OLD BROADBRIM MAKES A BARGAIN AGAIN.

The night passed away without the expected attack on the ranch.

The secret of the attempt on Merle's life belonged to Old Broadbrim, Belle Demona and the girl who had wielded the dagger.

Stareyes had vanished, perhaps under the belief that she had finished her work and she might be well on the way to Perth ere this.

When day came the ranch looked as beautiful as ever, and the men joked with each other about the attack which did not materialize.

Old Broadbrim's brain was busy.

He knew that he was under suspicion despite the assurances to the contrary both from Merle and the ranch queen.

The test in the night had told him this and he felt that he was to be put to other tests ere long.

Perhaps Jem would come back with a report for Belle Demona, and the fact that the pit in Melbourne had been found empty, would tell Merle that he had escaped the tenth step.

Among the men who came out from Perth with him, Old Broadbrim had formed the acquaintance of one who impressed him favorably.

This was a young fellow of five-and-twenty who had served a year in the country police of England and who wanted to get back and resume his old station.

Old Broadbrim had carefully sounded him.

Dick Waters was just the man he seemed to need.

Still the detective hesitated about breaking his carefully-guarded secret to any one.

It was the day after the night of vigilance, and Old Broadbrim found Waters smoking in the little house where the recruits slept.

He was alone.

"This is beastly work!" exclaimed Waters, as the detective came in.

"You don't like it, Dick?"

"I'd sooner run poachers," cried he. "It's better work and just as good pay. As for me, I never expected to become a ranch guard when I came out and now I'm ready to throw up my commission and put off back to Perth."

Old Broadbrim came closer to the young man and looked him fairly in the eye.

"Let's go together," he said.

"Oh, you're all right here. They think the world of you since you saved Merle from the bandits; and Belle Demona is stuck on you, Riggs."

"I can't help that. It's not my style of life, anyhow."

"You know the way back to Perth, and beyond that lies Melbourne and Sydney. I am going to-night."

"Alone?"

"Yes. I haven't said a word to any of the others, and I don't intend to."

Old Broadbrim was silent.

"What do you think of Merle?" he ventured.

"He is a living secret."

"How so, Waters?"

"He's a puzzle. That man has been in some devilment across the water."

"What makes you think so?"

"He is afraid of his own shadow, and he watches the road to Perth so much."

"That proves nothing, Waters. You must have better proof than that.

"I've got it."

"In what shape?"

Waters leaned toward Old Broadbrim and his voice dropped to a whisper.

"See here, Riggs," said he, "Merle Macray has been to America. I know by some little trinkets he has lately given Belle Demona. If you could get into her private rooms——"

"You haven't been bold enough to try to get there, Waters?"

"I'm always on the adventure, and yesterday I went into the house to ask her a question, and found the door of her boudoir open. I was fool enough to cross the threshold, and there lay her jewels on the dresser."

"Well?"

"And they bore the marks of the jewelers in New York. Their name was on the jewel box—'Tiffany & Co.,' isn't it?"

"I think there is a large jewelry house in New York of that name," guardedly answered Old Broadbrim. "Well, what else, Waters? Your story is getting interesting."

"I thought I would be able to catch your ear by and by. There were jewels galore, Riggs, and all were first-class stones. They were new, the box new, and the collection nearly made my head swim. Think of a poor country constable looking at diamonds that would have ransomed the Queen of Sheba! Never saw anything like it in all my life, and for a time I didn't know where I was."

"Belle Demona probably got the stones in London."

"I don't know; but another little thing struck me in that room."

"Well?"

"On the dresser lay a New York newspaper printed within the last month. There was a marked column, and with pardonable curiosity I leaned forward and read the article. It was startling, and sent my memory back to the recent murders in Whitechapel, though it was nothing like them."

"What was it, Waters?"

"It was an account of a murder in New York; some rich man strangled in his own house by an unknown assassin."

"Was that marked paper in Belle Demona's room?"

"There's where I saw it, sir. It went through me like a dagger, for you can imagine what I thought. There may be a reward for the arrest of that red-handed murderer, and if I could only take him I wouldn't have to play guard here."

Young Waters arose and walked the floor with some excitement.

Old Broadbrim scrutinized him carefully, and his brain seemed on fire.

Here was just the ally he needed.

But perhaps Waters was acting under instructions for the purpose of setting another death trap for him.

He knew that Waters was brave and feared nothing.

Moreover, he was active and fertile in imagination, and, if he was true, he was just the man he wanted.

"Hang it all!" suddenly cried Waters, coming back to the detective and knocking the ashes from his pipe. "Why can't I pick up this man who is wanted in New York? Look here, Riggs, why was that paper in that room? And why was it marked?"

The eyes of the two men met.

"Waters," said Old Broadbrim, slowly, "what would you do if you had a chance to take that man?"

"I'd take him or die in the attempt!"

"He might be among friends."

"That wouldn't stop me for a moment."

"Waters, there is a reward for that assassin."

The youth started and almost betrayed his eagerness.

But he checked himself and bent over the old detective's face.

"Don't fool me," he said.

"I am not fooling you. The man is still unhung."

"Where is he?"

"Listen to me, Waters."

"Go on, for God's sake!"

"First, see that we are alone."

Waters stepped to the door and, opening it carefully, looked out and came back.

"It's all right out there. No one in sight," said he. "Now go on."

"I say," resumed Old Broadbrim, "the man who killed Custer Kipp—that's the name, isn't it?—that man, I say, is still uncaught."

"Good! And we'll catch him."

"Don't be so fast. Cool down."

"I will control my nerves. Only don't keep me in suspense."

"Not for long, Waters. We can get twenty thousand dollars for the delivery of that man in New York."

It nearly took away Waters' breath, but he remained cool.

"We'll go together," he said. "We will play our hand against the accomplished rascal, and we'll go back to Perth as soon as possible, and begin the hunt for him."

"Why not begin it here?" said Old Broadbrim.

"Here—on the ranch?"

"Yes."

"You don't suspect——"

Waters stopped, for footsteps came toward the door, and his sentence was not finished.

In another moment one of the men belonging to the guard came in and looked upon a shelf for his pipe.

"It's Natty Burke, the one-armed ticket-of-leave man," whispered Waters. "He is always sneaking around when there's anything to overhear. Wait till he goes out."

Natty filled his pipe and leaned against the wall smoking in long draughts for ten minutes.

He did not appear to see Old Broadbrim and Waters, but his keen eyes had singled them out from the first.

By and by, however, Natty moved away and shut the door behind him.

"A spy!" said Waters. "That man came in here to see who was in the house, and he is a cool one. But, never mind, Riggs; go on with your story. Where is this suspected man?"

"Within reach of our hands."

"Then let's take him. Twenty thousand for his safe arrival in New York? We won't let him out of our sight a minute, Riggs. It's starting you and I in business. It'll be the making of us, and some day, perhaps, we'll be detectives."

Old Broadbrim stood up and clutched the hand of Waters, drawing him forward.

"It's a bargain, Waters," said he. "We will catch this man; we will land him in New York, eh?"

"That we will."

"Then we'll put our heads together and play out the hand right here on the ranch."

"Against whom?"

"Can't you guess, Waters?"

"My God! there is only one man I would suspect, and that is Merle Macray."

"That is the man."

Waters' eyes seemed to bulge from his head, and he fell back a step and looked at Riggs.

"If this be true, in Heaven's name who are you?" he cried.

"I am Roland Riggs."

"But you're more than just a pick-up. You've been on this man's trail."

"Never mind that. Are we united in this affair?"

Waters held out his hand.

"To the death, Riggs! But if they suspect us—if she or Merle have suspicions—we must fight for our lives."

"That's it, Waters. It is death in Australia or final success in America!"

And the hands of the two men met in a hearty grasp.