as he clasped her to
his heart; and then they went indoors like true lovers.

Rosa Milton lived with her father and mother, or it would be more
correct to say, since it was the money of Jack which had furnished and
kept the home going, that the parents of Rosa lived with her.

Her father had been a draper's book-keeper, before his daughter's
marriage enabled him to throw up his occupation and retire upon the
bounty of his flash son-in-law. This he had promptly done, for few
cornstalks of the second generation care for working if they can get out
of it. The Sydney climate is too enervating for much exertion, and the
example of other husbands and fathers is too infectious to be long
resisted. It is almost the universal rule now for the women to keep
their men, and this is what most of these young colonials enter the holy
state of matrimony for.

The sire of Rosa was a genial, old, and gentlemanly loafer for all that,
and looked quite a respectable father, as he sat in his arm-chair, with
the Sunday papers before him, his spectacles on his well-shaped nose,
and his silver-grey beard floating over his black vest. Mrs. Mulligan,
his good lady, also bore out the appearance of a highly respectable
matron as she sat beside the tea-pot and dishes, and, altogether, there
was a decided air of home-like comfort about the lamp-lighted and
well-furnished front parlour.

Rosa was like the generality of her Sydney sisters, creamy-complexioned,
with features almost classic in their regularity, strongly defined
eyebrows and clear, grey-blue eyes, with a plentiful supply of
golden-brown hair. She appeared small alongside of her tall husband, yet
she was above the average height of women, and possessed a figure which
for symmetry would have won the approval of the most exacting lover of
the beautiful. Clearly the road to Jack's heart had been by the eye.

They were a magnificent couple, and most people would have agreed that
they were well matched. Jack with his strong, dark face, square jaw and
powerful frame, and Rosa with the seductive wiles and graces of a Helen.
A disciple of Lavater might have found characteristics in both these
attractive faces to make him pause and ponder, as indeed he could have
done in the other faces gathered round this festive board, Mr. and Mrs.
Mulligan and Mr. Arthur Chester. But Cupid's glamour had blinded Jack,
and what the others thought did not interfere with the warmth of their
welcome to the new arrival.

The viands were lavish and well enough cooked, for most colonial women
are adepts at home work. A couple of fowls, with a ham, and a prime
joint of beef, flanked by roasted Kiameres, pumpkins mashed, and mounds
of tempting tea-cakes. Mr. Chester carved the fowls and ham, while the
gentlemanly father cut the joint, and the mother poured out the tea,
thus leaving Jack and Rosa with nothing to do except eat, drink, and
look tenderly at each other.

After tea was cleared away, at Jack's request, Rosa and her cousin went
to the piano and sang duets. Jack was fond of singing, though he could
not sing himself, and Rosa had a clear, if somewhat metallic voice; she
did not play, but Arthur Chester managed to accompany her and himself
with a creditable "vamp," therefore that part of the evening passed away
very well.

Then, when the whisky decanter had been put upon the table and pipes
were lighted, Jack began to tell his adventures of the past two years,
in the South Seas, and in this he proved himself a perfect master of
fiction. Othello could not have done better, nor could Desdemona have
listened with more rapt admiration and devotion than did Rosa as she sat
on a low stool at his feet, her pretty teagown falling in graceful folds
about her, and her white arms bare to the elbows as the wide sleeves
dropped back. She rested these white and shapely arms on his knee, with
her chin on her ring-covered hands, and those steadfast, clear,
blue-grey orbs fixed on his black eyes. Occasionally, however, she
shifted her head slightly to glance with a kind of wonder at her
attentive parents, or the quietly observant cousin. When she glanced at
Arthur Chester and caught his eye, a slight flush tinted her creamy
cheeks, and a tiny curl lifted her upper lip, revealing her white teeth
and the redness of her full and moist lower lip. At these times only a
gleam shot between the eyes of the two cousins, and then she turned her
face once more with touching admiration towards the fertile-minded Jack.

"I shall call round to-morrow evening after office hours and have a
business talk with you, Milton," said the lawyer as he rose to his feet
about nine o'clock and prepared to take his departure.

"Do," answered Jack, also getting up, "I intend to spend to-morrow at
home and take it easy."

"I expect you'll be interested in the newspapers, after being so long
without them."

"Yes, I'll put in my time that way--you get the papers, I suppose, Mr.
Mulligan?"

"Yes, the Herald. I'll bring it up to your bedroom," replied the
father-in-law.

Rosa now proposed, as the night was warm, that they should see her
cousin a little way towards his house, and as Mr. and Mrs. Mulligan were
not inclined for the exercise, the three young people went out together,
Rosa in the centre, with a hand through the arms next to her of each
companion. In this fashion they went, linked together, into the night.

* * * * *

Jack Milton did not venture out of doors the next day, but Rosa like a
dutiful wife brought him all the newspapers. The Town and Country, the
Australasian, the Guillotine, and the dailies, to amuse himself with,
while she went about her household duties. Rosa liked to work in the
kitchen with her mother and the servant, and had some favourite dishes
to cook for Jack, therefore he had to yield, and do without more than a
flying visit now and again from her, and a fugitive kiss, while he
helped his father-in-law to "loaf."

The papers interested both men very greatly, for they were filled with
the account of the great robberies which had been discovered on Sunday
morning. Jack groaned inwardly as he read about the dead body of the
confidential clerk being discovered. It was the first man's taking-off
which could be laid to his charge, and it made him feel uncomfortable,
even although he tried to persuade himself that it was an accident. He
had, however, great command over his features and feelings, and read the
account quite calmly out to his wife and his father-in-law.

Mr. Mulligan listened with the interest such a sensation raises in one,
while Rosa, with a slight shiver of horror, hurriedly left the room for
a moment, and then as quickly returned.

"I expect there will be a big reward offered for the murderer, Jack,"
she said, fixing her clear blue-grey eyes on him.

"I expect so, little woman," replied Jack with his glance still on the
paper.

Mr. Chester came after the lamps were lit, with the evening papers in
his pocket. "Have you seen the account of that big robbery and murder in
George Street?" he asked as he entered.

"Yes," replied Jack and Rosa together, "any more about it?"

"The Bank people have offered a reward of five hundred pounds for any
information that may lead to the capture of the principals."

As he spoke he turned for a moment from Jack and cast a straight glance
at Rosa, who looked down at the table-cloth and began to smooth it out.

"The police head-quarters will receive the information and pay the
reward," continued Mr. Chester, and then they all sat down to the usual
high, or dinner, tea, and began talking about other topics. After tea
Rosa said to her husband:

"I am going out to-night, dear, to see a girl friend in town, Mrs. Grey,
you remember; and as Arthur has come to discuss business with you, I'll
leave you alone for an hour or so. I won't be late, darling; will you
stay till I come back, Arthur?"

"No, Rosa, I must be going soon, as I have a host of letters to get
through to-night."

He did not look at her this time, but she looked at him, a lingering
look, in which blended a little con tempt with some other emotion.

"Very well, I shall say good night. Now I'll leave you gentlemen alone
to discuss business. Depend upon me, dear Jack, I'll not be late."

She rose and left them with these words, Jack smiling fondly on her as
she quitted the room, then the two men sat down squarely to business,
for Mr. and Mrs. Mulligan had gone early to their own apartments.

When the business was gone through Mr. Chester rose to leave.

"This is a serious affair, this murder as well as robbery, isn't it,
Milton?" "Yes, very serious, and to be regretted," replied Jack.

"I can depend on your promise made to me, I suppose?"

"Yes, no one shall ever say that Jack Milton did not keep his promise."

"Good! and good-night."

After Chester had departed and until Rosa returned, Jack experienced a
singular fit of dejection. Everything had gone right with his schemes.
The horse and dog-cart were over the cliffs and his wig and spectacles
and clothes were destroyed. He had left no traces that he could think
about. His companions were clear away, for they had arranged that
beforehand, and yet the spirit of that confidential clerk seemed to be
haunting him.

He went to the sideboard and took as many whiskies as he dared to take,
to brace up his courage, and give him some of his lost pluck. He dare
not take much drink, in case he might talk and get reckless. He looked
at his revolver and found that in good order, and then, before he got
quite too desperate with himself, darling Rosa came back, beautiful and
tender.

His wife took him straight away to bed and said she would shut up the
place after she had seen him comfortable; she even went the length of
going to the kitchen and brewing him a glass of whisky hot, as a
night-cap, but although he felt he had taken enough, he did not like to
refuse the dear girl, therefore he made some excuse to get her out of
the room long enough to enable him to throw the stuff out of the open
window, and pretend he had taken it.

She laid her creamy soft cheek against his for a moment when she had
brought him what he wanted, and gently kissing him on the lips, said:

"Now, dearest, let me go and see that all is safe in the house, and then
I'll come to bed."

She left him with these loving words, and stole gently down the stairs
in her stockings, taking the lamp with her and leaving him in darkness.

For a moment he lay thinking fondly about her and planning out the
future, then his acute and trained ears heard sounds outside, which
banished sleep and woke up his faculties.

He stole softly to the open window and peered out, to see forms of men
surrounding the house. He knew what that meant to him.

Down the stairs he crept like a phantom, with his revolver in his hand.
Whispering voices in the dining parlour lured him on, and he turned in
that direction and listened by the open door.

"You must be patient yet a little while, for he is a strong man, but in
a few minutes he must be asleep, for I have given him a strong dose of
chloral." This was the voice of his darling Rosa, and another replied:

"I'll wait, missis; hadn't you better go and stay beside him till he
drops over?" "Yes, I'll go and see him now." He did not wait for the
lovely traitress to come out of the parlour, the revulsion was too great
for his wild, untrained and passionate nature. Without a pause, he
planted the revolver to his brow and pulled the trigger.



Chapter VI. Jack Milton's Escape.

"CALL no man happy until he is dead," said Solon, that wise man of
Salamis.

There is an instinct of insatiable discontent planted in the heart of
every human being, which ever urges us towards the consummation of our
desires, and this only more or less strong in its attraction than the
horror of death in its repelling powers, according to the lives we live
and the passions we indulge in.

Those who, like Socrates, or such saints as Thomas à Kempis, accustom
themselves to self-denial, have fewer promptings towards suicide and
less horror of death. Their unambitious and eventless lives satisfy
their modest cravings. They have learnt to find enjoyment in the passing
phases of the seasons, and, living outside their passions, they are
drawn into the all-satisfying heart of Nature and exist for the moment
that is with them. This is the nearest approach to happiness on the
earth side of death, yet even that is not complete. Death is the only
panacea for humanity.

As Hans Andersen says in one of his fairy tales, each human being hides
under his cloak a beast of some kind. It may be a ruthless tiger, a
poisonous snake or scorpion, a fox, or even only a timid hare, or
peacock. I fancy, however, that most of us hide more than one beast
under our jerkins, indeed that we are animated Noah's Arks, and while we
parade the lambs and doves on our upper decks, the swine, snakes and
other wild animals are all there under the hatches, only waiting their
opportunity to show themselves.

The beasts that Jack Milton had encouraged mostly were of the scorpion
and prey-like species. It had been his occupation to prey upon Society
for many years, and gratify the passion of the moment without
reflection. Yet the one passion, which, if it did not ennoble him very
much, had been the nearest approach to devotion and simplicity that he
could feel, had been his affection for this female Judas.

As with many criminals, who do not recognise the laws made by Society or
Morality, fidelity to his own kind was the one point of honour which
chained his wild and lawless nature. He could not "peach upon a pal," no
matter what he suffered in consequence, so long as that pal acted right
towards him, yet if the "pal" turned traitor, then his next natural
craving was for revenge.

His wife Rosa had been more to him than all the pals in the world, for
up to the last few seconds of time his trust in her love had been
infinite. Had any other tongue told him that she was false, he would
have killed the traducer and brushed the slander aside like a fly. He
was not an Othello in his love, possibly because having youth and
strength as well as full consciousness of his own powers of pleasing, he
could not have believed that the woman lived, who was so loved, that
could resist responding.

But the only tongue which could shatter his faith had spoken, and it had
the paralysing effect of a lightning stroke.

When roused, he was like a tiger in his rapidity; he only meditated when
he was planning out a robbery or an escape from prison, and he acted now
on the scorpion's instinct of despair.

Six almost noiseless clicks, almost like one sound, broke the silence as
the betrayed man sent the chambers of his revolver spinning round, and
in that second of time his heart stood still and his mind was a blank.
The weapon was in such perfect condition and so finely made, that the
clicks were no louder than the ticks of a watch, so that only he could
hear them.

Then, as he realized that the cartridges had been extracted by the
traitress, the temptation for self-destruction passed like a flash, and
the animal instinct of life preservation woke and braced him up. He even
laughed silently and grimly as he thought almost admiringly of the
adroitness and quickness Rosa had displayed in emptying the revolver.
"What a pickpocket the jade would make with a little training," was the
quaint fancy that crossed his mind, as he clutched his revolver by the
barrel and crept close to the wall, for he had heard the rustle of her
dress as she moved to the door, leaving the detective inside.

Five minutes before, that quaint fancy would have seemed sacrilege in
the mind of this robber and murderer, if applied to his wife, but now it
was the most appropriate idea he could think of respecting her. She was
still beautiful and had proved her cleverness, but never again would she
be a thing to respect and adore. If a bullet had dashed out his brains,
his love could not have been more surely slain than it was at this
moment of recovered life. He was now the trapped wild beast, with all
his craft and resolution in full force.

He felt her glide past him as he crouched by the wall of the lobby
leading to the kitchen, she touching the other side of the wall to guide
herself towards the staircase. He heard her soft breathing as he held
his own, and he grinned again, thinking how easily he could have
strangled her at that moment, but for the man inside that parlour, with
the necessity that he should himself escape. No, not for these cogent
reasons only would he let her go by in safety. A dull pain crushed on
his heart and made him pity her for what she had lost. He would not hurt
her for her perfidy. He would only quit her for ever, but he must escape
and punish her that way. She reached the top step before he moved, then
noiselessly and rapidly he glided through the kitchen into the
wash-house at the rear, where there was a door leading to the yard, and
a window on the shingle roof. The door was barred, but the window had
been left open, and it was large enough for him to get through.

He planned it all as he ran along, with the lightness of a cat, for he
was a man of as rapid mind as he was swift of action.

The police were in the yard, and Rosa would give the alarm in another
moment; then lamps and pistols would flash out simultaneously and he
would be seen.

In the yard grew a large almond tree, that spread its branches over the
shed roof and overlooked the narrow lane which divided them from their
neighbour's back yard. In his mind's eye he saw Rosa pause at the
bedroom door to recover herself before entering, for she wasn't yet
hardened enough to be able to face her victim without some little
preparation.

She would listen for a little time to hear if he slept, to still the
beatings of her excited heart, and to call up to her pretty face that
false and tender smile, and he laughed again bitterly as he calculated
his chances.

With his soft touch he cleared away the pans from the top of the
wash-boiler, then gripping up a billet of wood, with a light spring on
the boiler, he was through the window and on to the thickest limb of the
almond tree, with a thick covering of leaves between him and the
watchers below.

He had studied that almond tree during the day-time as a mode of escape,
for he never neglected any details in his surroundings, wherever he was.
A housebreaker of his experience and acumen, resembles a great general,
who regards every landscape as a probable battlefield and each corner or
building as a spot to be utilized for his own particular business of
war.

Jack Milton had now all his wits about him and was too cool to spoil his
chances by undue haste. A snake could not have glided along that branch
more noiselessly than he did, or with less disturbance of the leaves and
twigs. He felt each inch of the way and moved as if he had the whole
night before him, while under him the policemen stood watching the
lighted bedroom and waiting on the signal, all the while his ears were
also on the alert for that signal.

He reached the trunk and swung himself up to another thick limb which
led from it and rested on the high fence. He could not see those below,
but in front of him, that portion of the fence and branch came within
the radius of light from the bedroom window, while, as the leaves grew
thinly here, he knew he could be seen if any one chanced to be looking
in that direction.

This was the point of danger, yet he got just behind the verge of light,
and then raising himself, he stood clearing the leaves in front of him,
while he waited to take the leap. If his wife had been his best friend,
he could not have waited more anxiously on her coming cry of alarm. He
calculated exactly how she would act when she found the room empty; she
would rush to the open window with a shriek, and the police would look
in that direction in their first surprise, and that would be his chance
to leap along the line of light, then if he managed to get hold of the
branch beyond without attracting notice, he could laugh at them for the
time.

He seemed to see her turning the handle, with that false smile on her
lips, then----

Yes, there was the expected scream sent out to the night from the window
above, with a sudden darkening of the light on the branch which he knew
to be the shadow of her figure, and that made his path much easier.

He had been prepared to leap, but he changed his intention and walked
easily along the branch to the fence, then over that again to the fence
on the other side of the lane, after which he looked back before taking
the drop.

"What a racket they are making, the stupid owls, waking all the dogs in
the neighbourhood," he muttered, as he saw the flashing of the lanterns
on every side but the one where he was. He saw the darkened form of his
wife, with the detective beside her looking out, while their voices rose
in a loud chorus. With a muttered curse he dropped quietly into his
neighbour's yard, still grasping that heavy billet of wood.

A large dog rushed at him barking loudly, and letting him know by the
sound where to strike. Waiting till it was almost on him he brought down
the billet with his full force, and that antagonist was settled for the
time.

Across the yard he sprang, through the little gate that led to the front
garden and verandah; the people here were as yet asleep; so that he had
no trouble in getting to the other side, which was only protected by a
low fence, yet covered by tendrils and bushes. When he crossed this he
was a couple of lanes from his own house with the road clear as yet in
front of him.

The lane he was now in led to two different streets and he paused for a
moment to think which was best for him to take, then, having decided, he
walked quietly away, leaving the din behind him.

He was at present an object of suspicion if any one had seen him, for he
was hatless, and clad only in his nightshirt and trousers, these he had
hurriedly drawn on before leaving the bedroom. Yet that could not be
helped, the one thought that now engrossed him was where he was to turn
to find shelter.

Mr. Chester--yes, yet if Rosa was false her cousin was likely in the
plot also. No matter, courage had freed him so far, and courage must do
the rest. He would walk to Chester's house and bluff him for what he
wanted. It was a warm starlight night and the street he was in was
deserted, so that he did not find much inconvenience walking along
bare-foot and hatless. He moved swiftly along keeping his keen eyes
about him so as to avoid chance policemen and inquisitive pedestrians.
He was also examining the houses he passed, wondering if he could not do
a little business and rehabilitate himself on the way, only that he did
not wish to waste valuable time.

Chance, assisted by the god Bacchus, served him before he had got very
far, for, as he was passing a gate he almost stumbled over a man who
evidently had been overcome by the Sydney whisky, and now lay on the
foot-path in that deep and dreamless slumber which even good whisky will
produce when too freely indulged in.

This chance benefactor to the hunted man was well-dressed, and near
enough his own size to serve his purpose. With the gentleness of an
expert valet, Jack Milton drew the drunkard through the gate into the
garden, finding him more comfortable quarters under some shrubs, and
there he made his toilet, leaving the other as he had been himself, in
shirt and trousers.

The boots were a little too large, and the soft felt hat a degree too
small, but the coat and vest fitted him fairly well, the gold watch
which he likewise borrowed served to show him the time at the first
lamp-post he came to, and the loose change he found scattered about the
different pockets came in handy.

"A regular boozer that," Jack muttered as he counted about ten shillings
in threepenny bits, mixed with copper pieces, other silver and several
gold coins. "He has been visiting many pubs on the way and will need the
half-crown I left him, in the morning, I guess."

He looked at the watch and found that the time was ten minutes to one
o'clock, also that the watch which gave him this information was a good
one. "Fortune favours the bold--now for my noble Chester."

This little adventure raised his spirits wonderfully, for it seemed a
prognostic of good fortune in the future, so that he walked along with a
light heart, and in about half an hour afterwards reached his
destination.



Chapter VII. The Interview.

MR. CHESTER had either a great deal of work to get through on this early
morning, or else expecting tidings of some importance, he was sitting up
to receive them, for the light still burned in his office when Jack
reached the house.

Jack stood outside looking at the illumined blind, with folded arms and
a sinister smile on his dark features; he guessed why Mr. Chester was
not yet in bed.

"So, my friend, you expect to have me trapped in my sleep or perhaps
kindly knocked on the head, while you and your precious cousin play the
surprised innocents. Dead I could tell no tales, alone and a prisoner,
yet believing in your good faith, I'd have gone to the scaffold in
silence. Ay, so I would, had I fallen asleep and not known what I do,
therefore you only did me justice, but now that the blinders are off
I'll make you serve me, whether you like or not, you infernal hypocrite;
you were my master yesterday with your accursed cant, but I'll be boss
this morning."

He muttered these words bitterly, with savage hatred in his heart, then
stepping forward resolutely, he tapped smartly on the lower pane. In a
moment he heard the lawyer rise from his chair, and drawing the blind
back he opened the window. "Who is it?"

"I, Jack Milton," answered the housebreaker harshly, as he sprang to the
window and entered that way with a sudden leap and force that made Mr.
Chester stagger back, then quickly closing the window and readjusting
the blind so that no one could see them from the outside, he faced
round, his revolver in his hand pointed at the confused and astonished
lawyer. "Hands up, Chester! I know your little game right to the core."
"What do you mean, Mr. Milton?"

"That I was to be sold to the traps last night, so that you and that
artful jade, my wife, might enjoy my loot without me--don't deny it, or
I'll blow out your brains. I heard it all with my own ears." "I assure
you----"

"Hang your assurances, the time is past for words of that sort. Listen
to mine instead, for I must be quick. I have managed to get out of that
net, Trumpet Tree Cottage, and now you must help me to get safe out of
Sydney, or I'll make a clean breast of it and give you away--damme if
I'll be the only one to suffer in this business."

"What of your promises?" said the lawyer, who not yet understanding what
Jack knew, thought to play on his generosity. "I don't keep promises
made to traitors." "I did not betray you."

"Didn't you?--well, the woman whom I robbed and murdered for, did, and
you hold the stakes. I want money enough to take me out of the country
and shelter while you get me a disguise." "How much do you require?"
asked the lawyer sullenly.

"Three hundred pounds in gold will be as much as I can carry until I
reach a place of safety, then you can send me more. I won't be too hard
on you nor require any strict account of your stewardship, and I think,
now that you know my intentions, I can trust you for your own sake. The
bargain between us now is faith for faith, you be my banker as I require
coin. There, decide quickly, for the police may be here at any moment."

Mr. Chester stood gnawing his sandy moustache and looking very much like
Brer Fox when he was caught; however, he now recovered himself, and
pointing to a chair, he took one himself while he said:

"I don't suppose the police will be likely to come here after you unless
they followed you."

"Neither do I, since I took due care not to be followed, yet they may
come to report progress to you, eh?" Mr. Chester looked at his boots and
shook his head a little sadly.

"Then it wasn't the traps you were expecting so early this morning? Was
it Rosa?" His black eyes looked searchingly at the other's, who replied
quickly, yet without looking up: "I was expecting no one. It was work
kept me up so late. These briefs."

He waved his hand with the masonic ring upon it towards the table
covered with papers, and resumed:

"Besides, I cannot understand, since you have told me nothing yet. I am
sure my cousin--your wife, Rosa, could have no hand in the police
surprising you; indeed, such a thing must have been a terrible shock to
her, poor girl."

"Still harping on the affectionate and trusting wife fiction, Chester,"
said Jack weariedly. "Haven't I told you that I heard the poor girl
bargaining for my life with the detective, Billy Jackson? She wanted the
reward to put to her other stores, sweet innocent that she is. No, I
forgot to tell you that she prepared a dose for me to send me off to
sleep, and that she----did another thing, which made doubt out of the
question."

He had almost mentioned the extraction of the cartridges from his
revolver, when he remembered that Chester had likewise a weapon of the
same sort in his possession--one that he had presented to him--and he
thought he had better omit that piece of evidence of his wife's perfidy.
"What else did she do, Milton?"

"Something I don't mean to tell you, Chester--at least, not now. Some
other time perhaps I will. Well, have you decided to help Justice as
represented by Law, and know what transportation, if not hanging, is
like--or at the least have to give up that fortune you hold of mine, for
of course you can't expect to keep that if you turn Queen's evidence--or
do you decide to stick to the plunder, give me a small whack out of it
and help me to get clear?"

"Of course I'll help you all I can, Milton, if you show me how. By this
time I daresay the telegraph has been at work and all the ports closed.
You cannot take ship from the colony, for every man going away, unless
he is well known, will be subject to the strictest scrutiny, so that no
disguise will serve you. The trains likewise are impossible, for at
every station the same scrutiny will take place; how then do you think
to escape?"

"I'll tell you, Chester; first, because I cannot do it without your
help, and second, because it is to your interest to get me out of this.
I mean to ride overland to Westralia, and lose myself on the gold fields
there."

"What! Go over that infernal track where so many have perished? Milton,
my boy, plucky as you are, you'll never do it."

"Yet I mean to try. See here, Chester, I'll speak fair to you, although
I believe you have been an accursed beast to me--there, don't protest. I
gave Rosa up last night between eleven and twelve--she is no more to me
now than the commonest street-walker, and I want nothing to do with her
in future. I don't know what she is to you, and cuss me if I care, now
that I have whistled her down the wind. In old times men risked their
lives over a woman of this kind. I'm not that sort. I'm the product of
the new Era." He grinned a ghastly grin and continued:

"I guess she'll have a divorce from Judge Jeffreys. He is a sympathetic
cuss with grass widows of her description, and then you two will marry
for the sake of the plunder, for you will be both too much skeared to
let each other go in single harness, therefore you need not care much
what comes of a coon like me. I'll go on the Wallaby track across the
continent. If you hear no more of me, you'll know that my bones are
bleaching on the plains. If I get across I shan't trouble you more than
I can help, for, by the Lord! I don't like the scent of you, and, robber
and murderer as I now am, I'd rather the crows picked my bones out
yonder than know anything more of your family--I'll have a drain of your
whisky all the same, though!"

He rose, and lifting the decanter, poured himself out a stiff glass,
then, tossing it off, he returned quietly to his seat. "You can stay
here till I get what you want," said the lawyer coldly.

"Three hundred quid in gold--a good, serviceable horse--a wig, and some
other articles I may want to start with." "Yes, I'll get you these,"
said Mr. Chester, still stiffly.

"That is all I want; say, where are your cartridges, I have only what my
weapon holds at present?" "You'll find them in that table drawer."
"Thanks."

Jack went over to the drawer and found there not only the cartridges but
the revolver of his host. "I'll borrow this weapon for to-day," he said
quietly. "All right." At that moment a key was heard inserted in the
front door.

As Mr. Chester heard the sound he started to his feet to go out, when
Jack stopped him with a frightful contortion of his face.

"God Almighty! don't go from this room, or I shall be tempted to blow
both your brains out. Be open with me now that I know so much--I'll not
harm either of you. Let me get behind this screen and see the last of
the farce."

He grinned like a devil, as he passed behind a Japanese screen, leaving
his host standing in the centre of the room.

Another moment the door opened and Rosa darted inside. She was in a wild
state of agitation, and without pausing she rushed forward, and flinging
her arms round the lawyer's neck she kissed him loudly on the mouth
before he could prevent her. "Ah, Arthur, darling, what are we to do?
The villain has escaped."

Brer Fox Chester fell limply in his chair, while she, thinking that her
news had overcome him, went on in a feminine torrent:

"Yes, my pet, it is all true. I gave him the dose you got for me, and
saw him drink it. I removed the cartridges from his revolver as you
directed--everything seemed right--yet he made his escape." "Good God!"
gasped Chester. "Don't mention that name," said Jack Milton coming from
his retreat. "He must have left you both long ago, and the Devil, our
master, looks after his own." As Chester sank down Rosa had gone with
him, still embracing him, but at the sight of her husband, she started
up with a savage cry.

"What are you mooning there for, Arthur Chester? That revolver he holds
is harmless--shoot him like the dog he is." Chester's head sank down on
his breast helplessly while he moaned feebly: "He has got my weapon and
my ammunition."

"Sit down, Rosa, and compose yourself; I like grit, and if you are not
the woman I thought you were, at least you are consistent in your own
way," said Jack Milton quietly as he came forward. "Don't mind me in the
least. If you prefer his knee to the couch, then take it by all means,
for I won't object. You settled that as far as I am concerned two hours
ago--sit where you please and let us talk over our concerns."

The young woman rose with a scowl on her brows and sat on a chair; she
was now facing Jack, yet she looked at him remorselessly and defiantly.

"Well, Jack Milton, you know the truth at last, and I don't care what
more you know." Jack shrugged his shoulders as he replied gently:

"There's no more for me to know, Rosa. I made a mistake, or you did, so
what is the good of talking about that? It is past now, and I am not
such a cur as to cry over spilt milk. The only thing now to consider is
what is best for us three. Chester there will explain to you my
proposition. I fancy it will be more to your interest than if you gave
me away to the hangman."

Jack went once more over to the spirit decanter and helped himself to
another glass, while Rosa looked at Chester as he lay limply in his
arm-chair. It was one of these positions where the cuckold comes out the
best.

A pause ensued while Jack lifted the glass to his lips and drank, then
suddenly, before he had quite finished, he pitched the glass from him
with disgust.

"Oh, dash it, Chester, take her out of this and explain matters to her
outside. You know my ultimatum. Sell me if you like, but for pity's sake
leave me to myself now."

Arthur Chester rose to his feet, and giving his cousin his arm led her
from the room, leaving the housebreaker behind.



Chapter VIII. Cousins.

"GOODNESS gracious, Arthur, why couldn't you have given me a hint that
the monster was with you?" asked Rosa angrily, when they reached the
street, "and not let me blurt everything out like that?"

She was not ashamed of herself, such women seldom are when discovered.
The sneakish sensation gets over the men now and again, when they
meditate upon their actions, or a nasty wind blows the flaps of their
cloaks aside, for they know the animal they are carrying. The woman is
different, however, for she makes a pet of her beast and decks it up
with so many ribbons, that she is rather glad when her mantle falls off
and reveals the ape she is carrying. To her it always looks a beauty and
well worth the carrying.

She does not like her mantle to be rudely plucked away from her
shoulders, however--rudeness always wounds her feelings. Neither does
she like to dwell upon the idea that it was through her own clumsiness
and want of tact that she has lost her cloak. This makes her angry, and
when a woman is enraged she has little enough to do with conscience or
self-reproach, some one else has to bear the blame of that fault.

As this wretched pair left the study while Jack Milton watched them
depart, his glittering black eyes fixed upon them, and Chester's loaded
revolver held loosely in the hand that lay passively on the legal
documents, the lawyer felt his position keenly. There was no nobility or
assertion of manhood in his walk, but with bent back and weak legs he
led out his guilty partner, as spiritless and dejected a cur as one
could have met anywhere. Deceit and falsehood, when discovered,
generally have this effect even upon the most degraded of men. Add to
this that he felt like a mouse creeping out of the den of an infuriated
lion, who seems all the more dangerous because he crouches quietly, and
the reader may somewhat realize the sensations of Arthur Chester. Until
he had closed the door of that study the nerves of his back had been
quivering with the anticipation of a bullet being sent after him, and
that feeling is not nerve-bracing as a rule.

Rosa Milton, however, had none of these sensations, as she had no
consciousness of shame. Her husband had always been gentle and indulgent
to her whims, therefore she had learnt to despise him as a "softy." That
he had yielded his claims so quietly did not at all astonish her, yet
somehow it angered her, for it stung her vanity and she was now writhing
under this seeming lack of appreciation. Jack had never been so much an
object of interest to her as he was at this moment of renunciation.

"I did my best to stop you, Rosa," replied her cousin dejectedly. "But
it was no use, you were in on me like a tornado, and the complete tale
exposed with a brevity and graphic force worthy of that Scottish poet,
Robert Burns. The embrace would have done it to the watching eyes
without words, knowing what he did--in fact the latch-key was revelation
enough without even the greeting that followed, but when those terse
sentences fell upon my ears, I morally and physically collapsed. The
play was over with a bang. Only one thing surprised, while it robbed me
of the few remaining atoms of brains that I had left, knowing Jack
Milton as I do--and as you don't, sweet cousin." "What was that?"

"That we two are walking along the street this balmy early morning
instead of weltering in our mutual gore on the floor of my study." "He
would never have dared to do that, surely?"

"It isn't too flattering to either of us that he hasn't done so,"
replied her companion quietly. "However, here we both are, safe and
sound, with our fiasco on our hands, and the present master of the
position to manage." "What do you mean?"

"Only that we shall have to do our best to put the detectives off the
scent and get Jack safely away. We cannot afford to let him be caught
now, for he has sworn that he will speak up and give me away, if he is
taken, and you know what that spells?"

"The mean, spiteful wretch," cried inconsistent Rosa savagely. "As if it
could matter to him after he was hanged who had the money."

"That is just it, Rosa; and as he considers that he is no longer bound
to provide for us, he makes this condition--his liberty or the giving up
of his savings." "But haven't you secured them where they cannot be
touched?"

"That is impossible if he tells his story. We shall both be as poor as
we were before he crossed our lives, and worse, for if we escape
transportation, I shall be degraded and under suspicion all the rest of
my life, while you will be lost utterly. No, he must get away, or we are
both ruined beyond redemption." "But Arthur, what of us, if he gets
away?"

"Oh, he is reasonable enough. He only wants three hundred pounds for the
present, and meditates taking the overland journey to Westralia, and
that ought to finish him as surely as the hangman could do. As the wife
of a condemned outlaw, you'll get a divorce easily enough, and a lot of
sympathy besides, as no one will suspect that you know anything about
his plunder, then we can marry and clear out of the Colonies, so that
even if he reaches his destination, which isn't at all likely, he can
never trace us out." "But the reward for his capture?" "You'll have to
lose that five hundred, since he was not caught."

"Eight hundred pounds clear lost. Ah, that is too bad. Could you not
poison or shoot him, and then deliver up his body?"

They were passing a lamp-post as Rosa made this suggestion, and she
looked up in his face with the anxious expression of a prudent wife who
wanted to avert a business loss to her husband. Her pretty features were
puckered with this anxiety, and her blue eyes looked troubled as she
peered into those of her cousin.

Arthur Chester, like Rosa, belonged to the fourth generation of
cornstalks--those weeds who have grown up with white corpuscles in their
blood, instead of red; lustful, yet lacking stamina; malignant, and
sceptical of all that tends to raise humanity; devoted to pleasure, and
regardless of the responsibilities of morality. Intrigue and wickedness
were to them the necessities of existence. Jibing mockery and
cold-blooded jests at all which the older generations reverenced were
the ordinary subjects of their conversation. Such papers as the
Guillotine served them as the springs from which they drew their wit;
crude, indecent and viperish, without a spark of true humour or kindly
instinct.

They were both on a slightly more elevated stratum than the hyena
Larrikin, but their appetites and instincts were no better.

It has been stated that the absinthe drinking in France is reducing the
coming race to the condition of beastdom. The coming race of cornstalks
as represented in Sydney do not drink absinthe. They are even a fairly
temperate race in intoxicants, and yet poetry, principles, affection and
morality are almost dead amongst them; they only aspire to be smart.

Arthur Chester was not at all horrified at this suggestion from the
milky-skinned Rosa; indeed, had it been at all possible he might have
taken it up and discussed it, for it appealed to his acquisitiveness,
the predominant passion of a cornstalk, as it likewise did to the
depravity of his taste. But he was not altogether devoid of common
sense, and he knew that the man who had planned and carried out
successfully so many robberies, now that his eyes were opened, was not
at all likely to be made an easy victim either to poison or any other
form of treachery, so that he shook his head gravely while he thought,
with the cunning of an Asiatic or a Sydneyite, "Ho! ho! Rosa, my girl,
you would fain polish off your husband because he is your husband, would
you, to save these dimes? I am of value now because we are not yet
linked, since I hold the cash, but after that you'd serve me out the
same. Not for this juggins, if I know it." He thought this, but said
aloud in his tender and caressing way:

"It won't do, cousin, we must make up our minds to act on the square or
we may lose it all. Let us get him away, and then we can plan out our
future."

"If you think that the best way, I am agreeable, yet as long as he
lives, I'll be in such dread of him betraying us and getting us into
trouble."

"Oh, I think that he is safe enough in that respect so long as we humour
him now. He has some strange notions for a thief--at least as far as my
experience of our Sydney thieves go, as they would give away their own
mother for a cigarette, but Jack Milton is quite a maniac about keeping
his word--that is one of his cracks."

"He is cracked in more parts than one, the fool. He was downright daft
to think that a girl like me would stick to a housebreaker," said Rosa,
disdainfully.

"Ah! I think he has got over that mania by this time," replied her
cousin reflectively.

"Don't be nasty, Arthur. I bet you I could make him as dead gone on me
as ever he was," said Rosa daringly.

"Well, perhaps you might, Cousin. Samson was deluded by Delilah three
times, therefore I'll not take up the bet, yet I think you had best not
try to make it up, or he might drag you through the interior with him,
and I don't fancy that would suit your books."

"God forbid!" ejaculated Rosa, with a shudder of dread. "I want to see
no more of him."

"Well, cousin, you stay at home till I get him out of the road and call
upon you, and I'll manage all the disagreeable business for you
meantime." "What about the police, though?"

"You know nothing about him, so that they must scent about for
themselves. You have done your duty as a respectable citizeness in
giving them the word, therefore you'll be exonerated--and of course you
kept my name strictly out of the business."

"Ah, yes, Arthur, I always look after your interests," she answered with
a fine accent of scorn in her tones.

"Our mutual interest you mean," he said quietly. "As long as I am kept
in the back-ground, I can work for you as I have done."

"I know--I know, dear," she replied hastily, and putting her arm round
his neck, she drew down his head and kissed him. "You are cold,
to-night, Arthur; here we have been walking and talking like a blasé
married couple and never a fond word."

"Forgive me, dearest, this contretemps has worried me, and by Jove! that
reminds me, how foolish you were to come to my place this morning." "You
knew I was coming, Arthur?"

"Yes, if all had gone right it would have been perfectly safe, but
now--suppose you have been followed?" "I don't think so," she replied
hesitatingly. He glanced round quickly and was just in time to see the
figure of a man on the opposite side, yet some distance behind, dart
back into the shadow of a trumpet-tree overhanging a fence.

"Ah, don't you think so?" he whispered mockingly. "But you have been
shadowed for all that, so let us hurry on. I must go with you to the
Cottage, and put them off the scent if possible. We must now be open
with our love affairs, and that will serve as the best motive for
selling Milton." "Oh, Arthur, what shall we do?"

"Keep cool. Our shadower is too far away to have heard what we were
speaking about; let us go on as we are doing, and when we reach the gate
do a little spoon there. He will likely get close to us then, so that
what I say to you will be for his benefit. Remember you only came to
tell me of the escape and nothing else." "I drop," she replied, in the
slang which ladies of her class love to indulge in. After this they
looked no more behind, but kept on until they reached the gate.

Here the farce of sweethearts saying good-night was gone through
elaborately, while the spy crept up to hear what they said in this
supposed unguarded moment.

It was a farce to both of them by this time, this lingering at the gate.
When a woman possesses the latch-key of her lover's house, the necessity
for gate-lingering has gone past, yet with some the folly is still kept
up for the sentiment of the thing. So thought the watcher as he saw the
embracing and heard the good-night uttered several times over before
they finally went inside together, and he chuckled even while feeling
disappointed that his shadowing had only brought out this result. He
thought he knew now why the false wife had betrayed her husband, and
felt it much more natural in a Sydney girl than any flimsy sentiment
about horror of the murderer or Spartan desire for justice.

"Keep up your pluck, my girl," said Arthur, as they stood at the gate.
"It isn't possible for him to get away."

"But suppose he should be about and return now that the police are away.
He'll murder me, Arthur, for what I have done."

"Don't be afraid, Rosa, he won't return here. He cannot possibly make
his escape, so be easy, you'll be a widow soon enough now."

"I hope so, but I'm desperately afraid. Come inside, Arthur, and see
father and mother."

They went indoors and had not been long there before the man knocked,
and when he was admitted and saw the family up, he told them that he had
called to say that they need not be alarmed, for the house was still
watched on all sides, so that they might retire with perfect security.
"This is my cousin, Mr. Chester, the solicitor. I went to his house to
get his advice," said Rosa, introducing her cousin to the detective, who
shook hands and said calmly:

"Quite natural on your part, ma'am, under the circumstances, only he
need be under no fear of your safety, as you are well guarded."

Arthur Chester took his leave soon after this, and went out with the
detective, while those inside locked up the door. "Miserable affair
this. I was the last man to have suspected Jack Milton."

"He is a cute card, but he has reached the end of his tender this time,
I guess. She is a fine woman that wife of his, poor girl; how did she
find him out?"

"Well, from what I can gather, he got talking in his sleep about the
murdered bank clerk on Sunday night, and then he was so anxious for the
papers next day, that she worked it all out in her own mind and was
horrified. She'd have forgiven him anything short of murder. That did
for her."

"It mostly does with the women, although they are not all so game as she
is. They are more apt to act like the mother of Barnaby Rudge. Does she
know anything about the plunder, do you think?"

"No, he has doubtless planted that. He was always reticent about his
income, but he has left his traps at the Cottage, so something may be
discovered amongst them. This is a devilish unfortunate affair for all
of us, to be connected with such a scoundrel. It will make such a
scandal, you know."

"Yes, but the prompt behaviour of Mrs. Milton must counteract a good
deal of the scandal." "I hope so. Good-night." "Good-night, sir."

The detective looked after him, placidly satisfied in his own mind that
Jack Milton had not much chance of escape if Arthur Chester could spoil
it, after what he had seen.

The lawyer, however, went along the victim to a thousand fears for his
own safety, and cursing the imprudence of his cousin, whereas he ought
to have been more grateful.

As for Rosa, now that the way seemed clear, she went to bed strangely
discontented and dissatisfied with her cousin. The charm of secrecy was
over, and with it had departed the only romance that her vicious heart
had pulse to thrill over.



Chapter IX. Jack Milton Waits.

JACK MILTON watched the guilty pair pass from the study with a sardonic
grin on his lips that drew them back and bared the strong white teeth,
so firmly locked together. A grim humour possessed him at the moment,
and held his hand, which was toying with the revolver, and forced him to
laugh as he heard the outer door close.

Was that white-faced traitress the witch who had beguiled his thoughts
in jail, and made him feel almost religious? "Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!" he
uttered, while he laughed softly; "what a miserable fool a man can be,
and all for a fancy."

He thought on a past fancy--a female pick-pocket, who would have gone
through fire and water for him. She was a handsomer woman by a long
chalk than this flimsy chit who had only brains enough to sell him, and
the other woman had both grit to the backbone and talents that this sham
was utterly devoid of. He had thought her possessed of the one quality
which the poor pickpocket couldn't boast about.

Ah, ye gods! Was there a woman in the world who possessed that charm who
wasn't ready to fling it away at the first chance? And yet, for this
imaginary virtue he had hitherto staked his happiness.

He somehow felt no anger against Arthur Chester, who, indeed, was now in
his estimation too poor a tool for any man to be angry about. If it
hadn't been Chester, it would have been someone else. Possibly Chester
was only one of a crowd of hounds who ran baying after this Sydney
beauty.

When a man has worn a bit of paste in his breast-pin, under the
impression that it was a diamond of the first water, he does not care
much who wears it after he has discovered its real value and cast it
from him. The price it has cost him may give him a slight twinge, but
that will only be momentary, unless he is a weak fool who mourns over
things lost.

Jack Milton was no fool, although under the influence of a mad impulse
he had nearly consummated the most idiotic act any man can be guilty of,
but for his betrayer's prudence in removing the cartridges from his
revolver, but he was cool now, and ready to look at his difficulties all
round and take full advantage of every trick that Fortune gave him.

His love for his wife had been a blending of respect and remorse which
flavoured and refined his passion. He had discovered what he supposed to
be a pure-minded, artless, and affectionate girl, different from all his
other companions, and these supposed inner qualities made him value the
casket at a much higher figure than it was worth. No sacrifices on his
part were reckoned hardships which could keep that unopened casket and
supposed sacred treasure as it had been given to him. The aim of his
life since he had won her, had been to keep her ignorant of his
transactions and abandon them as soon as possible for her sake.

He had accomplished what he had set himself to do, and was now rich
enough to retire from his risky business and lead a respectable life,
and but for her treason might have got safely out of the colonies and
continued to adore and reverence her while he lived, denying her
nothing, and as easily deluded as the most unsophisticated of
simpletons.

Well, she had opened his eyes and saved his life with about the same
expedition as the hangman opens the eyes of his patients, and he ought
to be grateful to her for these favours. He knew now that there was
nothing better inside that casket than what was inside the one given up
for her--the Melbourne pickpocket, indeed Rosa was a more miserable
compound of deceit and heartlessness, without a single virtue of qualify
her baseness. The pickpocket was the victim of circumstances as he was,
and made no pretence to be better than she was, yet she had fidelity to
her friends. This one was a wanton by choice, and rotten to the core.

With a laugh of contempt he shook the nasty reflections from his mind,
saying as he rose and stretched his arms:

"She and Chester have put me in a bad hole that'll want some kicking to
get out of, but they've done me one service; they have rid me of a
mighty bad bargain, and now I can think of myself without any cursed
sentimental nonsense."

It certainly would have been more flattering to Rosa Milton and her
cousin if her husband had offered to do them violence instead of
treating them with this contemptuous toleration. To kill the adulterer
seems to throw a certain glamour of romance over his sordid and sneaking
treachery. It is a much better punishment to pitch the object to him as
we might make the thievish boy a present of the cake he has been
nibbling at in secret. This reduces things to their proper value. The
divorce court has done away with all the glory of seduction, and the
betrayed husband is now the party who has the best of the laugh, if any
one can laugh at such miserable complications of life.

As Jack rose and stretched himself with a yawn, his glance fell upon a
large map of Australia which filled up one side of the wall. He stepped
over to this, and with the barrel of his revolver traced an imaginary
line to the Merchiston River on the western coast.

"It is a tidy stretch for a man to take by himself, but it has been done
before for the sake of science, to say nothing of the stockmen who are
not mentioned in colonial history. Yes, that must be my game; I'll play
the stock driver out of a job while I traverse New South Wales. The
veteran stockman will do. Once I get over the borders there isn't much
fear of pursuit, although I guess my likeness and description will be in
every station and township throughout the country. Well, I must be extra
particular in my get-up, I suppose.

"Chester will get me what I want to start with, I guess, after that I
must sacrifice the plunder, for that alone will keep his mouth closed.
Ho! ho! what a comfortable legacy that will turn out for him with Rosa
along with it. I wonder how dearly they will love each other in six
months from now? He'll have to splice her to keep her mouth shut, and
mind his p's and q's afterwards not to get her dander up, with me in the
background to keep their nerves steady. It's a fine thing he has got on
hand, I must say. Let's have a squint round his diggings."

He gave only a passing and regretful thought to the bank-clerk. It was
an accident, for he had had no intention or desire to hurt the poor
fellow, therefore that crime did not represent murder to him any more
than the killing of a sentinel to a soldier. Yet this accident would be
the means of hanging him if taken, so that he could no longer afford to
be captured alive, otherwise perhaps he would not have cared to face
that terrible overland journey.

"I wonder if there is anything of interest to me in these documents," he
muttered, stooping over the table, and turning over the papers that
Chester had been forced to leave behind him. "No, only cases. The Fox
has plenty of business, it appears."

He next opened the table drawers, but found nothing there of any
consequence or interest to him except some cigars and cartridges which
were