CHAPTER I

I joined the detective branch of the Victorian police in 1853, having just turned twenty-five at the time, standing five feet ten inches in my stockings, and without an ounce of superfluous flesh on my bones. Looking back, from a less height now, across the gulf of years, which has swallowed up many near and dear to me, I mentally see myself the beau-ideal of what a detective should be.

Our superintendent took stock of me, in his mind's eye, when he saw me first, and at once gave me some rough-and-tumble work to do (what I call rough-cast and rubble, having had some knowledge of the building trade); but when I tumbled I usually came out on the top, with a hard grip of the fellow below, who was only allowed to get up when I had decorated him with cuts and a pair of bracelets.

For some months I didn't get a word of praise from the superintendent. He expected a good deal from me, and I suppose got it. I had worked in Melbourne and in the country, on foot and on horseback, but I had still my spurs to win. My chance came through Governor La Trobe, who was a man, every inch of him.

There was a bushranger at this time who had been painting the country with blood, and who was more like the devil incarnate than any man I ever heard of. He was nicknamed "Thunder-and-Lightning"; why I never knew, but, I suppose, because there was a flash and roar from his Colt's revolver and his victim lay dead on the ground.

This man, or devil, had committed many murders with tigerish ferocity. He was the terror of more than one goldfield. Blood-curdling stories were told of him by the camp fire when the work of the day was done. He was execrated, and a reward of £500 was offered for his capture. The regular police did their best, I admit, but any man who was wanted gave them a wide berth when he saw their rig. They were a uniform failure. When they were about "Thunder-and-Lightning" took a holiday, and played round the mountain-tops. Sometimes a splash or crack was seen or heard, when he was shooting in some almost inaccessible place, where rocks, trees, and scrub, in about equal proportions, hid him like a needle in a haystack.

When the police were as sick of him as the whale was of Jonah, they gave him up.

It was then the Governor took the matter in hand. He was a man who tried to manage all the Government departments with his own head and ten fingers, and did it well. Sir Charles heard of me, and said to our superintendent, when they were talking over the "Thunder-and-Lightning" case, "Try Wallace."

Now, my name happens to be Wallace, and I was christened William, after William Wallace the hero of Scotland; a long way after, I grant you, but there's something in a name, although we fought in different fields.

Next morning the superintendent rang his bell, and told the messenger he wanted me.

"Shure ye're wanted," said Pat Kineen, the messenger.

"What for?" says I.

"Maybe for robbing a church, or stalin' a purse, or worse, ye thafe o' the wurrld!"

"Do you know why there are no thieves in your country, Pat?"

"Faith it's becase ye're not there, Mister Wallace."

"No! it's because there's nothing to steal."

"Well!" said Pat, "I'll tell yees what the super wants yees for."

"What?"

"To go afther the biggest thafe of the wurrld. Set a thafe to catch a thafe. There's a glimmer o' sinse in the ould boy."

I hadn't an answer ready at the moment. I knew I was no match for Pat with the tongue, for his wit flashed out like summer lightning, and cut like a Damascus blade. I did not wait for anything further, but knocked at the superintendent's door and went in.

He took me by storm at once with his hook nose and eagle eyes, and expected me to quake in my shoes and turn white; but I raked him across the bows with my two black eyeballs, and he was glad to pull down his sky-scrapers pretty quick.

"His Excellency the Governor wants to see you, detective, at a quarter to eleven sharp. Good morning!"

This nearly took the wind out of my sails, but I managed to steady myself, and said, "Any complaint, sir?"

"No! a great compliment."

I shut the door very softly, and sailed away, feeling rather important, and never once looking at Pat, who was ready to open fire on me.

When I was outside I glanced at my watch, and found I had five minutes to spare, so I walked leisurely to the Government offices, which were then in William Street. Just as I reached the gate the Union Jack was hoisted, to show that the Governor had arrived.

I told the orderly that I had an appointment with His Excellency, and gave my name. I was ushered in at once. No red tape to speak of in those days, only in retail quantities, not wholesale, as now.

His Excellency received me very kindly, and, I believe, would have shaken hands with me if the aide-de-camp hadn't fixed his glass eye on him, as much as to say, "It isn't etiquette, you know."

Well, Sir Charles said he had been keeping his eye on me for some time, had made up his mind that I was the man for Galway, and that he wanted to entrust me with the most important case that had ever sprung up during his term of office.

I felt about six feet six for the moment, and expected him to say that he wanted me to carry secret despatches to Downing Street.

However, I soon learned the kind of despatches he meant. He wanted me to despatch "Thunder-and-Lightning" to Queer Street, or be despatched myself to the Golden Street of the New Jerusalem. It did not seem to me that he cared very much whether we were both despatched, so long as he made sure of "Thunder-and-Lightning."

I braced myself up when I had taken bearings, and looked steadily at the Governor. I declare, I thought I saw in one eye Nelson's motto, "England expects every man to do his duty," and in the other eye the words of Burns' song, "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled."

I felt equal to anything then, and said, "Your Excellency, I pledge you my solemn word I'll produce the body of 'Thunder-and-Lightning,' dead or alive, within three months."

"I am glad to hear you say so, detective," he said; "and what is more, I believe you."

He pulled out of his pocket a sheet of foolscap, which gave a full description, in his own writing, of the bushranger, his friends and haunts. Then he showed me the drawing of a house in Collingwood, which had been sent to him, with the information that it was the exact outline of a place "Thunder-and-Lightning" was coming to, out of bravado, in a few days.

I looked at the drawing believing I would recognise it, for I prided myself on knowing every house frequented by disreputable characters in Melbourne, and I had daguerreotyped them on my brain.

"I know this house!" I said.

"I see my confidence in you is not misplaced; good morning. The watchword is 'Down.'"

I saw I was dismissed, so I said, "Good morning, your Excellency," and went away.

I felt much elated thus to be singled out for such an important duty, and determined to do or die.

There was a rumour in the air that "Thunder-and-Lightning" was coming to Melbourne, in his dare-devil way, to give the citizens a taste of his quality. He had an overweening conceit of himself, and thought he was a match for all the police in the country.

I went down to the office and reported to the superintendent the duty I was entrusted with. He gave me carte-blanche; then I went home to efface myself, which I effectually did by putting on a false beard, staining my eyebrows, and dressing myself like a digger.

When I had completed my disguise to my entire satisfaction, I felt my face flush like the red stripe in the French flag, then white like the next stripe, then I looked very blue indeed. I was a regular chameleon, and never felt like this before. The cause of all this was the sudden remembrance of the last words the Governor said to me, "The watchword is 'Down.'" It was a conundrum. I gave it up.

CHAPTER II

I happened to be lodging in the house of Mrs. Smith, an old widow, whom I had known in Scotland. I came and went just as I liked, having a key of the front door. I managed to keep my occupation very dark. When I was new to the trade I thought of telling the landlady who I was, for she was a discreet body; but I remembered just in time that women's tongues are hung on so fine a balance they cannot help wagging and flopping out any secret—being anxious to unload and take in fresh cargo. If they have no better listeners, they will whisper to a bird of the air, or the four winds. I come from too far north to trust a woman with a secret, so I did not tell Mrs. Smith I was a detective. There is only one woman I tell secrets to, and that is my wife. If I did not tell her, she would get them out of me, so I make a virtue of necessity. Confession is good for the soul.

It began to rain cats and dogs, or more like elephants and rhinoceroses, for it came down heavy. The street gutters ran like rivers, and joined each other in the middle of the road, shaking hands, bobbing, courtesying, and carrying all the floatable rubbish to the Yarra. The only living things I saw were half a dozen fowls of some sort, splashing themselves and ducking in the water. The windows were so blurred I could not make out what they were till I heard them say "Quack!" "A fine day," I said to myself, "for ducks, geese, and detectives." The wetter the day the surer you are of your game. It lies close on such days, and one may expect a feast of contentment when one knows it is spitted with a broad arrow on back, hip, or thigh, simmering in the jug—I mean gaol. Jugged hare, shall we say?

I determined to go out, so I put on an india-rubber coat and boots. I had never seen a detective with an umbrella, therefore I took one with me as an extra disguise and crept down stairs. The maid-of-all-work had stopped halfway, and had a pail in her hand when I came upon her unawares. She took a hasty glance at me, then fled two steps at a jump, dropping the pail at the bottom. Then she threw her apron over her head, and played blindman's-buff, till she lumbered into the kitchen and fell all of a heap.

I heard Mrs. Smith say, in a voice of alarm, "What is the matter, Mary Ann?"

There was a dead silence; Mary Ann had fainted.

I took steps—down the rest of the stairs—to make myself scarce before Mary Ann came to, so I shut the door quietly, and marched rapidly up the street, with my head buried in the umbrella. The wind nearly carried my beard away, but I held fast, and tacked to the lee side, where I made good progress. Then I walked up La Trobe Street, and made my way, across the open space, towards Collingwood.

In a quarter of an hour I was in the neighbourhood of the house I was looking for, so I called a council of war with myself, and came to a unanimous decision as to what I should do. I ran a parallel up to the place, took a flying survey through a little hole in the umbrella, and passed on; then I twirled the hole round, and took a squint at the other side of the street. Nearly opposite the house I had looked at was one with a bill in the window, on which was "House to Let." Just as Wellington took possession of the house of La Haye Sainte on the Field of Waterloo, so would I take possession of this empty domicile for strategic purposes. Two great minds may hit upon the same idea.

I turned into another street, and went down a right-of-way to the back of the empty house. Fortunately I found the gate open, so I went into the yard. It was a squalid place, full of water, dreary and wretched in the extreme. The door was locked, and the windows were latched. Should I get in at the door or window? As I usually travel by the shortest road, I thrust my hand through the glass, pulled the catch back, threw the sash up, put my leg over the sill, then jumped into the room, which was about twelve feet square. The floor was blotched and greasy, the walls damp and frowsy, with great strips of paper hanging down at the ceiling. I shut the window, but left it unfastened, then unlocked the door, and opened it a few inches to leave a way of retreat in case of need. If worsted by the enemy (which may happen to the best general), retreat in good order, like Sir John Moore at Corunna, who was covered with glory, a mantle, and Westminster Abbey; or if not by the latter, he ought to have been.

I explored the four rooms, baton in hand—there was not a soul in the place; then I stood at one of the front windows, a little way back, and reconnoitred. The rain had ceased. Black masses of cloud were hurrying up from the south, and clawing at the chimney-pots. The wind howled in the lum, and whistled through the keyhole. The weatherboard walls creaked and groaned like a ship's timbers in a gale. The front gate swung on its one hinge, and grated on the gravel path. Rank weeds filled the strip of garden, and the paling fence clattered like castanets, without tune, rhyme, or reason.

I had barely noted what I have set down, when the door of the opposite house was opened a few inches, and a black eye, like a search-light, flashed to right and left. Evidently the coast was clear, and the sweep satisfactory, for the other eye hove in sight, accompanied by a face in perfect drawing and colouring, such as Sir John Millais or Marcus Stone loves to paint.

"Sold again!" I said to myself; "this is a lady and no mistake!" I was just about to beat a retreat, cover up my tracks, destroy my bridges, burn my boats, or whatever is the appropriate expression, under my crushing defeat. I ground my teeth with chagrin and hunger. It was nearly six o'clock, and in another hour it would be dark. I had no stomach for such work under the unforeseen circumstances that had developed.

The lady had a basket on her arm, which gave my thoughts a new direction. She must be on a charitable mission to the reprobate sweep who lived there, trying to whitewash him with tracts, and sweeten his life with sugar and tea. "This is the solution of the situation, no doubt," I thought. I must not desert my post, but watch. Putting my theory into practice, I glued my eyes on the lady to see what was her next move. She came out on the step, and furtively peered up and down the street with an anxious face. First impressions are not always best. I did not like her looks half so well as I did. She did not improve on closer inspection. However, everything suffers on a wet day. Beauty does not count for much, and classical features are nowhere muffled in a hood and dripping umbrella. Helen of Troy and Cleopatra did not show themselves on a rainy day.

She pulled a shawl over her head, and hid her face as well as she could, then shut the door, and walked up the street, glancing over her shoulder every second or two.

"You are no better than you ought to be," I thought. "Like a fair apple without, but with rottenness at the heart—a whited sepulchre, with foulness within. There is some secret here!"

I had changed my mind about her. She was better than her surroundings; her dress was costlier than the neighbourhood could buy. She was a false coin, which would not stand the test of a ring.

When she turned the corner of the street I let myself out by the front door, and followed her, my umbrella acting as a screen. When I reached the corner of the street she had vanished. There was a public-house a hundred yards away, into which she might have gone, so I went to it, and glanced into the bar over the frosted half of the window. A man was sitting on a barrel, playing on an asthmatical accordion, so wheezy and broken-winded it could not get through more than three bars of a tune without a rest. Three men, with pewter pots before them, were thumping some knotty arguments into a table. The lady wasn't there, evidently, so I went on, but seeing the private door ajar, I pushed it open a few inches. A jar suggests a pot of something. I was about to go in when I pulled myself up, just in time, for the lady was at a little square hole in the wall which communicated with the bar, and at that moment was slipping a bottle into her basket. On second thoughts, after watching for an opportunity, I went into the passage, and then into the parlour as if I were walking between eggs. The plot was developing. It was hatching.

In a few minutes the lady had bought what she wanted and went away, with me at her heels. I nearly trod on her skirt, so eager was I to keep her in sight. She did not go in the direction of the house she had first left, but went farther from it, probably to make more purchases. When she was at a safe distance I followed. There she turned into a shop, which I knew was a grocer's when I saw some soap boxes on the pavement, and a swinging sign with a big T and a teapot on it, so that the lettered might read and the unlettered might see what was sold within. A grocer's shop is like a salmon basket, having only one way out. Not like a public-house, whose ways in and out are many and crooked. The lady must come out sometime, so I could wait. I went into a right-of-way, and showed about a hair-breadth of my right eye in the direction of the shop.

When my patience was nearly all jettisoned I heard the sharp ting of a bell, and the lady came out of the shop. She was coming my way. I suddenly became absorbed in searching for an imaginary copper, which any one might suppose I was groping for in the gutter; my back toward the mouth of the right-of-way, my big body sticking in its gullet, my head nearly touching the water, while my telescopic eyes watched between my ankles for the transit of Venus.

When the blood had all run to my head, and my heart was throbbing like a water-lifter, the lady made her appearance, and gave a start when she saw me in this extraordinary attitude. She stared and better stared, and would have looked me out of countenance if there had been more of it visible. I was in a downright dilemma. When she had satisfied her curiosity she went on, and I slowly became an upright detective, or as nearly so as the business will allow.

I reached the end of the right-of-way as quickly as I could, and looked down the street, expecting to see the woman (I drop the term lady, for I was beginning to take her down a peg), but did not see her. She could not have reached the corner at a walking pace. She must have run like the wind. Perhaps she thought I was a madman, and would chase her.

"All right," I said, "I can run as fast as you," so I stretched myself, like a piece of india-rubber, and bounded along till I drew myself in at the corner. She was nowhere to be seen. There wasn't a figure in the landscape. She was rubbed out of the drawing—erased, by Jove!

CHAPTER III

I was done! Given away! Sold by a woman!

There was nothing for it now. If I were to stand here gazing about, perhaps she would be gloating over my defeat from some friendly window, so I walked away, passing the house I had been watching, and scanning each window closely. No living thing was visible. I did not stop a second, did not hesitate, but went straight to the back of the house I had entered so unceremoniously a short time before. I walked in, feeling metaphorically like a whipped hound, with ears down and tail between his legs. The house was now as gloomy as I was. I groped my way to the front window, and looked across the street.

Just at that moment a flash of lightning leaped out, and fell like a flaming sword; then a peal of thunder tore the clouds, with a deafening crash, as if they were made of sheet-iron. The fiend incarnate, in the shape of the woman who had slipped through my fingers, stood at the door of the opposite house, with a simper on her mouth, as if butterine wouldn't melt in it.

I had a big oath ready, and it nearly hissed out on the hob, hot and strong; but, as I had been brought up on porridge and the Shorter Catechism, I did not give rein to profanity, so just pulled up in time to prevent a moral smash. Besides, an oath to be effective must have two or three witnesses.

I believe that—blank woman knew I was looking at her, for she simpered and smiled like one o'clock on Christmas Day. I only saw her for a second, but the sight burned into my brain. If there is ever a post mortem on me, the scar will be found. After the sudden flash the blackness of darkness swallowed up house, woman, and everything. I never saw night put up the shutters so early for the time of year.

"'Thunder-and-Lightning' has been warned," said a voice close to my left shoulder.

"Angels and ministers of grace defend us!" I said under my breath. "Who's there?" I called in my loudest and boldest manner.

"Down," said the voice.

This was the watchword the Governor gave me. I had forgotten it. It seemed years since I heard it.

"Who speaks, and what is your news?" I said, feeling sure a friend was near.

"I am the Lieutenant-Governor. I came to tell you that 'Thunder-and-Lightning' has been warned, and that his movements are known. He is in Melbourne, but will shun the house as if it had the plague. The woman you saw just now is at the bottom of it all. I am afraid she has found out something."

I was never so much astonished in all my life. You might have knocked me down with a humming-bird's feather; but I quickly recovered possession of myself, and struck a match, which I held up in the face of the speaker. I did not know it. The match went out.

"Hold this dark-lantern for a moment, and look at me," said the man. "Now flash it on me."

He was the quintessence of conscientiousness. He had got some information, through an underground channel, and he had come in search of me. He had seen me when I ran after the woman, and had followed me cautiously. It was done in a masterly way, for I did not see a soul in the road. He was a born detective, which is the highest praise I could give. The Queen never had a better representative. Perhaps he tried to do too much. He wanted to bat, bowl, field, and keep wickets in every game. If he had been captain of a ship, he would have tried to do duty also as first, second, and third mate, steward, cook, carpenter, and able-bodied seaman.

When I had looked at him steadily for a minute, I dropped the lantern, and said, "I'm blowed!" The wind was taken out of my sails and no mistake! When I recovered myself a bit, I waited for His Excellency to speak, but he did not say a word. Feeling the silence awkward I spoke again.

"Has your Excellency anything further to say?"

There was no reply. I ventured to put out my hand to where he had been standing, and grasped a handful of air. I spoke again, and groped about, then held up the lantern. He wasn't in any of the rooms. He had gone as noiselessly as he had come. Chingahgook could not have vanished more silently. I was left to my own resources.

I wasn't going to stay any longer in this mouldy, rat-riddled, mouse-eaten house. I couldn't breathe or think, so I went into the open air, turned down the right-of-way, and into the street where the suspected house stood. As I passed it I flashed the lantern on the door, and saw a chalk mark like a streak of forked lightning. I perceived at a glance that this was a preconcerted sign for "Thunder-and-Lightning" to give the house a wide berth and vanish.

I thought I heard a laugh behind the window as I passed, but I suppose it was all imagination. The laugh was against me, of course. I was in no laughing mood. I went on, and hadn't reached the corner of the street, when I determined to have another look at the place. I had got half-way to it, when a moving mass of women's clothes passed me, and a voice came out of the bundle.

"Wallace, does your mother know you're out?"

This stung me to madness. I made a grab at the millinery, but it was gone. I heard a silvery laugh somewhere. It might have come from the middle of the road, an upstairs window, the top of a chimney, or other unlikely place, for anything I knew in the state of frenzy I was in. I made a dash down the road, but might as well have looked for a needle in a haystack. I found a big D—— between my teeth, but I swallowed the other three letters with a gulp, and cursed inwardly.

My mother didn't know I was out; but I did, and was sick of the business. I had been too confident. There was nothing more to be done that night, for the game had got wind of me somehow.

I slipped my baton up my sleeve, and turned to go home. The streets were deserted and dark, save for a faint patch of light under an oil-lamp, which flickered and glistened on the wet ground. In a short time I had left the houses behind, and walked across the open space between Collingwood and the gaol, striking into a narrow path which many feet had trodden hard; it wound here and there between pools of water. There was just width enough for two persons to walk abreast, and there was only sufficient light for me to see the grey strip of solid ground stretching in front. I had arrived a little to the west of the gaol walls, when the moon began to show herself in the rifts of the driving clouds.

A figure loomed up ahead of me, about a hundred feet away. It came nearer and nearer, when I saw it was a man. I prepared to go to the right so as to let him pass, when he suddenly presented a pistol at my head, and said, in a blood-red whisper, "Your money or your life!" I brought up my right hand, with the forefinger thrust out like the barrel of a pistol, while my other fingers were doubled up, and shouted, "I'll shoot you, you scoundrel!" At the same time I knocked the fellow's pistol-hand up with a rapid blow. A deafening report followed, and a ball grazed the top of my head. The moon shone out full on the man's face. He had blazing black eyes, a broken nose, and the scar of an old cut down his left cheek. As soon as he fired, he darted off with the speed of a deer at right angles to the path, and I heard him floundering in the water. I was in pursuit in a moment, although I thought my head was ploughed with the ball, and had got a top-dressing of bone dust, which would bring up a crop of troubles.

The moon withdrew herself. The landscape was a blank once more. I was to draw no prizes to-night apparently. The would-be murderer was swallowed up in the darkness. I went hither and thither searching for him, but soon found I had lost my bearings; so I retraced my steps as well as I could, till I struck La Trobe Street, then went to my lodgings, let myself in, and crept up to my room.

When I lit the candle a thought flashed into my brain with electric speed. I stood dazed; then brought my right hand down on the dressing-table with such terrific force as to ruin the whole box-and-dice in a moment; the legs snapped; there was a crash, and the looking-glass was smashed into a hundred pieces.

The man who fired at me was no other than "Thunder-and-Lightning." The Governor had described him exactly in the paper he had given me.

In another minute I was in the street, and running like a madman. Before midnight I had visited every police station in Melbourne, and had given a description of the man. At daylight fifty eyes were watching for him on the main exits from the town.

CHAPTER IV

Next morning the Argus reported that a man had been found dead on a vacant piece of ground near the gaol; that several robberies had been effected by an armed man; and that money, to a large amount, had been stolen. A description of the man was given, which proved to me that he was no other than "Thunder-and-Lightning." There was much excitement in the city; but the climax was reached when it became known, soon after ten o'clock, that the manager of a suburban bank had been found on the premises, gagged, and bound hand and foot. He told an extraordinary story. He had been awakened in the middle of the night by a man, who held a pistol to his ear, and told him that he would be instantly shot if he made the slightest noise. The manager discovered that his arms were already bound by a stout rope, and that he was powerless to resist. Another man came and gagged him, then tied his legs.

The robbers found the key to the safe, and effected an entrance. To their intense disgust they only got about £200 in notes (chiefly tens), £25 in gold, and a little silver. Seeing there was no more money, one of the men gave the manager a blow with the butt end of a pistol, which stunned him. When he recovered the men had decamped. He gave me a description of them, and "Thunder-and-Lightning" was one, without doubt.

I felt very small, for the scoundrel had been within my grasp, and I had let him slip. I made a vow that I would hunt him down and take his life, or lose my own in the attempt.

I obtained a search-warrant, and proceeded to the house I had been watching the night before, picking up three policemen in plain clothes at the local office, and directing two of them to go to the back of the house, while I, with the other man, went to the front. I knocked several times, but got no answer. Then I tried the door; it gave to my touch and flew open. When I let the men in at the back, we searched the place, and found the bird had flown. Looking out of a window, I saw there was a lane running from the public-house I had visited the previous night to the place where I was. Some incidents of yesterday were unravelling.

Leaving the three men, I went out by the front way, and walked to the public-house open and above-board, as bold as brass. I strolled into the parlour, and rang the bell. A frowsy little boy of about twelve years answered my call. He had a pasty face, snub nose, big mouth, greenish eyes, and red hair. I knew a face the very image of it, but I could not remember where I had seen it.

"Did you ring, mate?" the boy said.

"Yes, I'll take a glass of colonial ale."

"All right," he replied, and went away to get it.

Now he had not been gone a minute, when I suddenly remembered whose face he was the image of. He was as like Pat Kineen, our messenger, as two split peas are like each other. I heard him coming back.

"Your name might be Kineen?" I said.

"It is that same, shure!"

"And the other name may be Patsy?"

"Shure, you've hit the bull's-eye! It is."

I had made a bold guess. I said, "I've come from your father. He and I are chums."

"An' what may you want wid me?"

"I want you to take me to a man who is staying here. I know his name, but I was to ask for a man with a big scar on his face."

"I wasn't to tell anybody who didn't give the word."

"Ah, ah! I see. 'Mum' is the word."

"Faith, ye've got it! 'Mum' is the word an' no mistake."

I had stumbled on the right word. The combination had opened the lock.

"Well, take me to him as quick as you can."

"It isn't a him: it's a she. He's gone, he has, this morning."

"Well, take me to her, then. I'm a friend."

I slipped a shilling into his hand, and he led the way, muttering, "You're a gintleman."

He went to the top of the stair, I following, ready to grab him if he tried to bolt. He stopped at a door in a dark passage, and knocked three times, then whispered, "Mum."

The door opened at once. I grasped two hands, and said, "How are you?" then slipped a pair of handcuffs over a woman's wrists.

I went inside and locked the door. I was in a regular trap, for I felt convinced there were some desperate characters in the house who would not stick at a trifle. There was not a moment to lose, so I dragged the woman to the window, threw the sash open, and whistled three times. My men popped their heads out of the door of the house I had left them in, saw me, and came up the lane at a rapid run.

In the meantime the woman screamed and alarmed the house. The door was burst open; a man rushed in and threw himself upon me. Just then, however, my three men ran forward and secured him in a trice.

I had made a haul. The net result was I had caught two fish that were worth catching. I am actually trying to make a pun, which is excusable, as my success was great. For the last twenty-four hours I had been as hard-faced as a dissenting chapel. There hadn't been a smile in me. The game was whist. There wasn't a "joker" in the pack. It was my deal now. I had turned up an honour, and had some good trumps in my hand.

The woman was the one I had followed the night before, and the man was the accomplice of "Thunder-and-Lightning" in the bank robbery. Notes were found in their possession, which were proved by the numbers to have been some of the stolen ones.

The prisoners were lodged in the nearest police station, much to my satisfaction. I walked away on the tips of my toes, and with my head held high. There was exhilaration in the air, and I felt as if I had swallowed a "pick-me-up."

As I returned to the office the conversation I had with Pat Kineen came fresh into my memory. How did he know I was "to go afther the biggest thafe of the wurrld" I should like to know? and why was his son acting as potboy in the hotel? Then Patsy's unguarded admissions pointed to something not yet cleared up. Pat had been got at. I had a bone to pick with him, and I would get into the marrow, so I gnawed away at it, ruminated over it, and digested it.

When I arrived at the office I saw that Pat had had some information of what had taken place. He was trying to hide something. His face looked scared and his hands shook.

"It's a beautiful day, Pat."

"Illigant indade, Misther Wallace," he said, with a curious shake in his voice.

I knocked at the chief's door, went in and shut it, then said in a whisper, "I suspect Pat Kineen of a crime, and wish to arrest him."

"Good heavens! what's the matter?"

"I believe he is at the keyhole now."

I went on tiptoe and put my eye to the hole. A pupil, with anxious inquiry, was trying to solve a problem on the other side. I opened the door and pulled it with all my force. As I expected, Pat fell sprawling into the room.

"What is all this?" said the chief, starting up in a rage.

"This," said I, as cool as a water-melon at four in the morning, "is Pat Kineen, the companion of thieves and a sharer of the plunder."

"Och!" said Pat. "Oi was just clanin' the door-handle whin Misther Wallace pulled me into the room as I was hangin' on to it."

"You'll hang higher than that, Pat, if you don't take care," I said.

"Go away, Pat," said the chief, "and don't hang on to door-handles and get so suspiciously near keyholes again."

"Oh no!" I said; "I arrest him in the Queen's name for being a companion of thieves, and assisting 'Thunder-and-Lightning' to escape."

"Be careful what you are doing, Wallace!" said the chief.

"Oh, I am very careful!" I said; "I've got a tight grip of him."

"The divil take him!" yelled Pat. "If I'd a blackthorn I'd shplit his head wid it."

"Would you kindly see what Pat was hiding in his drawer?" I said to the chief.

He went at once, Pat and I following.

"In that corner," said I, pointing to the left-hand side.

"Here is a £10 note," said the chief.

"What is the number?"

"21,105."

"Whist!" said Pat to me; "don't tell an' I'll give you fifty pounds."

I paid no heed to him, but said, "That is one of the notes stolen from the bank."

"Me mother's first cousin's sister's son," said Pat, stammering wildly, "giv' me that for change av a sovereign this marnin'!"

"You'll get your change in your sovereign's gaol for three years, note that!" I said. I can't help making a pun or two when I'm in high spirits, even if they are bad ones. I was elated with my success, and no mistake. This is the only excuse I have.

I may as well say here that the woman was found guilty of receiving some of the stolen notes. The man I arrested in the hotel was found guilty of robbing the bank. It was proved that Pat had warned "Thunder-and-Lightning," and had been rewarded by getting a share of the stolen money. Heavy sentences were passed upon them, with hard labour.

This was my first big case. I was complimented on all sides, and got promotion with a good salary tagged on.

CHAPTER V

Well, "Thunder-and-Lightning" was too quick for us. He had flashed on the town, shot his bolt, and disappeared. For two months the criminal outlook was clear. I had nothing to do but take a survey of the horizon in the morning, and an observation at noon. There were no outbursts of murder or robbery. "Thunder-and-Lightning" was lying low. I knew he would break out some day.

One morning I received secret intelligence that he had been seen in the Puzzle ranges, near the Strathbogie country. This was enough for me. I scented the battle afar off. I happened to be reading at the time, but I threw down my book at once, and got instructions to go to the front without delay. In about two hours I had rigged myself up as a digger. A digger's signboard at that time was made up of a pair of moleskin trousers, a blue "jumper," a pair of heavy boots, and a slouch hat. With a swag over my shoulder, I made my way to the coach office about five o'clock in the afternoon. The coach by which I proposed to go was just driving up.

"Hullo, old fellow!" said an acquaintance of mine. "Off to the diggings?"

"Yes, I'm going to have a try."

"So long then; wish you luck."

Having bought a ticket, I took an inside seat, not caring to advertise myself in big letters on the front page. I might as well be under the gaze of the hundred eyes of the Argus as sit and be conned like a book by every passer-by. When a coach trundles along any one who runs, or walks, may read.

I pulled my hat over my eyes, and settled myself as if I meant to take a sleep. This attitude disarms criticism, and provokes contempt. A good imitation of a snore decides the business. The sleeper is either a fool or drunk.

The coach went down the street as far as the post-office, and stopped to take the mails. In a few minutes we were round the corner, and bowling up Elizabeth Street at the rate of ten miles an hour, going into a rut occasionally, like diving into the trough of the sea, for the roads were uncommonly bad in those days. The passengers bumped about, and cannoned off each other like bowls on a green, amid much laughing. It was lively! I smiled between the snores. We soon got used to the motion, and timed ourselves, as a rider does on a trotting horse.

About every fifteen miles, as I judged, we changed horses, and went on with a fresh spurt. Sometimes the coach would travel on one wheel for a second or two, or on one side, then on the other. Then we travelled, for an hour or more, on level ground, and would suddenly skid, with the break on, down a steep hill, in and out among the rocks, to the bottom, and then slowly labour up the next rise.

About ten o'clock we stopped at a wayside inn. Some one called out, "Supper." There was no need to announce it. It announced itself with a nasal effect. The nose had the news first. The air was full of it, shouting "onions."

Everybody but myself went to supper. I wouldn't show myself in the fierce glare of the kerosene lamps; so I sat where I was, pulled out my sandwich case, and had a square meal then washed it down with a swig of brandy and water.

In half an hour the passengers clambered to their seats, the driver shouted, "All aboard!" cracked his whip, and we were off. It was black as pitch, the road was sticky, the air clammy, and the coachman looked like the Wild Huntsman careering to the bottomless pit. I had had enough make-believe sleep, and was very wide awake. I peered through the curtain and looked out. It was a blindman's holiday. We came to a steep pinch, and the horses stopped. All the men were ordered to get down and walk. It was a relief to stretch one's legs, so I went ahead, and the rest of the passengers lumbered behind. Some of them were soon blown in trying to keep pace with the horses. When the band begins to march you must keep up with it, or you'll lose the music. When the coach stopped at the top of the hill three men were missing, but they soon came up, and we went on again. The dreary night died by inches; I thought the day would never dawn. When it came, dancing over the mountains, I retired behind my hat.

About noon we arrived at the town of Benalla. This was as far as I was going by coach, so I got down at the hotel where the horses were changed. Here I got a wash and a good dinner.

I went into the town, with my swag on my back, and steered a southerly course towards the mountains. A young woman, who had lost nearly all her teeth, and hadn't sense enough to keep her mouth shut, showed me the Mansfield road, and told me that some rich diggings had been discovered near Pepper Hill. I promised to give them a try.

The road was as intricate as a railway guide. Branch tracks switched off here and there, and wandered about till they were bogged or "bushed." Noble red gum-trees scented the air. A pastoral symphony was performed by an orchestra of magpies, laughing jackasses, and cockatoos. Kingfishers flashed like jewels; parrots, clad in rainbows, chattered; the whip-bird cracked his thong, and made the forest ring; native bears placidly stared; bees and honey-suckers were competing for cargo in the same line.

It was a peaceful scene. I was quite enchanted, and would willingly have abandoned the enterprise for the life of the simple farmer, whistling at the plough or calling the cattle home. Should I return in peace with the trophies of war, or leave my bones to bleach in the sun and wind until the last trump shall echo among the mountains?

I had been walking for some hours, when I saw, away to the left, a long, low house nestling among trees. I jumped over a bush-fence, and took a straight aim for a chimney that blew a wreath of smoke out of its pipe. The sun was going down. The birds were settling themselves in bed, and tucking their heads among the feathers.

When I at last scrambled down to the broad flat that stretched away to the Broken River, I suddenly found myself among a number of cows and big calves, which skipped about on the smallest number of legs there is any record of. The economy of nature is surprising. A little goes a long way. A dog on three legs is nothing to what I saw. I was rather scared when they came round me to stare. Like country folks, they were inquisitive, and wanted to know what I was fooling around for.

Just then a man, with a limp in his left leg, and a crooked stick in his right hand, came up. This was old Sailor Tom, as I found out afterwards, who was driving the cattle home to milk. I gave him a civil "Good evening."

"Good evening, mate," said Tom. "D'ye come from the new diggin's? Some says as there's lumps o' goold there as big as me 'ead; other some it's a 'shicer.'"

"No," I said; "but I'm goin' there. D'ye think ye'r boss would gi'e me a bed?"

"Oh yes," said Tom, "he'll find ye a bed if ye can find the sleep, that's fair. Ye see the strangers' hut has had the kangaroo dogs in it, so the population's lively an' aboundin'. The fleas is in possession of the field after the last bloody battle wi' a 'sundowner,' when he went to bed an' board there. I found 'im in the mornin', like a waterlogged ship, sinkin' fast, wi' the whole crew workin' hard at the pumps, and suckin' away for bare life."

"An' what became o' the man?" I said.

"Oh! we just towed 'im away, an' patched 'im up. 'Ee vowed 'ee wouldn't cruise on this station no more; says 'ee, 'This 'ere station's too 'eavily stocked, an' the breed too lively to my fancy.'"

I determined to give the strangers' hut a wide berth, for one flea in bed is one too many for me.

Sailor Tom began to laugh when he saw my glum looks, and said, "Ye can spread ye'r blankets in the spare bunk in my hut. That's it," pointing to a low slab building with a bark roof. "Jist go up there; I'll be wi' ye in a jiffy when I've done milkin'. Get up, Polly!"

I went to the hut, and finding a rough bench at the door, sat down to rest after my long walk. Tom proved a kindly soul; he brought me a big pannikin of tea, a chop, and a piece of bread. After a good meal I turned into the bunk, and was soon fast asleep.

Somewhere about two in the morning I awoke with a start. The clattering of a horse's hoofs was heard passing close to the hut, and a wild halloo rattled the loose window-pane, and echoed from the hill. To my astonishment, another halloo burst out from powerful lungs close to my ear.

"Dang it!" said Sailor Tom, "ain't that a stretcher for the windpipe. 'Ope 'ee 'eard it."

"Who?" I said.

"I'm blest! then you don't belong to them parts? That's 'Thunder-an'-Lightnin's' signal to me w'en 'ee goes by across our ford; an' I answers 'im."

"An' what for?" says I.

"As much as to say there's no bobbies aroun'; do you twig?"

"I twig," said I. "'An where's he off to now?"

"To the Dead Horse diggin's for sarten. I can 'ear 'is 'orse's 'oofs clatterin' up the track."

"Wish he hadn't wakened me out o' a sound sleep."

"I tell ye there's music in 'is voice, an' money too; beats the Hightalian Hopera to fits!"

"Do you say so?" says I. "D'ye think he's in want o' a volunteer?"

"I think," said Tom, "'ee can make a vacancy for a likely lad o' your stamp. Maybe I'll enlist ye!"

I turned over on my side, and grunted, "Good night." I didn't sleep another wink. I had not come up here for nothing. The Lord had delivered Goliath into my hand.

I rose with the sun, and dressed myself in haste. While I was making my preparations, I saw Sailor Tom looking at me with one eye.

"I'm off," I said—"want to travel before the sun gets hot."

"I see," said Tom, "as the blind man said who couldn't see at all. Then ye won't 'ave breakfast?"

"No; but many thanks for all your kindness. By-the-by, which is the track to the Dead Horse dig-gin's?"

"W'en ye get out o' the 'ome paddock you'll see a blasted red-gum; go up to it an' cross the road; then you'll come on a blazed track; follow that up, an' you'll strike Dead Horse in twenty-five miles. An' a word in ye'r ear! If you meet 'Thunder-an'-Lightnin',' tell 'im you're a friend o' mine, an' ye want to jine the troop. Say I recommend ye. Show 'im this." He took a copper token out of his trousers' pocket, and handed it to me. I looked at it carefully, and saw a rude representation of forked lightning. "Show 'im this," he repeated, "an' tell 'im Sailor Tom enlisted ye. Jist whisper 'mum,' for that's the watchword. 'E'll know that I've enlisted ye. Now remember! 'mum's' the word."

"I'll remember. Good-bye, and thanks; I'll look him up." I lifted the latch and walked away, through the home paddock, up to the blasted tree, across the road, where I found the blazed track, and went joyfully on my way.

I was in no hurry, for I did not wish to arrive at the diggings till night was setting in. I had food in my swag when I wanted it. My pistols were in my belt. I felt right as a trivet, and was very confident. About dusk I came to Pepper Hill, a quarter of a mile from the track, and took a seat on the outcrop of a quartz reef that trended north and south. In the valley I could see tents, and smoke rising from the fires. I ate some bread and cake, and felt refreshed. Just then I heard the crack of a rifle away to the east. When you are after game, look for tracks; when after bush-rangers, listen for the crack of firearms. I located the exact spot where the shot came from, for I saw a puff of smoke rise behind a bush. I walked quickly down the hill in that direction. It was now dark.

I stole along on the soft, short grass till I judged I was near the spot. A low sobbing sound caught my ear. Instinctively I cocked one of my pistols, and held it in my right hand, creeping nearer and nearer, on hands and feet, till I came to something white, from which the sobbing came.

"I'm a friend," I said. "What's the matter?"

"I'm shot. Oh, what shall I do? what shall I do?" And a torrent of hysterical moaning followed from a woman's voice.

"My good woman," I said, "what has happened? Tell me quick!"

After a short time she was sufficiently calm to say, "My man has been murdered in that tent down there. When I was running away to give the alarm I was shot through the leg."

"Where is the man who did it?"

"In the tent. You can see it lighted up from where you stand."

"I will come back with help for you in a short time. Make no noise, as you value your life."

I went away like a shadow on tiptoe—a shade could not make less noise—and was soon at the back of the tent. It was lit by a candle. Through the thin canvas I could see a man with a fiddle on his knee. He took it up and tuned it. "Ha! ha!" he laughed, "I haven't played a tune for five years; but I'll have one now, in spite of all the fiends in hell." He struck a note or two, and glided into the tune of "Donnybrook Fair." "That's something like," he said. "Now for 'Rafferty's Wake!' That's the ticket! If I had a gallon of brandy I'd give him such a wake as has never been seen on Dead Horse, and make every man-jack on the place dance while I covered them with my pistol. Curse him! I wish I had never seen him. Only got ten ounces, and I was told he had made as much as five hundred." Then he played "Rafferty's Wake" again, but slid into the gloomy strains of "The Last Man."

He banged the fiddle on the table in a rage, then took it up and patted it. Putting it under his chin once more, he played the most mournful air I ever heard, which made my flesh creep and my hair stand on end. Then he played "The Last Man."

"Curse the tune!" he roared. "If this is the last man I'm going to shoot I'll give him decent burial. Dead men tell no tales, and buried ones show no sign."

While all this was going on my eyes were not idle. On the rude bed lay the ghastly figure of a man—a hole in his forehead, and his face covered with blood. A rifle and a pistol lay on the table beside the murderer, also a chamois leather bag; and a small pile of gold dust was scattered near it. A brandy bottle and a pannikin, from which he had evidently been imbibing freely, stood at his elbow. I could easily have shot him, but that wasn't my game. "A living dog is better than a dead lion." I would watch and wait.

Then he went to a corner of the tent and took up a pick and shovel, with which he walked out and strode down the gulley, evidently with the intention of digging a hole into which to put the body. He hummed a lively tune for a few bars, dropping into a minor key, and ending with a snatch from "The Last Man," as if he couldn't help it. This annoyed him. He swore a round oath, and clattered the pick and shovel together. I thought he was going to throw them down and come back, but he went on. I was after him like a weasel on a rabbit's track.

The moon came out grey and ghostly, so I easily kept him in sight. I felt sure he was "Thunder-and-Lightning." Something in his gait told me he was the man. He turned from side to side, apparently looking for a digger's trial-hole that would suit his purpose. When he had found one he threw down the pick and shovel, and peered into the excavation. It seemed to satisfy him, for he jumped into it and began to make it deeper.

I thought this was the proper moment to introduce myself, so I went softly to the edge of the hole and whispered, "Mum." He gave a start, for I had stolen so noiselessly he was taken aback, and stopped to look at me.

"Good evening, captain," I said; "I come from Sailor Tom. He enlisted me in your troop if you'll have me. Here is the proof." Then I showed him the token I had received from Tom. He took it and examined it by the pale light, then felt it with his forefinger.

Before I knew what he was doing he had pulled a pistol from his belt and pointed it at me. I felt Death's scythe swishing at my heart. My life wasn't worth a minute's purchase, but I did not flinch or wink an eye.

"Say the oath after me."

"All right, captain; I'm ready."

Then he said, "I enlist as one of Captain 'Thunder-and-Lightning's' men."

I repeated, "I enlist as one of Captain 'Thunder-and-Lightning's' men."

"I swear I will obey him even to death."

"I swear I will obey him even to death."

"And shed my last drop of blood at his command."

"And shed my last drop of blood at his command."

"That's all," he said, lowering the pistol. "You are one of my men now, and as likely a young fellow as there is under my command. Give me your hand."

I put it out, and he gave it such a vice-like grip I was very glad when he let go; but I think I gave him as good a squeeze as I got.

"You're of the right sort!" he said, after he released me. "Now, the first command I have to give you is to carry a dead man and bury him here. I always try the nerve of a new recruit."

"You'll find, captain, that I have plenty of nerve, and more in the bank to draw from."

"Come along then, and go before me to that tent you see up there."

I was actually driven, like a dumb beast, to the tent where the murdered man lay, and was told to go in.

"Blast him!" said "Thunder-and-Lightning." "Look at him! See his ghastly eye! Did you ever see a dead man stare like that? I never felt like this before. I'm going mad! No! No! it's only my nerves that have given way."

He seized the brandy bottle, poured about half a pint into the pannikin, and drank it to the last drop.

"Ha! that is better! now I'll play a tune. Shall it be 'Rafferty's Wake?' D—— it, man, why don't you speak?"

"Yes," I said, "'Rafferty's Wake.' Ha! ha! well spoken, captain! You go before, and I'll follow with the body. We'll give him an illegant funeral."

"D—— you! You're a man after my own heart. You've got the nerve of twenty men! Just like me."

The brandy was working. He strutted about with the fiddle, and ran the bow up and down the strings. I followed him with the dead man in my arms, who was a little fellow and light.

The murdering ruffian marched before me playing "Rafferty's Wake," making the strings squeal and skirl, while he shouted, "That's something like! go it!" He arrived at the brink of the intended grave, and I was just behind him, when I gave a sudden lunge and struck him on the back with the dead man, which sent him sprawling, head foremost, into the hole. The murdered digger seemed to clutch him round the neck, and fell in with him. I sprang on top of them in a moment.

I forced "Thunder-and-Lightning's" right hand behind his back and held it there, while I slipped a pair of handcuffs out of my pocket and secured it; then I wrenched the left hand in the same manner and handcuffed it.

I was so elated I could not contain myself any longer. I shouted "hurrah," and laughed loud and long. I suppose my nerves had been strung to such a pitch I had to let them down a little.

"Thunder-and-Lightning" lay quite still. At first I thought he was dead, as he had fallen upon his head. Perhaps his skull was broken; but, as I never knew an Irishman to be killed by a fall on his head, I soon felt pretty easy in my mind that he was all right. Hard knocks with shillelahs, for thousands of years, have developed a thickening of the bone; or is it a survival of the fittest?

I slipped his pistols into my belt, then coo-ed for ten minutes, and fired a shot. To my great delight I heard a cautious, "What's the matter? Where are you?"

"I'm here! I want help!" I shouted. Three men and six dogs soon made their appearance.

"Wha may you be, my fine fallow, an' what's the maiter?" said an old man, who was holding a bull-dog by a chain, and saying to him, "Doun, Nero, doun!"

I told them in few words that the digger who had lived up the hill had been murdered, that his wife had been shot in the leg, that she was lying a short distance beyond, and that I had captured the murderer.

"Jist let ma doug Nero hand 'im by the cauf o's leg, an' he winna get awa," said the old man.

"Poor Tom, and poor Lizzie," said the men, who were decent fellows, and very sympathetic. Two of them went away to attend to the woman; one of them stayed with me. In a short time Lizzie was carried to a tent, and given into the care of some women. The police were informed of what had taken place, and two of them came. We marched the murderer to the lock-up, then I called for a lantern, and flashed it in his face. He was "Thunder-and-Lightning"; no mistake about that—broken nose, black eyes, and scar.

There is not much more to tell. I took charge of the scoundrel, and hardly lost sight of him, till he was safely lodged in Her Majesty's gaol in Melbourne. He was tried, found guilty of murder, and hanged by the neck till he was dead. His Excellency the Governor thanked me warmly, and a large money reward with immediate promotion came very opportunely.

THE END