'You're such a gay young fellow!'

Mr Jarper acknowledged modestly that he was gay, but that he owed certain duties to society, and had to be mildly social.

'And so handsome!' croaked Slivers, winking with his one eye at Billy, who sat on the table. 'Oh, he's all there, ain't he, Billy?'

Billy, however, did not agree to this, and merely observed 'Pickles,' in a disbelieving manner.

Mr Jarper felt rather overcome by this praise, and blushed in a modest way, but felt that he could not return the compliment with any degree of truth, as Slivers was not handsome, neither was he all there.

He, however, decided that Slivers was an unusually discerning person, and worthy to talk to, so prepared to make himself agreeable.

Slivers, who had thus gained the goodwill of the young man by flattery, plunged into the subject of Villiers' disappearance.

'I wonder what's become of Villiers,' he said, artfully pushing the whisky bottle toward Barty.

'I'm sure I don't know,' said Barty in a languid, used-up sort of voice, pouring himself out some more whisky, 'I haven't seen him since last Monday week.'

'Where did you leave him on that night?' asked Slivers.

'At the corner of Sturt and Lydiard Streets.'

'Early in the morning, I suppose?'

'Yes--pretty early--about two o'clock, I think.'

'And you never saw him after that?'

'Not a sight of him,' replied Barty; 'but, I say, why all this thusness?'

'I'll tell you after you have answered my questions,' retorted Slivers, rudely, 'but I'm not asking out of curiosity--its business.'

Barty thought that Slivers was very peculiar, but determined to humour him, and to take his leave as early as possible.

'Well, go on,' he said, drinking his whisky, 'I'll answer.'

'Who else was with you and Villiers on that night?' asked Slivers in a magisterial kind of manner.

'A French fellow called Vandeloup.'

'Vandeloup!' echoed Slivers in surprise; 'oh, indeed! what the devil was he doing?'

'Enjoying himself,' replied Barty, coolly; 'he came into the theatre and Villiers introduced him to me; then Mr Wopples asked us all to supper.'

'You went, of course?'

'Rather, old chap; what do you take us for?'--this from Barty, with a knowing wink.

'What time did Vandeloup leave?' asked Slivers, not paying any attention to Barty's pantomime.

'About twenty minutes to twelve.'

'Oh! I suppose that was because he had to drive out to the Pactolus?'

'Not such a fool, dear boy; he stayed all night in town.'

'Oh!' e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Slivers, in an excited manner, drumming on the table with his fingers, 'where did he stay?'

'At the Wattle Tree Hotel.'

Slivers mentally made a note of this, and determined to go there and find out at what time Vandeloup had come home on the night in question, for this suspicious old man had now got it into his head that Vandeloup was in some way responsible for Villiers' disappearance.

'Where did Villiers say he was going when he left you?' he asked.

'Straight home.'

'Humph! Well, he didn't go home at all.'

'Didn't he?' echoed Barty, in some astonishment. 'Then what's become of him? Men don't disappear in this mysterious way without some reason.'

'Ah, but there is a reason,' replied Slivers, bending across the table and clawing at the papers thereon with the lean fingers of his one hand.

'Why! what do you think is the reason?' faltered Barty, letting his eye-gla.s.s drop out of his eye, and edging his chair further away from this terrible old man.

'Murder!' hissed the other through his thin lips. 'He's been murdered!'

'Lord!' e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Barty, jumping up from his chair in alarm; 'you're going too far, old chap.'

'I'm going further,' retorted Slivers, rising from his chair and stumping up and down the room; 'I'm going to find out who did it, and then I'll grind her to powder; I'll twist her neck off, curse her.'

'Is it a woman?' asked Barty, who now began to think of making a retreat, for Slivers, with his one eye blazing, and his cork arm swinging rapidly to and fro, was not a pleasant object to contemplate.

This unguarded remark recalled Slivers to himself.

That's what I want to find out,' he replied, sulkily, going back to his chair. 'Have some more whisky?'

'No, thanks,' answered Barty, going to the door, 'I'm late as it is for my engagement; ta, ta, old chap, I hope you'll drop on the he or she you're looking for; but you're quite wrong, Villiers has bolted with the nugget, and that's a fact, sir,' and with an airy wave of his hand Barty went out, leaving Slivers in anything but a pleasant temper.

'Bah! you peac.o.c.k,' cried this wicked old man, banging his wooden leg against the table, 'you eye-gla.s.s idiot--you brainless puppy--I'm wrong, am I? we'll see about that, you rag-shop.' This last in allusion to Barty's picturesque garb. 'I've found out all I want from you, and I'll track her down, and put her in gaol, and hang her--hang her till she's as dead as a door nail.'

Having given vent to this pleasant sentiment, Slivers put on his hat, and, taking his stick, walked out of his office, but not before Billy saw his intention and had climbed up to his accustomed place on the old man's shoulder. So Slivers stumped along the street, with the c.o.c.katoo on his shoulder, looking like a depraved Robinson Crusoe, and took his way to the Wattle Tree Hotel.

'If,' argued Slivers to himself, as he pegged bravely along, 'if Villiers wanted to get rid of the nugget he'd have come to me, for he knew I'd keep quiet and tell no tales. Well, he didn't come to me, and there's no one else he could go to. They've been looking for him all over the shop, and they can't find him; he can't be hiding or he'd have let me know; there's only one explanation--he's been murdered--but not for the gold--oh, dear no--for n.o.body knew he had it. Who wanted him out of the way?--his wife. Would she stick at anything?--I'm d.a.m.ned if she would. So it's her work. The only question is did she do it personally or by deputy. I say deputy, 'cause she'd be too squeamish to do it herself. Who would she select as deputy?--Vandeloup! Why?--'cause he'd like to marry her for her money. Yes, I'm sure it's him. Things look black against him: he stayed in town all night, a thing he never did before--leaves the supper at a quarter to twelve, so as to avoid suspicion; waits till Villiers comes out at two in the morning and kills him. Aha! my handsome jackadandy,' cried Slivers, viciously, suddenly stopping and shaking his stick at an imaginary Vandeloup; 'I've got you under my thumb, and I'll crush the life out of you--and of her also, if I can;' and with this amiable resolution Slivers resumed his way.

Slivers' argument was plausible, but there were plenty of flaws in it, which, however, he did not stop to consider, so carried away was he by his anger against Madame Midas. He stumped along doggedly, revolving the whole affair in his mind, and by the time he arrived at the Wattle Tree Hotel he had firmly persuaded himself that Villiers was dead, and that Vandeloup had committed the crime at the instigation of Mrs Villiers.

He found Miss Twexby seated in the bar, with a decidedly cross face, which argued ill for anyone who held converse with her that day; but as Slivers was quite as crabbed as she was, and, moreover, feared neither G.o.d nor man--much less a woman--he tackled her at once.

'Where's your father?' he asked, abruptly, leaning on his stick and looking intently at the fair Martha's vinegary countenance.