Novelist
AN AUSTRALIAN NOVEL, BY IVAN DEXTER.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
THE Mount Macedon Mystery —————— CHAPTER I. ————— MACEDON AND DIOGENES.
One of the most conspicuous and beautiful peaks on that backbone of Victoria, the Great Dividing Range, is Mount Macedon. Distant forty miles north from Mel- bourne, its blue outlines are distinctly visible to residents in the metropolis, and the locality is a favorite resort for pleasure- seekers and tourists from the southern capital. Really forming part of the Macedon Range, although divided from the main peak by a deep and— from the luxuriance of the undergrowth— almost impassable valley, is the strange elevation known officially as Mount Diogenes, but popu- larly called the " Camel's Hump." When viewed from a distance the peculiar configuration of the summit of this peak bears a striking resemblance to the back of a double-humped camel and the name is certainly more appropriate, even if more homely, than the appellation of Mount Diogenes, which has been pro- bably applied on account of its rugged and forbidding character. The vegetation of this Alpine region is extravagantly luxuriant. Nature seems to wanton in the very excess of her power, and some places her work forms an impassable barrier to the tourist's progress.
Macedon Station, formerly called Middle Gully, on the mainline of railway to Bendigo, is situated at the foot of the mount, and when the visitor ascends from there to the westerly end of the peak, 4,500 feet above tea level, he finds him- self on an extensive clearing. The mighty forest giants that reared their heads to heaven, and were young trees when the Crucifixion took place, had been laid low by Mr. Ellery and his assistants in the beginning of the 'sixties' when they were engaged in making geodetic surveys. The whole summit of that part of the mountain has been cleared and a round tower of stone, sixty or seventy feet high, built in order to allow of observations for trigonometrical measurements being taken.
No lover of scenery will begrudge his toilsome ascent when he looks from this observatory, on a clear day and, sees around him the fair country stretching away on all sides. From the platform of this tower one of the finest— if not the finest—sights of Aus- tralia ia obtained. The woodwork of the platform— and, in fact, the granite coping of the tower— has been almost cut away by tourists carving their names, and who have been delighted with the view. Governors of the colony— and in two instances their ladies— have inscribed their names here, whilst the men who are associated with the history of Victoria — who have helped to make its history— still live here to recollection on the mouldering boards, or more enduring granite of the tower. In a southerly direction the eye wanders away over smiling farms and green pastures until it rests on a white expanse of houses, over which hangs a hazy pall of smoke through which can be seen occasionally, as the sun glances on a gilded dome or glittering spire, the gleams of reflections which tell that the observer is looking upon the capital of Victoria— the teeming city of Melbourne. Further on still the white dots that now and again show themselves, denote the undulating waters of Port Phillip over which vision extends until the misty distance shuts out further sight. To the north the comfortable town of Woodend can be seen nestling under the shadow of the mount, whilst farther on Kyneton, the capital of the " Boroughs''' appears but a couple of miles distant, though it is, in fact, fully ten miles away.
Still farther on, the green hills and vales surrounding Malmsbury are visible, and the panorama ends in the locality of Elphinstone and the heights surrounding Castlemaine. To the west a vast green sea of foliage meets the eye, for the spectator is looking over the wide expanse of the historic Black Forest. Here and there small clearings, showing a lighter green, breaks the forest continuity, proving that the march of settlement is going forward. To the east the panorama is limited, for the Camel's Hump and Mount Eliza block the landscape. In this direction, however, nature is seen at her best. Lofty trees rise mastlike, between two hundred and three hundred feet high, whilst at the base, fenu, ash, mimosa,
musk and dogwood trees, interlaced with innumerable creepers and wild -flowers of varied hues, clothe the earth with an odoriferous mantle of changeful tints. Narrow glens abound, down which spring streams run silverlike on beds of glittering mica sand. From these natural depressions or ravines magnificent tree ferns twenty to thirty feet in height spring from the moist soil. Their um- brella-like fronds branching out forms a a natural roof of bosky verdure, through which is entwined numberless creepers which almost shut out the light of day. A person can wander in these natural arbours for hundreds of yards in a soft and weird twilight with the green roof twenty feet above him and the pellucid stream trickling at his feet, crystal-like on its silvery bed. Occasional breaks are met with where the sunlight pours down its radiance, and these places are the most delightful sum- mer picnic spots it is possible to conceive. They are veritable fairy dells. Between the peak on which the observer stands and the Camel's Hump is the deep valley we have mentioned, called the Devil'sGlen. To cross this place is a feat few people care about attempting. Although from the bird's-eye view which is given from the summit of the mount, it would be thought a simple matter to pass through, the apparently narrow stretch of dense vegetation which covers the valley ; the reality of the attempt is one that few adventurers for- get. For fully half-a-mile the pedestrian — and, of course, any other mode of loco- motion is impossible— finds himself grop- ing along through the giant bush ferns in a sort of twilight. Underfoot, it seems as if one is walking on indiarubber, or on a carpet stretched in the air. This is caused by the fact that each year the lower fronds of the ferns die, and this process having gone on for generations has formed a soft and yielding bed of dead ferns many feet deep.
Occasionally huge, prostrate logs are encountered. These fallen leviathans are so large that it is impossible to clamber over them, and the baffled explorer has perforce to make his way around them. Frequently startled wallaby will be heard bounding away through the scrub within a few feet of the disturber, but so dense is the undergrowth that those mar- supials though so near are invisible. Wombat holes intervene like pitfalls in the wayfarer's path, and great caution is required to avoid these dangers. Although these strange animals have subterranean tunnels extending for hun- dreds of yards in every direction, and so large that a man can creep into them without great effort, no mounds of earth mark their entrances. This is one of the mysteries of the animal's habits, for an immense body of earth must be excavated to make these passages, and what is done with it no man knows. After passing through this difficult and gloomy valley the steep westerly side of the Camel's Hump is met, and a difficult climb it is to the top. Unlike the other peaks of the range this eminence is, with the exception of a few stunted eucalypti and straggling groves of mimosa, quite barren of vegeta- tion. It is evidently of volcanic origin, for a scene of stony desolation is revealed. Granite rocks and protuberances crown the summit, the entire area of which does not exceed four acres. The two immense "humps" which gives it the name are huge masses of granite, honeycombed with numerous caves, the abode of wild goats. On one of these stand a spire-like land- mark erected by the government for sur-
vey purposes. A strange and awe-inspiring freak of nature is seen at the north end of the mount. In that direction it ends abruptly in a sheer abyss at least a thousand feet deep. It is as if some diabolic or Titanic hand had sliced the mountain in twain, and as the whole face is solid granite the opera- tion must have been no easy one. A person not subject to dizziness can look over the edge of this precipice on a clear day and far down below see the tops of the tall trees growing at the bottom. Frequently a mist of fog conceals those ranges from view, and as they come on suddenly the traveller caught in them runs no slight risk of losing his life as well as his way in the semi-darkness by walking over one of the many precipices which abound in the region.
There are many places in this mountain range that have never yet been trod by the foot of man, although they are sur- rounded by civilization, and so near a dense population. The wild and terrible features of nature stand side by side with the peaceful and beautiful. A single step will sometimes bring the explorer out of a dense and for- bidding jungle into a scene of such sylvan- like beauty that no pen could possibly do justice to it. Some of the narrow glens mentioned have probably no equal in natural or arti- ficial loveliness, whilst portions of the range are gloomy beyond imagination, or terrible like the precipices and fastnesses of Mount Diogenes. It is a region of contrasts where nature has tried her hand certainly not a "pren- tice one," at evolving the most varied forms of the work. Animal and bird life are well repre- sented. Conspicuous amongst the former are the wombat and the wallaby, and, of course, the inevitable snake, whilst the latter can show amongst the countless tribes of the feathered songsters that flit from tree to tree the mocking lyrebird and the handsome bronze-winged pigeon, which are numerous enough to afford good sport. Although the peaks themselves are re- served as a State forest, in comparatively few years as settlement advances this picturesque region will be shorn of its primeval beauties, for the hand of nature will have to give way before the hand of man. The villa residencies of the rich will supplant the haunts of the wombat and the wallaby, and the giant gum trees and bosky undergrowth will disappear be- fore the inroad of English trees and park- like shrubs. Many years ago a strange tragedy oc- curred in this district, the story of which will now be told tho reader.
CHAPTER II. THE EDGAR FAMILY. A fine old house was Hunter Villa, in Phillip-street, Parramatta, that pleasant suburb of Sydney. Surrounded by orange groves of aged, though prolific trees, its old-fashioned style of architecture plainly indicated that it had been built a generation or two before our story opens in 1858. Its massive stone wall had, in fact, been erected nearly half a century pre-
viously by Lieutenant Edgar, of the New South Wales corps, the father of the pre- sent owner. This Lieutenant Edgar was certainly not a bad man, as the times went, but like a good many other members of the historical New South Wales corps he laid himself out for money-making, and suc- ceeded in his pursuit. He was a prominent member of the infamous "rum syndicate," and a land grabber who would have put to blush the most "annexative "of our early Viotorian squatters. When he found that nothing more could be made out of his official position he promptly resigned his commission, for he thought it was better to look after Number One than to waste this time in patriotic though bootless efforts in the service of his country. He owned large tracts of land along the Hunter River, whilst more than one block in Sydney had the name of Edgar on its title deeds. He married in 1801 a Miss Mclntosh who had a substantial dowry of her own, and the amalgamation of the two for- tunes placed Edgar in the foremost ranks of Plutocracy. It is proverbial, however, that money doesn't bring happiness always, though in spite of what moralists say it is a potent factor in that direction. The issue of the union was three sons and a daughter, the latter of whom died in infancy. The boys grew up to be stalwart young men, but of fierce and ungovernable pas- sions, and it was whispered that a strain of insanity ran through the family, in- herited from the mother. Whether there was any truth in the statement or not, it was a matter of fact that Mrs. Edgar had died in a straight- jacket, a dangerous maniac. Tho oldest and the youngest sons fre- quently acted in a manner that gave just cause for this suspicion, but the second, Reginald, had all his father's hardheaded- ness and the penchant for amassing wealth. The fate of his two brothers was tragic.
The eldest was stabbed to death in a drunken brawl he had provoked in a low public-house which stood on the site of the present Sydney Post Office, whilst the youngest, impelled doubtless by an insane impulse, actually formed a gang of marauding bushrangers and was shot in an encounter with the military on one of the spurs of the Blue Mountains. Reginald was now sole heir to his father's wealth, and with an eye to busi- ness he was assiduous in his attentions to the old man, the result being that in 1836, when his father died, he came into possession of the entire estate. Some seven year's previously he had married a young lady named Carruthers, a distant relation on the female side of the house, and one child was born— a boy — who was christened Reginald after his father. Two months after his birth young Mrs. Edgar died and the infant was given out to nurse, which some what estranged his father's affection. Three years after the loss of his first wife Edgar consoled himself by marrying again, this time one of the servants of the household and a very estimable woman. A child, who was named Charles, was born some two years after, and the first son having been taken home the two were brought up together. The eldest, Reginald, early evinced a fierce and sullen temper. The whole gamut of passion's seemed to run in his disposition. From paroxysms of un- governable rage he would suddenly re- apse into a sullen and gloomy state last- ing for several days, and those strange fits would occur without any apparent reason.
He early took a strong and undeserved antipathy to his stepbrother, who was the very opposite indisposition, the younger son being of a singularly sweet and equable temper, which, as they grew up, many times prevented violent scenes in the household between himself and the erratic first-born. Reginald's uncertain and bad temper occasioned much uneasiness to his father, who vividly remembered his own brothers' bad tempers and tainted characters, and his forebodings at times on the subject of his eldest son's future, were not of a cheerful nature. Mrs. Edgar, the youth's stepmother, was equally troubled, for she loved him as if he were her own son. Many times she tried to reason him out of his morose fits, or to calm him when under the influence of his passionate temper, but her well- meant efforts were resultless.
So matters went on, and the household gradually became more disturbed through the evil temper of the eldest son as he grew in years. It became absolutely necessary at last to separate the youths, and their father boarded them out at different schools in the hope that living away from relatives and amongst strangers might work a change in Reginald's character. The half-brothers now seldom saw each other, and their parents fondly hoped that as time wore on and the wiser judg- ment of more mature years worked on the elder his strange and unaccountable nature would be softened down and the better qualities would assert themselves. In this view they were grievously mis- taken. In spite of all the amelioratory influences which surrounded the young man the devil in his nature was not exorcised, and on his return home his pre- sence soon became almost unbearable. At every opportunity his father sent him away on long pleasure trips, chiefly to get rid of him, and these parental, ex- patriations were secretly regarded by Reginald as prompted by his stepbrother and the latter's mother, in order, that the old man's affections might be weaned from him and the largest share of the property fall to the youngest child. These secret thoughts were totally un- founded, but they eat like a canker into the heart of the jealous and passionate man.
They took the form of monomania at last, and almost in his dreams the morose and wretched man cherished thoughts of vengeance on the innocent cause of his disquiet. He was twenty-five years of age when the crisis in his home life took place. He had returned from a lengthened trip to New Zealand with his brooding mind in a more morbid condition than ever. Charles had attained his majority which his parents decided to celebrate in a manner befitting so wealthy a family. The elder brother from mere motives of jealous pique regarded the preparations with bitter envy, and his jealousy became so offensive and marked towards the amiable Charles that his father was forced to interfere. A domestic storm of the wildest character ensued, and at last Reginald, in a fit of fierce passion, after swearing vengeance against his brother who was not present, actually forgot himself so far as to strike his father.
The old man, the descendant of that sturdy lieutenant who brooked no affront in the troublous times of Australia's in- fant history, was not a man to meekly stand such a deadly insult and wrong from the unfilial Reginald. "From this moment you are no son of mine," cried Edgar, in tones of suppressed though terrible resentment. " Go from beneath my roof. I never wish to see your face again, and I will disinherit you." He said no more, but turning away from his brutal son left the room. His wife with rare magnaminity begged him not to carry his threats into execu- tion, but he was inexorable. His youngest son even interceded for his erring brother but in vain, and the old man threatened to use force, if Reginald did not leave the house.
CHAPTER III —————— LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. Thus was the first-born cast forth on the world through his own fatal passions. He could not justly blame anyone but himself for such a result ; but, as is generally the case with people of per- verted minds, his whole rage was directed against the innocent, and he left his father's house burning for revenge on Charles Edgar. He had a small amount of money at the time and it was generally believed he went to America, as he was seen on board a vessel trading there and was not met in Sydney afterwards. The occurrence fell heavily on the household. In spite of the wayward and fierce nature of Reginald, his father could not forget that he was his eldest son, and, though stern and unyielding as he was, many a sad hour was spent in bitter thoughts of the erring son by the old man. His wife, who had a genuine affection for the young man to whom she had been a second mother, was deeply grieved, and with the tenderness of womankind often besought her husband to advertise his forgiveness and bring, back the prodigal, but he would not unbend to consent. Thus three years went by without any tidings, and the name of Reginald Edgar was never mentioned in the household. Charles, who was the very antithesis of his stepbrother in character, had grown a tall and handsome young man. He was now twenty-four years of age and had hitherto been heart-whole, but Cupid, who had overlooked him so far, at this time shot his arrow and it found a resting place in Charles' breast. Adeline Devereaux was a handsome brunette. There was French blood in
her veins which accounted for her viva- cious manner. Her flashing dark eyes were indeed the windows of her soul, for they spoke more eloquent than language of every passing emotion within. Melting in tenderness, sparkling with passion, or laughing at folly, her eyes were the infallible index of each change. They were in truth "speaking " eyes, and threw a charm over the face, which made up for a nose that was not quite classic, and a forehead that was too high to be exactly beautiful. Her chin, square and strong, indicated determination, and her robust physique gave the impression that whatever the mind decided the body could execute. Her father was a prosperous merchant whose place of business was in King- street, Sydney. She was an only child, and had never known a mother's care, that parent hav- ing died in giving birth to her. She had been carefully brought up by her father, and, added to her acquired
accomplishments, she possessed those in- finitely superior qualities of a cheerful disposition, an even temper, and intel- ligence of a high order. She was not yet twenty, when Charles Edgar met her, and it was a case of love at first sight. The meeting was a dramatic one, for Edgar saved her life at the time. In company with her uncle, who, re- sided at Newcastle, and was on a visit to Sydney, she was boating in a small skiff on Sydney Cove, that delightful little bay in Sydney Harbor, overlooked by Go- vernment House; and to the shores of which the Botanical gardens slope down. A sudden gust of wind overturned the boat about a hundred yards from the shore, and Charles Edgar, who was strolling in the gardens and saw the dis- aster, at once plunged in to the rescue. The uncle was absolutely powerless to help the struggling girl, as he could not swim, and it was the merest chance that he managed to seize the keel of the over- turned boat and keen himself afloat.
Meanwhile Miss Devereaux, whose clothes kept her afloat for some time, sank, but when she rose again Edgar was at hand and seized the drowning girl. He was a strong swimmer and managed to bring her safely ashore. The occupants of a boat that was some distance away had also noticed the upset, and coming up relieved the uncle from his dangerous position. On recovering from the effects of her immersion the young lady insisted on her preserver accompanying her home,and her uncle, who of course had witnessed the rescue, was equally importunate in that respect. In truth it did not require much per- suasion to induce the young man to go with them, for though Miss Devereaux's toilette was somewhat spoiled by the sea water and her hair disarranged by the same cause, Edgar mentally resolved that he had never before seen so fascinating a lady.
It was no time to argue with the drenched girl and her shivering uncle, and in a few minutes they were being whirled away to the Devereaux mansion in a passing vehicle, the driver of which had been induced by Edgar, on payment of a good fare, to carry them. It is almost superfluous to say that the young lady's father could find no ex- pressions cordial enough to thank the pre- server of his daughter, and he insisted on Edgar promising that henceforth he would look upon the house as his own, and come and go whenever he wished. Such a privilege as this is a dangerous one to give a man when the house con- tains a beautiful and charming woman. It is tantamount to tempting Providence, and holds out a premium to match-mak- ing or heart-breaking, as the case may be.
In this particular instance, the result was that Adeline Devereaux and Charles Edgar fell hopelessly in love with each other. There was really no just cause or impediment why they should not. They were matched in age, in social position, and in wealth. They were both good-looking, healthy and accom- plished, and it almost seemed as if Pro- vidence had thrown them together as suitable partners for life. For some months they forgot the prac- tical side of life in their newly found ----------.
CHAPTER IV. —————— THE FOREST INN. Host English, of the Forest Inn, Macedon, was driven to his wits' end this month of October, in the year 1863.. Never before had so many visitors flocked to the Forest Inn at such a period. And as it was the only hotel in Macedon, or rather, Middle Gully, village, which, by the way, consisted then of a few wood- men's huts, Host English considered it a matter of honor, if not expediency, to provide for the clamorous throng that threw themselves on the hospitality of the sole boniface of the district. Any less experienced provider than the Forest Inn host would scarcely have had the courage to face the situation, for not only had sleeping accommodation to be found for about seventy persons, whom the early approach of spring had attracted
to the Alpine district, when the resources of the house only provided forty sleeping berths, but the keen and bracing air of mountain region had so sharpened and toned up the appetites of the unusual multitude, that the larder of the Forest Inn was fast becoming as bare of food as the "skillion" of a Skibbereen peasant. The guests who were thus gathered were a miscellaneous lot. Side by side with the worn out city merchant, who sought to recruit his health with the pure air of this bracing locality, was the consumptive cleric, who was certainly doing himself more harm than good in taking up his residence in this cold and moist, though invigorating altitude, two thousand feet above sea level. Here was a party of drapers' assistants — vulgarly termed " counter jumpers" — who had wisely decided to leave the bustling, dirty, and foul-aired city behind them for a few days, and for once in the year breathe the pure air of health, in- stead of the study, death-dealing atmos- phere of a city drapers' shop, where the supply of oxygen is scarcely sufficient to give the necessary food to the gas- lights. In another place could be seen a party of "convivials," who, having money and leisure, enough and to spare, were paying one of their many visits to Macedon, to work off the dissipation of Melbourne and prepare themselves for future devotions at the shrine of Bacchus. Sitting in one of the small parlors and apparently on Alpine business bent, were two young men, rather different from the rest of the company. Their dress at once spoke of mountain climbs and researches into nature's fortresses, being very different from the Collins-street suits, that some of the would be mountaineers donned. Their conversation was evidently about the next morning's work, and as they spoke earnestly an opportunity was given to scan their appearance. The one who was just now speaking and whom his companion addressed as Edgar, was a tall and handsome-looking man of about twenty- five years. His face was tanned from exposure to the sun, his eyes a steely grey, yet kindly looking, nose, a cross between a Grecian and a "pug," And his face in general denoted a good disposition and no ordinary degree of intelligence. His mouth was hidden by a rather heavy moustache. His tall, lithe figure spoke plainly as words could do that its pos- sessor was a typical "cornstalk." His companion, though not so tall, was of stouter build and a strikingly hand- some man. In ago he appeared about thirty, whilst his fresh complexion, blue eyes, and easy- going manner spoke the Anglo-Saxon fresh from the motherland. He was in fact a comparative "new chum," having been scarcely a year in Australia. "We cannot do anything this evening, Rennie," spoke Edgar to his companion, pulling out of his vest fob a gold watch, " its nearly six o'clock now so we had bettor reserve ourselves for to-morrow's climbing. From what I hear we shall have no easy task to reach the Camel's Hump." " Yes," languidly replied Rennie, " we should see the "old man" and arrange about our beds." This was a matter not easily settled, but the landlord did his best, and as the young men were prepared to rough it, they didn't grumble at the shake downs they were given. They rose early the following morning eager for their excursion up the mount, and at six o'clock left the hotel on the journey, each carrying a double-barrelled gun. The day was not particularly favorable for a mountain ascent. Dull gray clouds hung on the top of the range, and the southerly wind threatened moist wenther at any moment. Tho tourists decided to first make the ascent of Diogenes — or the Camel's Hump — and a walk of a mile brought them to the edge of the Devil's glen, the deep valley which intervened between them and the peak. Here their troubles began in earnest, as they found it almost impossible to make their way through the jungle of vegetation which impeded them. Sometimes they would walk for fifty or a hundred yards in semi-darkness under underneath the ferns which shrouded the sun. Suddenly one or both of them would dis- appear into one of the narrow ravines which intersected the glen, and which were treacherously covered over with creepers and vegetation which luxuriated on the decaying herbage. Their guns were useless to them, for though wallaby frequently crashed away in front they could not see the animals, and while they heard the flapping of the startled bronze winged pigeon they could not get a shot at them. It was with feelings of heartfelt relief
that they emerged on the easterly side at the foot of the Camel's Hump. With the exception of mimosa and ash trees and a few straggling eucalypti they saw that little vegetation grow on its steep sides. The climb to the summit was a trying one on account of the precipitous slope, but the fine view from the top and the pure bracing air was ample reward for their exertions. It was now approaching mid-day, and sitting under the shade of the govern- ment trigonometrical station which was erected on the highest point, they very soon devoured the lunch brought with them.
CHAPTER V. ——————— THE LURKING FOE. They had been informed that the cliffs and caves on tho top of the peak abounded with wild goats, and after a rest they decided to separate and get a shot at the four-legged game. Edgar soon espied a goat, and fired at it, but was unsuccessful in dropping it. A few moments after the report of the gun, which had echoed and re-echoed. from cliff to cliff died away, a man sud- denly walked out of one of the granite caves and looked intently at the tourist. Crouching behind a rocky ledge he stealthily followed the young sportsman until he was within twenty yards of him. "By Heaven, it is he ?" hissed the man, with a murderous gleam of rage and hate in his eyes. " What foul fiend throws him across my path again. If I had a gun I would shoot him !" As he was thus muttering hoarsely a slight mist began to settle down on the peak "The mountain mist is coming on us," said the revengeful watcher. "It may assist me to my revenge," he ad- ded. As he spoke, a misty fog, so dense that it was impossible to see more than a yard ahead, enveloped the whole upper portion of the Camel's Hump.
"The mountain has put on its cap," residents in the surrounding districts say when this cloudy visitation appears which- frequently renders the whole range in- visible for several days at a time. Travellers thus suddenly caught run no slight danger, for the fog is as bewilder- ing as the darkness of night. To lose one's way may mean exposure and death, whilst a fall from any of the high cliffs, which are numerous on parts of the range, would inevitably be fatal. The man crouching behind the ledge had apparently resolved on what action to take, for he suddenly rose and care- fully groped his way through the blinding and bewildering mist towards the north end of the mount. When he had got far enough he gave a loud cooee, and sank down behind a loose boulder beside him. In a moment the cooee was answered, and he repeated the signal, which seemed to hang upon the whirling fog like the hollow knell of a passing bell. The answering voice gradually ap- proached nearer, and the face of the con- cealed man assumed a look of diabolical ferocity. He had now ceased to return the call, and waited with a painful anxiety he could not conceal. Soon the sound of slowly approaching steps were heard, and a voice that the crouching man listened for said : "Where are you, Rennie ? We must get out of this fog. If we decend a little we may leave it behind us. The question is how are we to get down. I've com- pletely lost my way." "Descend," hissed the lurking enemy, " yes you shall descend. I'll show you the way." The advancing man now neared the rock, and then went beyond it. As he did so the assassin behind it rose with passion-distorted face and followed. The doomed man had not gone half a dozen yards forward when he suddenly stopped, and with a loud cry of terror was in the net of stepping backwards, when he received a violent push behind and was suddenly precipitated into space. As his death shriek rang out on the mist-laden mount, a haggard white-faced man crawled to the edge of the precipice and with gleaming eyes looked into its depth, and far down below he fancied he could see a crushed and shapeless mass that a few moments before had ben a man in the flush and strength of youth. As he looked with fascinated gaze into the abyss, weird shapes seemed to his ex- cited imagination to rise through the fog, and shudderingly he hastily retired from the ill-omened spot. As he rapidly descended the mount he heard the voice of Rennie loudly calling on his Iate comrade. When the murderer had descended about half way, the fog suddenly ceased, and the bright sunlight seemed to reas- sure him. "I cannot leave the body above ground. It would haunt me," he superstitiously muttered. "Pah ; I don't care about seeing it either. My God ! how it must be mangled. Even if it is found the verdict is certain to be "accidental death " through falling over a cliff in a fog. But I would rather it was not found," he added. He sat down for some time on the damp grass and appeared to think deeply. "I will bury it," he muttered, "that is the best thing to do." He then slowly made his way round to the northern end of the mount, to the foot of the stupendous cliff, though it was evident from his agitation that the task he had set himself was a terribly trying one. He trembled as he looked ahead and saw about fifty yards in front, a shapeless, mangled and blood-stained bundle. With difficulty he approached, and almost turned sick at the sight. There was absolutely no resemblance of humanity in the shattered mass before him, and as he looked up the cliff he could see a red streak as far as the fog- line allowed vision to extend which marked the path of the fallen body. A few yards from the corpse he ob- served a gold watch, which had broken loose from the body, and this he secured and put in his coat pocket. He also ex- amined — though with evident repugnance — the dead man's clothes. " How am I to dig a grave ?" he thought, "and what excuse will I have should I be discovered ?'' As he considered, a hellish thought entered his mind. "The wombats will eat it if left here, but the clothes and bones will still re- main. A mammoth wombat has its hole in that scrub, and if I could only get it there it would disappear as effectually as if the earth opened and swallowed it up. Aye, even better, for both wombat and earth will combine in hiding it," he added, with a ghastly smile. He stood irresolute for several minutes, and once he stepped hastily back, for a thin stream of blood was lapping his feet. Then he mustered courage and went to the body. As he touched it, the limp and horrible feeling seemed to fill him with awe, but with a sudden accession of desperate reso- lution he caught the body and, being a powerful man, convoyed the ghastly object over the debris and through the scrub in the direction of the wombat's hole, which was about one hundred yards
distant. His task was a gruesome one, and the crimson trail on the grey granite seemed a record in blood of the crime. On reaching the desired spot he pushed the body down the hole as far as he could, and with a brief, "the wombats will do the rest," hurried back to the cliff to efface whatever traces he could, and also hide the broken gun. An hour afterwards a heavy rain fell and washed away most of the crimson evidences of the tragedy.
CHAPTER VI. THE BRAND OF CAIN. And so Charles Edgar was dead and buried. The strong young man, so full of life and hope, who had joyously left the hospitable inn a few hours previously, was lying a mangled and unrecognisable corpse in a wombat hole in a wild region. He had disappeared off the earth for- ever, as his grave would be a wombat's maw. The man who had given him the fatal push, which impelled him across the border line between life and death, was hurriedly plunging through the dismal recesses of the Devil's Glen, casting frightened looks behind as though a Iegion of devils were following him. Henceforth, like Cain he would be a wanderer on the earth, and like him he would one day cry aloud that his punish- ment was greater than he could bear.
On the top of the mount Ernest Rennie wandered about like a frantic man. He was completely lost ; hoarse with calling on his comrade, and utterly dis- heartened at receiving no reply ; wet to the skin with the drenching mist, ex- haustion was beginning to assert itself, and at length with a last despairing look at the white walls of fog which hemmed him in he wisely decided to seek one of the caves and rest until the cap should be lifted. After much groping he at length dis- covered a largo recess in one of the granite " humps " which jutted up on the summit of the mount, and getting into this with a sinking heart he endeavored to reassure himself with the thought that the fog might only be temporary. Soon a heavy shower of rain fell, but it did not dissipate the mist, and by the increasing darkness Rennie knew that night must be approaching. He looked at his watch, but it had stopped at three o'clock. He was naturally a brave man, and he nerved himself to the task of spending the night, wet, cold and hungry in his desolate cave. Four o'clock the following day the pleasure-seekers at the Forest Inn were startled out of their usual routine by the appearance of a tattered, famished-looking man, who staggered into the large dining- room of the hotel. His gaunt eyes looked eagerly around as he hoarsely asked : " Where is Edgar ?" "Why, it's Mr. Rennie,' spoke Host English. "Bless my soul, sir, what has happened to you ? Mr. Edgar has not returned here, and we have been anxious about you, for the mountain had its 'cap ' on yesterday. But drink this, sir," said the host, pouring out a fulltwo 'nobbler' measure of brandy, " you look really famished." The tattered-looking man gulphed down the stimulant, and then excitedly cried : "Edgar must be lost or dead then. We parted on the top of the mount a few minutes before the mist came on, and I have never seen him since." "Mr. Edgar may be all right," said the host, reassuringly, "he may have got to Rochford, or to Woodend, or to some of the farm-houses around Newham. Of course, it is too late now to send a search party to the mount." "If my comrade has to pass another night on the range it will kill him. One night has broken me down,' said the young man, despairingly. The utter foolishness of attempting a search at night having been impressed on the worried man, he was placed in a bed that had been vacated for him, and a promise given that a search party would scour the ranges on the following day if Edgar had not returned. Next morning the party set out, but it was composed of men whose enthusiasm exceeded their bush experience They scaled the Camel's Hump, and made a minute search of the caves and rocks but they found nothing, and saw nothing to excite their suspicions. By some means they missed a survey search party, which, looking for a missing comrade that day, found ominous signs of sudden death at the foot of the great cliff ; and they returned tired, but sanguine that the lost man had reached some place of safety, and would shortly return. The day after a fresh interest was im- parted to the subject by the appearance of Dutton, chief of the Macedon survey party, calling at the Forest Inn to enquire after one of his men named Marshall, who was missing. " I am sure," he said, " that some one has been killed by falling over the great cliff at the 'Hump.' We have found all the signs of a body having fallen over, and the bloody stains are yet there." This gave a significant turn to the affair, and the aid of the police authorities was invoked to find the missing men Marshall and Edgar. The most minute search was made in the locality, and the police throughout the colonies were furnished with descrip- tions of the missing men, but all to no purpose. Then suspicion fell upon Rennie re- garding Edgar, and though he could not be arrested, as no body was found, he was a marked man, and for a long time actually shadowed by a detective, in the hope that some clue might be found to criminate him. The thought that he was suspected of being the cause of his friend's strange disappearance preyed upon his mind to such an extent that the cheerful, robust man in a few months became morose and emaciated through the undeserved sus- picion. Those who knew him attributed — with the charity usual in such cases — his al- tered appearance to remorse. Thus are the innocent often made to bear the punishment of the guilty.
Novelist.
AN AUSTRALIAN NOVEL, BY IVAN DEXTER.
[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]
THE Mount Macedon Mystery ————— CHAPTER VII.— (Continued.)
——————— The sound of the old lady's voice seemed to reassure the apparent fugitive, and he walked up withoutfurther hesita- tion. His appearance was not calculated to disarm suspicion in the mind of a timid person, but Mountain Mag had long ago ceased to fear anything in the shape of humanity, and was not at all taken aback. The stranger's clothes were almost in shreds— a not unusual circumstance to travellers on the mount. He was bare- headed, and his manner was that of a hunted, panic-stricken creature. He did not appear to be more than thirty years of age, whilst his muscular frame, horny hands and bronzed face showed that he was not unused to muscular toil. As the woman looked at him she saw that the remnant of his clothes were stained in various places with blood, which in some spots was not yet dry. "Have you hurt yourself, my friend ?" she asked, motioning him to sit down on a rough bench in front of the hut, " I see blood on your clothes. " " No," he hurriedly replied, " that is — in fact — I mean to say, I got those stains from a wallaby I shot down in the Glen." " Have you come through the Devil's Glen? If so, I wonder you have any clothes left at all !" questioned the old woman. "Yes, and it's a terrible place. I had to leave the wallaby, as it was as much as I could do to get through the undergrowth myself. " ''Where is your gun?" she suddenly enquired. The question seemed to stagger him, as he did not reply for a minute, and she re- peated it. "I let it fall; into one of these man- traps — a wombat hole. I stumbled into it, dropping the gun, and before I could recover it it had slipped beyond my reach." ''You could dig it out if you knew the spot again," she said. "Oh, it wasn't worth much, so that I shall not go to that trouble. Besides, the animals may carry it away to the end of their hole, and my labor would be in vain." "You are not a stranger to this district by the way you talk," she queried, look- ing searchingly at him. " Oh, yes, I am. This is the first time I have been on the mount, and it will be the last. Strolling here is anything but pleasant. One would require a new suit of clothes every day. " "Are you going to Middle Gully or to Woodend ?" asked Mountain Mag. "To Woodend," and if I don't start at once it will be dark before I get out of this infernal scrub." The old woman hospitably pressed him to have some refreshment, but though he appeared in need of it he promptly de- clined, and at once proceeded on his journey. As he made his way through the inter- lacing branches of the dogwood grove, which surrounded the hut, a bough caught in the already tattered coat and almost pulled it off, he angrily, tore it away, and as he did so Mountain Mag, who was watching him keenly, saw some glittering object fall to the ground. She made her way to the spot, and to her astonishment picked up an apparently
valuable gold watch. With lusty lungs she cooeed after the stranger to restore him the watch, but though the echoes took up the sound, and it reverberated again and again through the mountain silence, causing many a porcine wombat to retreat to its den there was no response. "Well," muttered the lonely Alpine dweller, "I can't follow him. He must have heard me, and if he doesn't like to come back I can't force him. A coat pocket is a queer place to carry such a watch, and when he finds out his loss he will come back I suppose, and I'll keep it fr him." "He seems regular frightened," she continued, "of the mount, and I shouldn't wonder if I never saw him again;" and the old woman resumed her seat at the hut door until the gathering shades of evening lengthened slowly out, and that indescribable sense of loneliness, which the approach of night causes to residents in the Australian bush, impelled her to withdraw inside to the cheerful fire. Even there she could not help thinking of the traveller with his queer manner and appearance, and as she mused sleep asserted its dominion, and the strange solitary woman, fell into a slumber, more secure in that wild region than if she slept in palace surrounded with body- guards and ladies of the bed-chamber.
The traveller with the ragged raiment had scarcely gone a quarter of a mile from the hut in the direction of Woodend, when he turned at a right angle and went slowly forward to the observatory on the western peak of the mount. He distinctly heard the cooee of Moun- tain Mag, but heedless of it continued on his journey. "The old hag wants me back for some- thing," he said, " but she can cooee until she is hoarse. She seemed a little sus- picious of me, and no wonder," he added, looking at his torn and blood-stained garments. "I must contrive to sneak into camp to-night and get a change of clothes. Then I'll decide on future action." A survey camp was pitched beside the newly-built observatory, and in this direction the hunted-looking man was making. Night fell rather suddenly as he neared it, but he knew that in a couple of hours the moon, a few days past "full," would rise and light up the dark mountain." He did not wish to enter the camp until then, and he paced restlessly to and fro waiting for the rising moon. More than once he sat down on a log, but his thoughts— no pleasant ones ap- parently— would not suffer him to rest. He glanced suspiciously around at the various objects, that in his imagination assumed weird shapes. The white skeleton of a blasted gum tree that reared itself between the watcher and the horizon, and was outlined in the orange-colored sky which marked the vanishing spot of the sunken sun, seemed to him to assume new forms, and to be instinct with life, as the kaliedoscopic changes of the background caused new tints to appear on the fiery horizon. The hooting of an owl close by fell upon his startled ears like the moan of some mortal being in his last agony, whilst occasionally a startled wallaby would spring past him, crushing through the dry ferns, and give him a start that would cause the perspiration to break out. "Hang this unearthly place," he mut- tered, "I would give a hundred pounds to be down in one of the villages, but I must get a change first. I'll go nearer the camp and chance being seen, for I can't stand this." He walked cautiously towards the camp until he could see thr blazing fire and hear the voices of the occupants. What a contrast it presented to the silence and solitude he had just en- dured ? As he stopped behind a huge log that a month previously had been a noble tree, one of the inmates of the camp be- gan to sing, "Home Again," and, as the rather melodious voice trembled through the night air the gloomy watcher bitterly said ;
" Home ; aye, some people may talk of a happy home, but I have never known what it meant. To me home has been an accursed place. I have never known a happy moment there, and now," he added, sadly, " I shall nevermore have peace or happiness on earth, or mayhap in the next world eithor — if there in one — but," he fiercely cried, "I have had revenge, long threatened revenge, and I ought to be satisfied." The restless, haunted look of the man did not convey the impression of satisfac- tion, but, on the contrary, spoke of a pur- turbed spirit and a guilty conscience that boded ill for the future. Gradually the cheerful sounds died away from the camp— that human oasis in the desert wild— as one by one the occupants sought early rest in slumber to rise with the morrow's dawn. The watcher, some time after the last sounds had ceased, crept towards a tent, from which no light that night had ap- peared. He reached it unobserved, and opening the canvas door passed inside. In half-an-hour he emerged, carrying a large bundle or swag, and, as the glow of the camp fire fell upon him it showed that his tattered clothes had been ex- changed for a new suit. He went cautiously past the straggling tents, out of the circle of light the blazing fire shed around, and, heading in the direction of Woodend, disappeared in the long amber-light shadows cast by the ris- ing moon.
CHAPTER VII. "MOUNTAIN MAG." "Alone with nature and with nature's God." Almost on the summit of the mount on the southern slope, stood a small bark hut embosomed in a grove of dogwood trees— or rather saplings— for these beautiful growths are as slender and straight as a fishing-rod, with bright red bark and vivid green foliage. In this lonely hut dwelt a strange old woman named Mrs. Argyle, but popu- larly called " Mountain Mag." Little was known about her, but the mere fact of her living in such a strange and almost inaccessible spot made her to some extent famous in the district. She had the honor on one occasion of entertaining vice royalty in her wild though picturesque residence, and the governor's wife (Lady Barkly) was pleased to have a cup of tea with the strange " old woman of the mountain." Once a week she trudged to Woodend or Macedon and laid in her supplies, which she laboriously shouldered to her elevated home. She led an almost solitary life, and the grunt of the wombat, the cooing of the wild pigeon, or the delusive calls of the lyrebird were the chief sounds she heard. Occasionally a passing tourist, a stray sawmill hand, or some of the government survey party would break in upon her lonely life, and to such she was always as hospitable as her resources would al- low. One evening in October, 1863, Moun- tain Mag was sitting at the door of her hut, when the oppressive silence that reigned was broken by a hurried footstep, and looking up, the old woman was startled to see a wild-eyed, haggard-look- ing man breaking through the dogwood grove that hid the hut , and coming rapidly towards her. As his furtive glance fell upon her he stopped suddenly, and was about to turn and retire ap- parently, when she cheerily bade him good-evening.— (To he continued) MM 2
CHAPTER VIII. THE SEARCH. The sun was just throwing its golden beams on the mountain top next morning when the survey camp was astir. The cook was busy at the huge fire at- tending to his camp-oven and brob- dignagian boiler, preparing breakfast for the hungry inmates, when the "chief " said to one of the men : "See if Marshall is in his tent. He was not there at ten o'clock last night." The man addressed went to the tent, and opening the door looked in, but no Marshall met his view. " No, sir ; he is not here," he answered the chief. " I hope he has not met with an acci- dent. If he does not return by dinner- time two of you must go over to 'Diogenes ' and search for him,' replied the leader. The missing man did not appear by the time mentioned, and two of the most ex- pert foresters were dispatched in the direction he had been sent the previous day. It was after nightfall when they returned with the news that no trace of their late comrade could be found. "To-morrow morning if he is not here we must all go and search for him. He
may have fallen over some cliff, or into one of these treacherous glens which are covered over with vegetation. He might be lying in one of those places with a broken Ieg. Next morning at daylight nearly all the party went down into the Devil's Glen in the direction of Mount Diogenes to search for the missing man. They separated in various directions with instructions to meet again on the top of the queer-looking peak. For hours their voices could be heard sounding choked and muffled, as the noise struggled through the dense undergrowth — calling aloud in the hope of attracting their lost comrade's notice. At midday they were all gathered on the top of the "Camel's Hump" after their fruitless search. "Let us examine these caves and the cliffs," said the chief. The men, now exceedingly anxious, dispersed at once, and half-an-hour after a cooee was heard at the northern end, which speedily attracted the party. They found the lender, lying down on the edge of the fearful precipice with which the mount ended in that direction, and pointing with a white face to a small ledge of granite which projected a few feet below. Here, fluttering in the breeze, was a fragment of cloth apparently torn from a coat, and on a jagged point of the rock
the greyish-white granite was marked with a ghastly crimson stain, which meant blood — and what kind of blood it was the fragment of cloth too clearly told. The spot where the men stood was bare, solid granite, and, of course, no footsteps were visible. "Boys," said the leader to the agitated men, " the day Marshall was here one of the mountain fogs suddenly came on, and, I fear, what is left of him we shall find at the bottom of this precipice," and as he finished speaking he pointed shudderingly below. These survey men were true bush pioneers. They had penetrated into wilds where the feet of white men had never previously trod, and they had scaled the most rugged mountain heights in carrying out their work. They were real bushmen, and without wasting words they gave a last look at the fatal spot, and silently followed their leader down the steep westerly side of the mount to reach the foot of the precipice. It was fully an hour before they got to the desired spot, but no shattered and mangled corpse met their eagor gaze. At the foot of the cliff lay a mound of soft, decayed granite which had crumbled off the face by the action of centuries of frosts, winds and rains. The erosive hand of time had not been idle, for even the eternal granite had felt it. The first glance assured the party that a body of some sort had recently fallen down the cliff where they stood. The soft detritus was disturbed, and in places, was sticky and dark colored as though cemented with blood. Some animal —probably a wombat — had scratched it up in several places as though in quest of the blood. On looking up, the track of the body as it slid down the rock, was plainly dis- cernible by the aid of several ominous crimson stains. It needed no seer to understand their meaning, for they spoke trumpet-tongued to these wondering men of terrible and sudden death. But where was the body ? "Look here !" cried one of the party, stooping to the ground and picking up some small white object at his feet. As his comrades turned to him at the exclamation, he held up before their en- quiring eyes a tooth. "It is a human tooth I am certain, and it has not been here many days, for the blood is still fresh on its root," he said. His comrades took the tooth with reverent hands and closely scanned it, for there was not one present who did not firmly believe he was looking upon a relic of his lost comrade. What can possibly have become of the body ? they asked each other, enquir- ingly. " There are no wild beasts about here," one of them said at last, " that would de- vour the corpse, except wombats, and it is impossible to suppose these animals would cause such a total disappearance in
a couple of days. They would not eat the clothes or the watch he wore, and some of the bones would be left," he added, with a shudder at the idea of the fearful death and gruesome burial. ''Perhaps the watch may have fallen out of his pocket and rolled away," sug- gested the leader. A minute search was at once made, but no trace of any article belonging to the missing man was found. One of the party, some little distance from the rest, was looking intently at the ground in front of him. Beckoning to the leader, he pointed to the object which had rivetted his attention, and there in the soft debris was a deep, plain impression of a man's boot quite recently made, and leading down in the direction of the Devil's Glen. "Some person has been here, most likely discovored the body, and has had it removed," he said. The experienced chief looked fixedly at the footprint as he answered, ab- stractedly :
" He could not possibly have fallen such a distance and escaped instant death. Pooh! tho idea is ridiculous. It might be that some tourist, or, I should say, party of tourists, have accidently dis- covered the body and removed it to Middle Gully. If so we will soon find it out.'' Then, as if an idea had suddenly oc- curred to him, he said : "Let us make sure in this matter, Bill," — calling to one of the men — "Go back to the camp and bring me a pair of Marshall's working boots. He has a couple of pair of the same make." The man instantly departed, and being thoroughly acquainted with the rough stretch of country intervening, returned in about three hours with the boots— the very pair, in fact, that Marshall had worn on the day he visited the trigonometrical station, on the Camel's Hump, and which he changed when he entered the camp two nights previously. "Give me the right boot?' said the chief, as he took it and carefully placed it over the impression.
It fitted perfectly, and the identity was established beyond doubt by the fact that three of the large hob-nails which were wanting in the boot were also absent in the footprint. "Alive or dead," spoke the leader, solemnly, " Marshall's boot made that impression. He may have been here be- fore he ascended the mount, or mayhap some unfortunate pleasure-seeker has met his death here, whose body has been discovored by our missing comrade and taken to the ' Gully," where he has had to await the inquest, and been unable to communicate with us. It is useless to re- main here longer. We will get back to camp, and in the morning I will go to Middle Gully, and you, Ratcliffe, to Woodend and make enquiries." The party, after taking a last look at the spot which seemed to possess a mysterious and facinating influence for them, descended the remaining portion of the mount and plunged into the gloomy depths of the Devil's Glen. The road they took back to camp led them directly past the solitary hut of Mountain Mag, whom they found with her sole companion, a fine collie, eating her frugal evening meal at the rough bench near the door. They stopped, as was their wont, to speak to the old woman, and during the conversation shetold them of the meet- ing she had a couple of evenings pre- viously with the excited looking and tat- tered stranger, not even forgetting the finding of the watch. This she brought out and showed them, and on examining it the leader found that the maker's name was "Delaney, Dublin," and the number "14,321." She described the man as he appeared to her, but none of the party seemed to recognise the description as applicable to any of their acquaintances. "Did he come from the Camel's Hump ?" was asked her. "He came from that direction, and he said he had come through the 'Glen.' There was blood on his clothes which he told me was from a wallaby be had shot,
but left behind, and that he had lost his gun in a wombat hole into which he had stumbled," answered the old woman. The men glanced at each other in a puzzled way, and then bidding Mountain Mag good-night soon regained the camp. That evening they were too tired and anxious to pass the time in singing or storytelling, and before long the usually cheerful camp was hushed in deepest silence.
CHAPTER IX.
ADELINE DEVEREAUX. The news of Charles Edgar's strange and inexplicable disappearance came as a thunderclap on his affianced wife. For weeks she treated the matter more as a jest than sober fact. It was a ruse on his part, she fondly thought, to give her a pleasurable surprise, and his friend Ernest Rennie was a party to the inno- cent deception. But time rolled on and her hopes be- gan to give way to grave anxiety. It was getting beyund a joke, she whispered to herself, and then the black thought would obtrude itself that something terrible had happened to her lover. Gradually vague rumors reached her that a suspicion of foul ploy rested on Rennie, and the horrible idea almost drove her mad. Then Charles' father decided to visit Melbourne and if possible return with his son, and though agitated by unaccount- able fears she rested more content when she knew that Mr. Edgar was as anxious for his son's recovery as she was. His return alone, and the bearer of such ominous news, was almost a death blow to her. Something terrible had un- doubtedly happened. The bloodstains down the cliff, on the top of which he had been previously seen, and the mark at the bottom told her fore- boding heart that, nothing but death could have kept Edgar from her side. But if an accident why could not the body be found. Nothing but human agency could have removed it to a place of concealment, and what object but a sinister one could any person have in hid- ing the corpse. It could not be the desire of plunder, for if a thief found the remains he would rifle them without un- dertaking the gruesome task of removing the shattered body. It must then be murder, and who would slay her darling ? He had never offended any human being, so far as she knew. She had certainly heard him talk in a sad voice, of an elder brother who had taken an insane dislike to him and threatened direful vengeance, but he had long ago fled away to America. Perhaps Rennie had seen him fall over the cliff, and fearful of being blamed for his death, had most foolishily made away with the evidence. She could not bring herself to believe that the cheerful, candid-looking young man who was so fond of her lover would maliciously take his life without any possible motive. The very thought was sinful. Broken down by the dreadful anxiety, and the unsatisfactory and dismal sur- mises, the young girl would soon have been on a sick bed had not an event happened, which for a time, changed the current of her thoughts, and absorbed all , her attention. This was the unexpected death of her father, who, at the comparatively early age of fifty- two, was suddenly striken into the grave by heart disease. With the exception of her uncle, whom she scarcely ever saw, her father was the only relative she possessed, and his death left her practically alone in tho world. Within six months she had lost her father and her promised husband, but such is the constitution of the human mind that while one of these grief com- ing alone would have prostrated her, the two, reacted on each other, and left her calm and resolved. She was sole heiress to her father's
wealth, and, being of age, without the slightest restrictions on her actions. She had now but one object in life, and that was to find her missing lover, or trace his fate. Her father's business had been looked after for some years by a confidential manager, and she decided to give him still more power, for he was a thoroughly trustworty man— and pay a lengthened visit to Victoria, and personally search for Charles Edgar. With a girl of her temperament, to de- cide was to act, and though Mr. and Mrs. Edgar wished her to remain with them, as they were now childless, she firmly declined, and on the very day that had been fixed for her wedding, she sailed from Sydney Harbor in one of the Mail boats, bound for the capital of the Southern colony. Her course of action was not very clear. . She had obtained all the information she could in Sydney, and had carefully read the press accounts of the disappear- ance.
In those, the young lady saw that a man named Marshall had been lost at the same time and in the same place as Edgar, and this greatly puzzled her. The more she thought over the newspaper details — which, as generally happens, were bewildering from their different statements — the more confused her mind became. She resolved first of all to see the detective who had charge of the case, and secondly to interview Rennie, whom she know had taken up a farm on the Cam- paspe, as he had written to Sydney ac- quainting Mr. Edgar of the fact, and asking him to address any letters he might send to the Woodend Post Office. As soon as possible after her arrival in Melbourne she visited the detective office, and asked to see the officer who had charge of the case. The Inspector, to whom she had a letter of introduction, received her kindly, and told her she would not be able to see Lynx, who had the case in hand, until next day, as he was out of town. Looking compassionately at her, for he knew her sad history, from Mr. Edgar, he stated that up to the present they had not been able to obtain any trace that was worth following up, of the missing man. "I really cannot make it out," he went on. "Although there were signs that in- dicated that a body had fallen over the cliff, it seems incredible that it should disappear so completely. Besides, if an accident happened, there was no earthly reason why anyone should try to sur- round; it with an air of mystery. Are you aware?" he questioned, looking at her narrowly, " if Charles Edgar had any enemies, or— you will pardon me for say- ing it— any rivals?" She looked up with a slight flush on her paleface. "I do not think Mr. Edgar had a single enemy in the world, nor, so far as I am aware, did he have a rival Indeed, I have never even received the addresses of any other gentleman." Then, after a pause, the added, tremu- lously:— (To be Continued) M M 3 .
CHAPTER X. THE FREE SELECTOR. Victorian legislators as a rule do not stand high in the estimation of the more thoughtful portion of the community. Occasionally a demagogue rises who with glib promises to the masses attains a temporary popularity not warranted by the Acts he places on the Statute Book, but taking our Houses of Parliament in General their members have done much to deserve the respect of the people. Assuredly one of the most beneficial steps that was ever taken to ensure the prosperity of Victoria was the system of free land selection, which was inaugu- rated in the "sixties." Like every other innovation its first principles, crude as they necessarily were, may have aided to swell the already large estates which the act was intended to prevent, but the general result of the new departure has been to settle on the land a sturdy yeomanry— which, we are told, is the backbone of a country. Judging by the history of France this is true, for the policy which aims at mak- ing each man his own landlord tends to soIve the great problem, exemplified in the Irish Question, of national quietude. If the axiom that an Englishman's home is his castle be true, how much more forcibly may it be applied to the man who owns the fee simple of the soil surrounding his house. Such ownership produces a sense of in- dependance which cannot fail to raise the standard of mankind in the country which allows such an opportunity to its inhabitants. The whining tone, the crouching gait- and general marks of grovelling subser- vience typical of the semi-paupers in the
old land, who scarcely own the rags which cover them, and who, if not par- tially supported by the parish, are pen- sioners of noblemen or other landed magnates, is noticeably absent in coun- tries that allow the many, and not the few to possess the land. Nothing is perfect of course in this im- perfect world, but with all their faults the Australian Land Acts have done much to ensure the future stability and prosperity of this great continent, which, like the rising sun, is now beginning to throw a few straggling beams on the hori- zon of history, lighting it up with the rosy tints of dawn, and foreshadowing the dazzling effulgence which will mark the meridian of Australia's progress. Amongst the foremost to take advan- tage of the first land act was Rennie. Since the mysterious disappearance of his tourist companion, Edgar, with its tragical surroundings, he had remained in Melbourne, shunned by his few ac- quaintances, and feeling that he was sus- pected of knowing more than he cared to divulge of the fate of his late com- rade. The missing man's father had come over from Sydney to seek for his son, and he had offered a reward of £1000 for his dis- covery alive or dead. It was in vain, for though numerous search parties eager to obtain the reward scoured the mountain ranges, not the slightest trace could be found, and after a stay of three months in Melbourne, the disconsolate father returned to his lonely and stricken home.
He had several interviews with Rennie during his visit, and though his mind was clouded with suspicion against him at first, his sinister thoughts were gradually removed, and he left the young man with the full conviction that he was perfectly innocent of any part in his son's disappearance. Rennie solemnly assured him that he would make it his life's task to lift the shadow that had thus suddenly fallen across their lives, and darkened the future of both, and with this assurance the old man departed, feeling that as long as Rennie lived no effort would be spared to solve the strange pro- blem. During the first rush of land selection it was not necessary to go far inland for a suitable area, and Rennie had a bewilder- ing choice of good lots. The stigma of guilt, however, which was attached to him by his fellow men, and which the newspapers gave wide publicity to by many insinuations, made him to some extent a misan- thrope. His gregarious instincts had, for the time,been effaced by the ruthless hand of the slanderer and the false judgment his fellow men had formed of him, and he decided to withdraw as much as possible from the world, that is, as much as would be consonant with his desire to unravel the mystery of Charles Edgar. The mountain peaks of Macedon and Diogenes posssessed a fascination for him, and he felt uneasy when out of sight of these towering land marks. His quest for land, combined with his desire to avoid the busy haunts of men, led his footsteps into the heart of the Black Forest, and about ten miles from Macedon, and in full view of the mounts, at the source of the Campaspe river, he decided to settle The locality at that time was indescrib- ably wild. Immense trees grew so thickly that in some places the beams of the sun never penetrated. In spots, patches had been cleared away by the great whirlwind of fire on Black Thursday, which ravaged the cele- brated forest. Choppy ranges and narrow valleys serrated the country like the teeth of a saw, and left out small tracks of flat land. The soil was, however, excel- lent. The wood cutter and the saw-miller had begun their work of subduing the forest on different sides of Rennie's selec- tion, but some miles from him. Towards Woodend the timber was being rapidly sent to Melbourne, whilst the mining districts of Blackwood and Daylesford were gradually extending their clearings into the primeval woods. To-day the black forest exists but as a legend and the scene of many strange ad- ventures, yet thirty years ago the axe had scarcely touched it ; so do we progress in this young and vigorous land. The head of the Campaspe, which, rising in the heart of the forest, flows through the fertile districts of Carlsrhue, Kyneton, past Bendigo, and over the northern plains of Elmore and Rochester into the Murray at Echuca, was a roman- tic and beautiful spot. Starting from a clear spring it in a short distance is augmented to a peren- nial stream. Flowing over a rocky bed the water is so crystal like that the small black fish, with which it abounds, can be plainly seen swimming around at a depth of five or six feet, while the tiny — so called trout — float, visible like amber specs, at even a greater depth. In a distance of five miles from the source there are no less than four water- falls of surpassing loveliness. At these places the solid rock has by some means been scooped out, probably by the washing away of soft strata, and the never-ceasing action of the water has caused the most curious and gro- tesque formations. Some of them rise out of their liquid bed statue like, as horrible and repel- lant as Chinese Gods, whilst others as- sume the shape of different birds and animals. In one instance, a magnificent rock, about ten feet high, exactly resembles a petrified Kangaroo, whilst another is the verisimilitude of a gigantic squatting duck ; indeed, a small zoological collection in stone could be made here. Strange hollows and bore holes are worn in the solid rock, some of them saucer shaped, and others perfectly round and apparently bottomless. These are filled with the crystal water, and teem with small fish. It would be a paradise for the eel, but these serpent like fish are not found in any river north of the Dividing Range , After running over the vast table rock where the natural museum of curiosities is placed, the bright water falls over a ledge of rocks a distance of about fifteen feet, sparkling like diamonds, into a still pool below, which numerous wild fowls make their haunts as abundant food is found, and the solemn quietness of the spot makes it still more acceptable. The banks are lined with the wild rasp- berry, over which the wattle tree bends, and towering above all, those grand old Titans of the forest — the eucalypti — throw out their protecting arms, the whole forming a picture of river beauty seldom equalled and never excelled. The first ten miles of the Campaspe in a succession of scenes like this, after which a remarkable change for the worse takes place when it runs through settle- ment, and it becomes a prosaic and muddy beaten course. From near Bendigo
to its estuary it is an uninviting and un- romantic channel. The river may be taken as an emblem of human life. Starting out with the purity, quiet and innocence of childhood and romance of youth, which looks at the world with the bright, though delusive eyes of Hope. Contact with the reality speedily works a change for the worse. The innocence and peace of childhood dis- appears before the sin and storms of the world, and the purity of our youth is supplanted by the turgid passions of our more mature age. Tho glowing anticipations — the castles in the air — of our early years, fade away and leave nothing but the dull and spirit- less thoughts — the " might have beens," of declining age, and we glide into the grave to mix our dust with generations who have gone before us, and who started out on the river of life with the same bright promise. Human life has many similes. Rennie had some difficulty in pursuad- ing himself to settle down in the wild and lonely paradise he had selected for his home. Used to cheerful company, and brought up in a city, it required no slight wrench to former habits to bury himself in his hermit like retreat. He was a comparative novice to bush life, but when he finally determined to become a free selector on the Campaspe, he went into the work with vigor. Employing a few experienced bush- men, they soon cleared a few acres and built a substantial log house, after which they fenced in the ground, and Earnest Rennie had fairly joined the army of small settlers who were fast over-running the colony. He had seven hundred pounds and ex- pectations from Home, so that he was in an immeasurably better position than most other selectors, who took up land with scarcely enough capital to pay the survey fees, and who for years after toiled like galley slaves in abject poverty in what was frequently a vain attempt to obtain the fee simple of the ground. Men like Rennie who had capital ulti- mately bought out such struggling people, and increased their original small hold- ings to dimensions which were ample to combine grazing with agricultural pur- suits. Within twelve months of Rennie's settlement at the head of the Campaspe, nearly the whole of the land along the river had been pegged put and applied for by various people, so that the pioneer soon had neighbours who frequently broke in upon the privacy of his wild retreat.
CHAPTER XI. ——————— RENNIE'S HOME. It was a rough journey through a wild country which Miss Deverenux had to travel in order to reach Rennie's new home. The sound of crashing trees falling before the woodman's axe broke upon the ear, and in every direction the remains of stately eucalypti, with a small portion only, of the trunk taken away for use, were lying around. The waste of fine timber was almost be- yond conception, and it induced a bitter Nemesis soon after; for the vast quantity of fallen timber, when it became dry, took fire, and swept away many homes and the fruits of much labor. Although distant from Woodend only seven miles, it occupied fully two hours to reach Rennie's clearing. There was no road, save the tracks made by the wood carters which led nowhere in particular, and the steep ranges were not easily sur- mounted. It was mid-day when they reached their destination, and as they stopped for a moment on the top of a high range, overlooking the head of the Campaspe, Miss Devereaux was surprised to see the change that had boon wrought on Rennie's selection. A space of fully a hundred acres had been cleared during the short time the occupant had been in possession, and a number of men with teams of bullocks were still busily engaged in the work. A rough, though substantial house stood on a slight eminence in the middle of the clearing, and several other smaller erections were visible a short distance further on. Towards the main building the driver went, and as they neared it a thoughtful, sad-eyed man came out to meet them with a cordial welcome. As he looked at the lady his face grew a shadw paler, for he at once recognised her as Miss Devereaux, though she ap- peared years older than the eight months since he had seen her would warrant. He easily guessed the reason. "Mr. Rennie," she said, leaping out of the vehicle, "I am glad to see you again," and she went towards him with extended hand. Her kind greeting reassured him, for he had expected reproachful glances and bitter words from the girl whose lover he was the means of bringing to Victoria away from her side. "I am sincerely glad to see you, Miss Devereaux. If I had known of your in- tended visit I would have met you at the station and brought you over. It is a rough road." With all his old grace he invited her inside, and she found the interior much more comfortable than she expected. "I have two married men working for me," he explained. "Their wives and families live in yonder cottages, and the women look after my poor house and do the cooking. So you see I am not such a hermit as you might think." Just then one of the women came into the room, and Rennie introduced her as Mrs. Affleck, and requested her to wait on Miss Devereaux while she remained with them. The young lady expressed her intention of returning to Woodend during the course of the afternoon, but Rennie begged her not to go until, at least, the following day. " We can make you quite comfortable here, I assure you," he urged, "and you will find a few days' change in the bush quite a relief from the bustle and worry of city life. Besides, you must be tired out." She was not anxious to leave, and was easily persuaded to remain. Mrs. Affleck was a good, motherly woman, and Adeline was soon quite at home with her. After changing her dress and partaking of a plain but wholesome meal, Miss Devereaux accepted Rennie's invitation to view the clearing operations. Backed up with the needful money, the young selector had certainly worked wonders in the primeval forest, and was rapidly making a comfortable home. As they walked around, the thought which was uppermost in their minds found vent. "My dear friend," Rennie said, turn- ing to the young girl, and speaking in a low voice. "I know you have come to this colony in search of your promised husband, and my best friend, Charles Edgar. "His strange disappearance has thrown
a shadow over both our lives. I know it has been a fearful blow to you, and to me it seems like a awful dream, from which I shall awake and find that I have been indeed dreaming, and see you and Charles Edgar passing through life hand in hand together. I have been almost hunted from my fellow-men by a foul and unjust suspicion, but I felt rewarded to-day for all I have suffered when you clasped my hand and I read in your face my inno- cence proclaimed there." "Never for one moment," sym- pathetically answered the young girl," "did I think you were to blame for Charley's disappearance. I know that you had a genuine affection for him, and if I can read character at all, I believe you would not stoop to a mean and ignoble action, much less to embrue your hands in innocent blood. "No. Mr. Rennie, do not let us ever talk of such an absurd suspicion. But as we are both interested — deeply interested — I claim your help in clearing the mystery up. As sure as the sun shines in the heavens, if a foul crime has been committed, justice, though tardy, will overtake the criminal, and if not, we must only trust in an over-ruling Pro- vidence to show us light where now all is darkness. I, have dedicated my life to that one purpose, and I shall never rest content until I know the fate of Charles Edgar." She spoke in such a determined voice that her companion could not help looking at her. The flashing eyes and heaving breast bore eloquent testimony to the excite- ment under which she labored. " Our mission in life is the same," an- swered the young man, "for I have made a vow never to miss an opportunity of lifting the dark veil which enshrouds the fate of Mr. Edgar. " Possessed with that idea," he went on, " I could not live out of sight of the last place I saw my friend. There," and he pointed in an easterly direction, as the shuddering girl looked, "is the Camel's Hump, the second peak from here. On that ill-fated mount I stood with your affianced husband not quite a year ago, when the fatal mist came on and hid him from view. Strangely as he vanished, I yet believe I shall hear of him again, and every scrap of information that I can ob- tain from pioneers of the mount I treasure up for future use. I have been told of a strange old woman who lives alone in the wildest part of these ranges, and I in- tend to visit her shortly and see if she can furnish me with any clue." " It was stated in the papers that an- other man named Marshall, a member of a survey party, was lost on that fatal peak the same day as Charles. Did you see a third person on the summit?" she asked, "No ; and we rested for an hour under the landmark or trigonometrical station which this man was sent to inspect. I do not think he could have been on the mount when we were, because at first there was no fog, and the area is so small that we must have met. Besides, a few minutes before the fog enveloped us, Edgar fired at a goat, and the discharge of the gun reverberated amongst the rocks with a noise like thunder, which must surely have attracted attention in that lonely spot." Talking in this manner about the lost one they both loved so dearly, the young people slowly returned to the house. They both felt happier, for they had opened their hearts and shared their sor- rows and their hopes with each other. They were both of the same purpose, re- garding their future action towards the missing man. The power of human sympathy is as- tonishing, for that evening Adeline Devereaux and Ernest Rennie, conscious of a mutual sympathy with each other's griefs, passed the hours far happier than they had done since the young man spent that terrible night alone in the damp cave on the "Camel's Hump." Adeline told him anything of interest that had transpired in Sydney, and Rennie was deeply affected as he pic- tured to himself the childless couple at Parramatta, who, instead of receiving the blessings of happiness in their old age, were tottering to the grave under an afflicting load of sorrow — the first born driven from the door like a pariah, and the fate of the younger wrapped in a dark and impenetrable pall of mystery. It was nearly midnight — a rather late hour for bush settlers — when Miss Devereaux retired with Mrs. Affleck, and as she lay in bed thinking over the events of the day, she felt, with a slight thrill of pleasure, that she was not quite alone in the world so long as Ernest Rennie lived. For the first time in many months she fell into a peaceful and refreshing slumber, undisturbed by dreams of dizzy precipices or murdered men, and when she awoke the sun was brightly streaming through the window, and the sounds of life outside told her that the curtain of another day was lifted, and the human actors were about to play their parts.
CHAPTER XII.
THE SOLITARY DIGGER.
Our goldfields are responsible for many rapid fortunes, and for innumerable de- pleted pockets. Fortunes's wheel turned in these auriferous districts very rapidly, but though there were many great prizes, attached thereto, the blanks bore an un- due proportion to the winning tickets. The few gained while the many lost.
Assuredly the most erratic and frolic- some of Fortune's pranks were played on the Berlin and Moliagul gold-fields. In these places enormous fortunes were made by a single stroke of the pick. While thousands toiled without getting a "color" a lucky digger would stumble, over an anthill and lay bear a 30lb. nug- get. Four newchum Chinamen went out the first morning on the Moliagul field and laid bare the enormous slab of pure gold named the "Moliagul Lump," supposed to have been the largest nugget ever
discovered. It is only supposition, how- ever, for the Chinese, frightened at los- ing such a fortune, at one sweep cut the yellow mass into four pieces, and obtain- ing the aid of a fellow, countryman, who could speak "pidgeon" English, sold the gold to a bank at Inglewood. The interpreter was as cunning as Brete Harte's heathen however, and di- vided the gross proceeds by five instead of four, a lapse from the laws of meum and tuum which got him into trouble. Other adventurers on these rich but patchy fields were not so soon enabled to return to their native land as these Chinese, but the finding of large nuggets was of frequent occurrence, and many diggers suddenly acquired a competence for life.
If a nugget were not found, probably a thin reef, which was frequently a streak of gold would be discovered, and the pauper of to-day would become the Crœsus of to-morrow. It was a life of hope and excitement, and suited the wild spirits who were gathered there during the "sixties." For some months in the year 1866, a solitary miner had laboured on the Moliagul field in quest of a buried for- tune, which apparently he could not find. His habits were reserved, so that he had few acquaintances and no friends, but in those days people did not trouble themselves much about their neighbours' affairs, nor seek to pry into one's his- tory. The gold-field was a great "Liberty Hall " where he who came could sit above or below the salt as he pleased. There was no one to say him nay. The morose stranger often visited the shanty, some quarter of a mile off, which did duty as a general store, haberdashery and chemist's shop, in addition to retail- ing the fire water, which dogs the steps of the Anglo-Saxon and Celt all over the globe. Although going ostensibly for provi- sions, he invariably visited the rough bar and drank deeply of the vile spirit re- tailed there. Even in his cups he made no friends, and gradually residents on the field began to shun him, for if he did not want their company they were per- fectly independent of his. The ground he worked was shallow, and he was thus able to carry on opera- tions alone. This he did at all hours. Often he would idle during the day and
make up for the spell at night, and thus he carried on his desultory labor. It was one Spring evening in the latter end of September that he walked from his tent towards the little claim, carry- ing his lantern, for he meant to put in a night shift. He was a rather tall and good-looking man, though his face was marred by a peculiar shifting, restless look in the eyes, His large, though bony frame, showed that with a less trying life he would be portly, but roughing it on the diggings, or carrying a swag twenty or thirty miles a day under a burning sun,
are not the best methods of putting on fat. The shaft was not more than seven feet deep, and was evidently bottomed, for the owner had begun driving. After resting for a few minutes he lighted the primitive lantern he carried — a candle stuck in the neck of a half brandy bottle — as darkness was fast set- ting in, and descended. He had taken the wash out for some distance around, and apparently with un- satisfactory results, for he muttered some- thing about "having another try at the duffer." He soon got to work, and in a few hours had a lot of washdirt at the bottom of the hole ready to raise to the sur- face. He was sitting on an upturned bucket, smoking contentedly, preparatory to raising the dirt, when his eyes caught a glitter on one side of the drive, which reflected back the feeble rays of the candle. "A spec, I suppose," he said, as in a stooping posture he made his way to the object. He touched it with his finger, expect- it to come away, but it did not stir,, and in fact showed a greater area of reflec- tion. Then, rather excitedly, he tried to dis- lodge the gold, for such he at once saw it was, but it resisted his efforts. He scraped the wash away from it with his fingers, but the process was slow, and perspiring with anticipation he moved back and got the pick with which he soon cleared the dirt away, revealing and im- mense nugget. It was fully eighty pounds in weight, and, trembling with excitement, he carried it to the bottom of the shaft, where he sat gloating over it. "Now I can end this accursed life and take my place in society where I ought to be," the solitary digger said. "I might as well be a beast as to live like this, but what can a man do in a city without money." Then he picked up the nugget and held it in his two hands trying to test the weight. " It's worth three or four thousand pounds, I am certain," he muttered. . Looking upward he hastily turned and blew out the light, fearful that prying eyes might detect his treasure and rob him of it. Taking a large coat which he had brought with him, he carefully wrapped it up and with difficulty ascended the steps in the side of the hole which did duty for a ladder. " The other things can stop there, I shall not require them again. But per- haps there may be another find below. I must look," he added, as he descended
with his precious load. Relighting the candle and seizing the pick he groped around, searching the sides, the top and the bottom of the wash, but no treasure met his eye. Wisely, considering that he should be content with what ho had, the lucky digger again clambered to the surface, and with many a glance around conveyed the gold to his tent, where he mounted guard over it, not daring to sleep for fear it should disappear. Many people cannot slumber because they lack gold, whilst others who have a superbundance of the precious metal in vain woo "nature's sweet restorer." There were plenty of gold-buyers on the field, and during the day the digger, carefully disguising the nugget, conveyed it to one of them. It turned the scale at nine hundred ounces, and the solitary
digger left the buyers presence with £3500 odd. " It is not exactly a fortune," he murmured, "but when I spend it I can look out for more. "The same un- thrifty spirit animated many other diggers in those days." After that the strange digger was not again seen on the field, and residents began to talk. "I wonder what's become of the bad tempered chap that had this claim. I have'nt seen him for about a fortnight," said a miner named Duggan to his mate as they were passing the claim lately vacated by the lucky digger. " I suppose he's made his fortune and gone away to spend it," was the satirical though, unwittingly, truthful answer. "There may have been a 'cave in,' " suggested Duggan. "Let's go down and see." They descended the shallow hole, but there was no "cave in." The pick, shovel, bucket and piece of candle were at the bottom, which was rather un- usual. " He must think we're an honest lot round here," said one of the men. "He means to turn up again at any rate," replied the other, as they climbed out and went away. But the solitary and morose digger was
after the foregoing conversation his pro- longed absence aroused a suspicion that he might be ill in his tent, which he had left standing, but on a search being made it was found to be empty, and the interior showed that its owner had taken what he wanted and left the district. The police took possession of the tent and what effects were left, and a few days later from what the gold buyer told them they concluded that the property be- longed to the man who had found the big nugget — the discovery of which had only leaked out a few days previously — and that he would not return to claim Moliagul had given up another of its prizes in fortune's lottery, and the win- ner — like an absentee landlord — had gone away to bestow the fruits on and swell the wealth of another place.
CHAPTER XII. THE SUN WILL RISE AGAIN TO-MORROW. The days passed swiftly to Miss Devereaux in the new life she led in the wild Black Forest on Rennie's selec- tion. The visit of a day had lengthened into a week, and still she was loth to go, and her young host was most importunate in his requests for her to remain. " If you will do me the favor to stay for another week I will go to Melbourne with you," he said. " I have a slight clue, of perhaps no importance, that I wish to give the detectives, and if it does nothing else it may spur them on to re- newed exertions." He gave the girl an evasive answer as to what the clue was, for if there was any truth in the story he heard it pointed to fact that Charles Edgar must have been murdered. It was only a tap-room yarn. In talk- ing with one of his original employes about the affair which had created such a sensation, the old fellow, who was fond of his grog when near a shanty, recollected that about the time it happened, a weary- looking, restless man came into the bar of the Hanging Rock hotel, near Woodend, and indulged very freely in whisky. It was not long before he got drunk, and be- gan to behave like a madman. The land- lord tried to quieten him, but his ap- proaches were met in the most bellicose manner. After a time the drunken fellow sud- denly calmed down, and going towards the peacemaker, looked fixedly at him for a few moments, and then slowly said, with a strangely wild glitter in his eyes. "Look here, you scoundrel. If you dare to cross me in my purpose I will fling you over a cliff as I did my enemy yester- day ; aye, down, down to hell I'll send you." — (To be continued) M M 4
Novelist
AN AUSTRALIAN NOVEL, BY IVAN DEXTER. ————
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
THE Mount Macedon Mystery CHAPTER XIV.— (Continued.)
It was still there and only a few feet away, but the murky gloom did not allow of its being clearly seen. Cautiously the young warehouseman inserted the stick and pushed it slowly
towards the object, after first making sure that his retreat was open. "The beast must be asleep," he mut- tered, as he felt the stick touch it and no movement followed. Encouraged by this inertia, he gave a more vigorous poke, and started back, for a movement certainly took place. He evidently expected a rush, but none took place, and he ventured to look in again. The animal was still there, and em- boldened by its evident disinclination to come out he made another attack on it. This time a suspicion began to fill his mind that the guide might be right after all, and the wish being father to the thought might have induced him to think that it was the wombat he was trying to outline in the darkness. As he felt the object again he became convinced that it was not a living animal, but a stone he was seeking to dislodge, for it felt hard and sounded sharply when struck. He therefore tried to pull it towards him. As he drew the stick back he could feel it coming to him, and when he looked in again it was almost at the mouth of the excavation. As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom they fixed on the mysterious object with a rigid stare, and for a full minute he remained on his hands and knees like one petrified. "What the devil are you looking at, Bruce ?" asked one of his companions. " You look as frightened as if Old Nick himself was there." The young man thus spoken to stood up and hastily clambered out of the ex- cavation. His face was white and his whole appearance that of a man who had suddenly and unexpectedly met with an unpleasant and startling sight. " Why, man, you have'nt seen a ghost surely ?" spoke one of the party, as he jumped down to the mouth of the hole. As he peered in an equally startled look crept over his face, and in a few moments he rejoined his comrades, who had surrounded Bruce. "It's a human skull," the latter was telling the awe-struck youths. "You must be mistaken," was the reply. "I've no doubt it's the skull of a dead wombat, or perhaps a wallaby that has been dragged into the hole." " Go and look for yourself," rejoined Bruce, and the man who had just re- turned from the opening, added : " Yes, you'll soon be satisfied on the point. It's a human skull — man or woman — as certain as we stand here." The man addressed slowly descended to the hole, and there in front of him lay the grinning skull. Death must be pleasant, someone has said, because it always grins, but there was no pleasantry revealed in that hideous mask thus strangely brought to light in that wild and unfrequented spot. Resting there in its weird grave, the mocking mouth, and sockets vacant of their eyes, it seemed to the startled man to be again sentient, with life and tel- ling the story of its queer abode. His comrades were bending over him, and after repeated requests from them, he put his hand into the hole and shud- deringly lifted out the repulsive relic of mortal humanity. The wondering group of men looked upon it with almost superstitious feel- ings. A human skull under ordinary cir- cumstances is not very awe-inspiring, but this skull must have an extraordinary history attached to it. How did it get there? To whom did it belong? Per- haps it was a dead and mute witness of a foul murder, or mayhap some weary pilgrim along life's highway had volun- tarily laid down his load and shortened the journey with his own hand. Then it might belong to a tourist like themselves, who, wandering through the undergrowth, had stumbled into the wombat hole, and, being seriously in- jured, had either died of starvation or been attacked and killed by the wom- bats. Stories had been told of these animals attacking men, and it was well known that a child had been carried off by them on the north side of Mount Mace- don. As one of the men looked up at the tremendous cliff, the face of which glistened in the setting sun, a momentary idea struck him that a fall over it might account for the presence of the human
relic, but it seemed so improbable that the thought immediately passed away. These and a hundred other conjectures passed through the minds of the silent group, and for several minutes no one spoke. Their eyes rested questionly on the impassive skull as though adjuring it like the ghost in Hamlet to "unfold its tale," but its sphynx-like immobility revealed nothing. Perhaps this is the skull of an aboriginal who has died here and been buried in the wombat-hole," suggested one of the men. It sounded feasable enough, but it did not elucidate the mystery, and as they still wondered, the guide said : "We must be getting away from here, unless you wish to camp here all night. We have only about two hours of day light, and we could never pass through the Glen in the dark. The prospect of a night in that wild eerie spot was not to the taste of the party, and, forgetting all about the object of their search, they were hurriedly gather- ing their tools together, when the guide said : "We had better conceal the pick and shovels here until to-morrow, as this hole must be searched for further traces of the bones which should belong to the skull. Several of my friends will join in the search if you are agreeable, and there is no need to bring these awkward tools to the hotel and back again." The young men at once fell in with the suggestion, for now that they had gone so far, they were eager to probe the mystery to the bottom. Securely planting the tools, they made their way back to the Forest Inn.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE WOMBAT QUEST.
That half-brother to the Badger — the wombat — has always been a favourite hunting pursuit of city excursionists to the wild haunts of the animal. Times innumerable large parties of en-
thusiastic young men, armed with pick and spade, have essayed the task of cap- turing these strange underground dwel- lers on the mountain sides, but rarely have they succeeded in their design. The subterranean homes of the animal are among the marvels of brute ingenuity and industry. Their extent is hardly conceivable, and the regular method on which they are planned worthy of the highest admiration. The main entrance pierces the side of the hill in a slanting direction, and from this chief drive others branch of. Fre- quently jumps up are put in, and two or even three levels are made. Sometimes half-a-dozen outlets or entrances, as may be required, are made, and some of these are generally concealed. Attempts have been to smoke out the wombat, and the smoke has been seen to issue from outlets a quarter of a mile from the hole where the fire was kindled.
Indeed, it is almost impossible to dig or smoke out the animals, and the ruse of lying in wait until night time to shoot the occupants when they issue for food is generally fruitless of result, for they have a keen scent and smell danger afar. If they conserve no other useful pur- pose in nature they at least afford op- portunities at holiday times to the soft- handed clerks and others of city life to perform a little unusual, and for that reason, temporarily attractive, manual labor, in attempts to dig them out. It was Christmas time, two years after the disappearance of Edgar, that Host
English's hotel, the Forest Inn, was again crowded with tourists to the moun- tain heights, A jolly party was the half dozen young men from a large warehouse in Flinders Lane, who had come with the intention of roughing it in the bush for a week, and bear back to their less fortunate comrades the trophies and spoils which would fall to their prowess in the sylvan and alpine excursions. They had almost pledged their reputations that one of these trophies would be a wombat either dead or alive. This magnificent summer morning, drinking in the soft and cool breezes of that high altitude, the party of young men stood outside the hotel ready for their expedition. They had enlisted the services of one of the residents who was well acquainted with the ranges and who promised to show them the lair of a patriachal wom- bat that had successfully defied all previous attempts at capture. Armed with a miscellaneous collection of weapons, including picks, shovels and an axe, and not forgetting a liberal supply of provisions, amongst which, several bottles of British were conspicuous, the attacking army, with its artillery park and commissariat train, moved on, headed by its guide, in the direction of the Devil's Glen. The rugged and densely vegetated nature of the country soon broke up the ranks of the invaders, and it was a dis- orderly and ragged crowd that after two
hours scrambling and stumbling stood at the mouth of the wombat hole under the frowning cliffs of the Camel's Hump. Much needed refreshment was par- taken of, and inspired by an heroic resolve and beer, one of the party actually volunteered to creep down the hole backwards, let the animal seize his jack-boot, and then he would pull him out clinging to it. His comrades thought this would be an excellent substitute for badger baiting and urged him on, but a slight recon- naisance of the wombat's stronghold caused him to alter his idea of thus easily effecting a capture. One of the party rolled a large stone into tho hole, and it rumbled away, ap- parently into the bowels of the earth, and an answering growl was sent back which told that the subterranean denizen was at home. This sound inspired the young men, and with pick and spade they set to work with a will. The earth was a soft, rich, choco- late colored soil and very easily remov- able, so that rapid progress was made, and in the course of an hour the perspir- ing and nearly exhausted party had ex- cavated a considerable length along the drive, but they appeared to be no nearer the occupant. Ominous blisters were also appearing on the hands, unused to such toil, of the diggers, and a rest for refreshments was decided on. With renewed vigor they shortly set upon their task again, and worked des- perately, for it would be unbearable to return without the promised wombat and endure the jeers and chaff of their fellow workers in the warehouse. At every few feet of the drive they laid bare observations were taken to see if the animal was yet in sight. It was on the last of these occasions that Bruce, one of the most enthusiastic of the party, who was peering into the dark recess of the huge burrow, suddenly came out. "I see him ! I see him !" Instantly all was excitement. Their efforts were about to be crowned with suc- cess, and one after another crowded to look at the fugitive beast which they, in the full sense of the word, had run to earth. "I don't think that's the wombat," said the more experienced guide, us he looked at the object. " It shines too much. It must be a stone or a knob of wood."
The hunters did not think so, however, and set to work vigiorously to unearth the object of their labours. Gradually they excavated towards the place, and Bruce, arming himself with a stick, got down to test the distance from the animal.— (To be continued.) MM 5
CHAPTER XV.
THE SKELETON.
"Where's your wombat, boys ?" asked the smiling host. "Here," replied Bruce, who had taken possession of the ghastly relic by virtue of first discovery, suddenly uncovering the skull, which, with its everlasting grin,
seemed to regard the matter — probably from the frights it caused— in the light of a good joke. "Where on earth did you get that ?" inquired the alarmed innkeeper. "Dug it out of a wombat-hole at the foot of the Camel's Hump," was the laconic answer. "Ah," said English, thoughtfully, "this discovery requires sifting thoroughly. It would be as well if you gave information to the police at once, for some light on past events may re- sult." Have you any theory regarding the skull ?" asked Bruce. " Yes, a couple of years ago two men mysteriously disappeared in this locality. They were last seen on the Camel's Hump, and no trace has been found of them since, with the exception of blood stains on the great cliff. It was thought at the time that during a thick mist which enveloped the peak, they might have accidentatly walked over the preci- pice ; but the absence of the bodies ren- dered all attempts at discovery a failure, although every possible effort was made to throw light on the mystery." " I read something about it in the papers," replied Bruce. With this information regarding the events of two years previous, which most of the party now recollected reading in the metropolitan newspapers, Bruce sought out the one policeman, stationed at Middle Gully, and placed the skull in his possession, after recounting the man- ner in which it had been found. The constable arranged for a large party to proceed to the spot on the follow- ing day, and during the evening tele- graphed to Melbourne for the detective who had charge of the Edgar and Marshall disappearance cases. With the first train next morning De- tective Lynx arrived, and a considerable number of visitors and residents made their way to the wombat-hole to search for further remains. For several hours the party labored, and at length they came to a recess in the drive — evidently one of the sleeping places of the animal — where they found rib-bones partly gnawed and also a thigh bone. Thus encouraged they still excavated, and soon it was apparent that they were reaching the living occupant of the bur- row. Deep growls and grunts were plainly heard, and a small terrier that "bearded the lion in his den," came out more rapidly than it entered, and with every mark of fear. In another half hour they saw the eyes of the wombat gleaming through the darkness like fiery coals, and at the sug- gestion of an old resident it was decided to shoot it, for, said he : "If the darned thing starts burrowing it may get away from us faster than we can follow." The advice was sound, and Bruce, acting upon it, put a charge of swan shot between the two gleaming eyes. A short struggle and scraping followed, and it was evident the shot had done its work. Still the diggers toiled, and it was nearly five o'clock before they came to the dead body of a wombat of unusually large size, and evidently, from the greyhairs — or bristles— which thickly studded the tawny hide, of great age. Lifting it out, they found the drive, ended in that direction, and a chamber of some size had been scooped out. This was the regular sleeping and din- ing place of the animal — its bed-chamber and dining-room. Scattered about were the bones of various animals, for a wom- bat has the appetite of a pig. It is herbivorous, gramnivorous, or carnivor- ous as occasion demands. It is, in fact, omnivorous, for all is fish that comes to its net. The experienced eye of the detective at once discovered the bones they were searching for. With the exception of the very smallest bones, the missing parts of the skeleton they were in search of were found and carefully wrapped up. Considerable difficulty was experienced in gathering up the bones, as they were nearly all broken in various places. The party then made a close search along the route of the excavation to see if any branches from the main hole existed where another skeleton might be concealed, but none were discovered. After the detective had made a rigid scrutiny of the granite cliff, and measured the distance between the spot where the blood stains had been found at the base and the mouth of the late wombat-hole, the party gathered together and slowly made their way back to Middle Gully, carrying with them in a bag the inert bones that once were as capable of loco- motion as the most robust amongst them. The detective took charge of them, and, arriving at the village, accompanied McDouough, the constable, to his
residence to obtain the skull and have tea with him. Unlocking a small cupboard, the police- man took out the skull and handed it to his friend. It was in an exceedingly good state of preservation probably through its having been protected from wind and weather. The detective looked at it intently, as though he wished to read its secret. Then taking a small parcel from his pocket he unrolled it slowly, revealing a tooth. "Look here, McDonough," he said. "This skull has a remarkably fine set of teeth. Many a swell dude or fine lady would envy it their possession if they saw them, but one is missing, and I think I can supply the want." Then carefully taking up the bony head he placed the tooth in the solitary gap in the jaws, and it fitted exactly. "You see, this tooth is similar to its fellows in the jaw," he remarked to the interested constable. "I have no doubt it belongs to the head, and it may furnish an important clue to the identification of the skeleton. This tooth was found at the foot of the Camel's Hump Cliff two years ago, as you may remember, when Edgar, the tourist, and Marshall, the survey man, disappeared. It is most probable that the remains belong to one of these men. But which?" he musingly added, "that's the point. The fact of the bones being so fractured is also evidence that death resulted from a fearful fall." " But how did the body get into the wombat-hole?" inquired M'Donough. "The wombat could not possibly have dragged it there, big though it was, and it could not have been taken piece-meal ; the search parties were at the place where the tooth was found within twenty-four hours after the men disap- peared." "If we had found two skeletons instead of one," returned Lynx, apparently un- heeding his companion's questions, " the mystery would have been much clearer, but as it is I don't like the appearance of the case." "But you don't suppose," was the reply, "that Marshall and Edgar would have both walked over the cliff at the same time and at the same spot, and have been dragged away by the same wombat. If they were both accidentally killed dur- ing the mist one of the bodies may have fallen in another place, and the skeleton be now in another hole." " But only one spot showed traces of a fall over the cliff," the detective answered, " and it is altogether improbable that there was a double accident at the same time, unless the two men were together and clutched each other on the edge of the precipice when they suddenly stepped over. That would be my solution if two bodies were found, but as it is," he added, with a shrug, "I really cannot unravel the skein." " Time reveals all things," sagely spoke M'Donough. "But what is the good to us if half a century hence the secret is laid bare. Another generation will get the credit, and they will look back upon us as stupid officers who hadn't enough sense to know when we were hungry." " Come now, Lynx," good humoredly retorted McDonough, "we have sense enough to know that we are hungry now, and tea is waiting us. Why should we worry ourselves about a matter that doesn't concern us much, when one of the most interested parties philosophically grins at our troubles," he added, pointing to the skull which rested on the table. "I wish to God it could speak," fer- vently ejaculated the business-like de-
tective. After a hearty repast — for their appe- tites were not at all disturbed, but rather whetted by the discovery of the skeleton — the two officers strolled over to the Forest Inn, and obtained what little further information the party of ware- housemen could give them as to the find- ing of the skull. Half-an-hour later the detective bade McDonough good-bye, and was being whirled away to Melbourne in the night express, bearing with him a parcel care- fully wrapped up, and which contained the ghastly trophies recovered from the wombat-hole. "Now," he mused, as he reclined luxuriously in the empty first-class com- partment, "this discovery opens up again the case of the missing men Edgar and Marshall. One of them is no longer missing;" he went on, glancing at the package, " he is there, but which of them is it ? There wasn't the slightest sign of anything in the wombat-hole that would lead to identification — not a rag of clothes, or paper. No sign of money or jewellery, nor, in fact, of anything. I will pay an- other visit to the place in a day or two, and search it again. A crowd is always a hindrance to a good search, perhaps the body was naked when placed in the hole, for I begin to think that nothing short of human intelligence could so successfully have obliterated all traces of the body which fell over the cliff." He puffed away for some time at a cigar, and then suddenly exclaimed : "Ah ! I was nearly forgetting the dis- covery of the man's footprint, which was found close to where this tooth was picked up."— and as he spoke he tapped his vest pocket — "That footprint was proved to have been Marshall's, and could only have been a day or two old at the time, as it was not obliterated by the rain that fell. Now, if Marshall is alive, what could have been his object in disappear- ing. That puzzles me. He could have no motive in placing Edgar's body in the hole if he found it, and, so far as I see, could have no possible motive in commit- ting murder. According to the survey men he was not a bad sort of fellow, but I must try and find out something more about him. No one seemed to know anything about his antecedents when he disappeared, but I'll try it again. If I don't try I won't know." Thus puzzling himself over the case en- trusted to him, Melbourne was reached, and the detective hurried away to give in his report to his superior officer. Next day the metropolitan press had a full account, detailing the strange finding of the mysterious skeleton, and though an inquest was held, no light was thrown upon its identity. The venerable wombat that had been done to death in its lair was a source of considerable curiosity when brought to town by the successful party of ware- housemen. The intercolonial and country papers copied the news from their Melbourne contemporaries, and, after the lapse of two years, the mystery of the mount was again revived.
CHAPTER XVI.
PHILLIP SIMPSON.
If in olden times all roads led to Rome, it is no less certain that Victorian history shows that all roads in this colony lead to Melbourne.
After the first great rushes to the gold- fields this was especially the case, and the money spent in the metropolis by success- ful diggers has done much to build up the great city. There is no need to repeat here how fortunes were spent in a few weeks in the gilded man-traps of Melbourne, which yawned to receive the lucky and foolish digger. Such things have been worn thread-bare by repetition. On the principle of "easy come, easy go," it was only to be expected that the simple pigeons would be pounced upon by watchful hawks, but taking all things into consideration, the history of these excited times proves that far more honesty and fair dealing was abroad than the many temptations which existed would lead one to believe. With less cause, San Francisco was in- finitely worse in this respect than the capital of Victoria, so that Melbournites have cause to look with some pride on the early history of their city. Of course, if any man with more money than sense wished to enter upon the downward course of dissipation he could find in Melbourne every opportunity of doing so, and many companions who would help him on the Avernian road. If he did not wish to act the prodigal he would find life and property as secure as in the most orderly city of the British Empire, and this fact undoubtedly in- fluenced many wealthy persons to permanently reside in the city, and ex- panded it in so rapid a manner." The Moliagal digger evidently took this latter view of life, and, instead of squan- dering his money in the drinking hells and other disreputable places, he took quiet and respectable lodgings in a ter- race in Nicholson-street, opposite the present Exhibition building. His liking for the tap-room and the whisky bottle had suddenly left him, and he walked in the path of rigid morality. Phillip Simpson was the name he gave the landlady, and, after a brief acquaint- ance, that good woman vowed her new lodger was the best she ever had. "He is no trouble, my dear," she con- fidentially informed a lady friend. " He never grumbles at his food ; his bed al- ways suits him, and I am sure," she added in a deep whisper, " he has plenty of money, because he thinks as little of a sovereign as I would of a shilling." " Is he a professional man ?" asked the
visitor. " I don't know ; he doesn't speak much, and when he does he avoids mention of himself." "There is a mystery about him, then. It must be charming to have a boarder who has a secret to conceal," she added, with a laugh, though not without a touch of malice, for she, too, kept a boarding- house, and had been unfortunate with her lodgers. "I don't know whether he has a secret or not, and I don't pry into my lodger's affairs. All I can say is that Mr. Simpson is a very nice man," replied the landlady, bridling up. Mr. Simpson, the "very nice man," was certainly widely different from the morose, solitary, and ill-tempered digger of Moliagul. Yet so it was. The leopard had changed his spots — the transforma- tion was complete. What had wrought the alteration could only have been the gold. The lucre, which debases some natures, had ap- parently elevated this one, and trans- formed the uncouth and brutal pauper into the polished and refined gentle- man. Mr. Simpson was also fond of society — another phase of character from that pre- sented at Moliagul, where he lived like a hermit. Society in those days was not very exclusive — that is, if the very highest and very limited circle be excepted — and the polite Mr. Simpson was soon wel- comed in many houses. His manner certainly entitled him to the invitations he received, and it was whispered that his wealth was much greater than he cared to let people know. He was not a boastful man, but what little he said, he did and, with a faculty for multiplication which did their arith- metical training credit, his acquaintances increased his banking account at least tenfold. Where he came from, or what he was — though it was generally under- stood he was a lucky digger — few people cared to ask. It was sufficient that he had money, and conducted himself like a gentleman. On a certain evening, about three months after he took up his abode in Melbourne, Mr. Simpson was invited to a rather select gathering at the house of a friend in Hotham-street, East Mel bourne. He had accepted the invitation, for he made it a point of never refusing one if he could help it. His landlady had re- marked that he never spent an evening at home, but passed them in society. It was nine o'clock when he reached his friend's house, and most of the guests were assembled. . His host, Mr. Evelyn, introduced him to those he did not know, and this rugged digger, of a few months ago, settled down to his enjoyment with the easy grace of a well-bred gentleman. Half-an-hour after his entry Mr. Evelyn approached and said : "Two friends of mine have just ar- rived, and I think they are strangers to you. Let me have tho pleasure of intro- ducing you." " I shall be most pleased," he answered ; and the two crossed the room to where a lady was seated, and a gentleman stand- ing at her side. " Miss Devereaux, my friend Mr. Simpson; Mr. Rennie, allow me to intro- duce Mr. Simpson." The young lady bowed, and formality ended ; the four entered into conversation on common-place subjects. In a few minutes Evelyn hurried away to receive other guests who were enter- ing, and the conversation flagged for a time. Neither Adeline Devereaux or Ernest Rennie felt in much humor for talking, and, indeed, they both looked as if they would rather be away from the gay scene. Simpson felt it rather irksome doing all the talk, and on the first opportunity, with a polite salute, he left them. "I would much rather I had not come, Mr. Rennie," the girl said, "but I could not refuse the kind invitation of my dear father's old friend." "I hope you will benefit by your acceptance, for you know that "all work and no play' and so on is not good for any one. You must not worry yourself too much with the sad business we have in hand," he said, anxiously. With forced gaiety he rallied the girl into having a dance, after which the Miss Evelyns carried her away and monopolised her for some time. She was seated conversing with the eldest daughter, when Mr. Simpson ap- proached and took the vacant chair be- side her, upon which Miss Evelyn re- tired.— (To be Continued) MM 6
AN AUSTRALIAN NOVEL, BY —————
IVAN DEXTER.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. —————— THE Mount Macedon Mystery CHAPTER XVI.—(Continued.)
"You do not seem to be enjoying yourself to-night Miss Devereaux," spoke the gentleman. "I must confess I am not very chee-r ful. Perhaps I am home-sick,' she re- plied with a laugh. "You do not reside in Melbourne, then?" "No. Sydney is my home, but I have spent a good deal of time in Melbourne of late." "Sydney, " he repeated, with a more
interested look. "I suppose you were brought up there ?" " Yes. I never left the city until about a year ago when I came here, so that I have not seen much of the world. I sup- pose you have travelled a great deal, Mr. Simpson?" " Well, no ; I have not been much of a wanderer. I believe in the maxim that a rolling stone gathers no moss," he re- plied, with a laugh. "I hope you have found the maxims also been true," she answered. xperienced " I have no reason to complain. Talkched to the ing of Sydney,' he went on, 'I hav deep leads been there two or three times myself o visits, and I think it a charming place." as that in "Yes, no doubt its surroundings a have been pretty, but," she added almost uncond in some consciously, "happiness comes fro was taken within, not from without." stance, the "You are quite right in that stat Now, we ment," he chimed in. They talked for some time in th at leads of manner, the conversation frequently ppy Valley, curring to Sydney. New South Suddenly the girl looked at him a lower end said : been sadly " Mr. Simpson, you are having a jo number of at my expense. From what you say, importance gather you know more about Sydn nt on them, than I do, who have been born and rear d at times. there." "Indeed you are mistaken," he a that those swered hastily, with a startled look th iew besides puzzled her, " it is chiefly hearsay tha d. Old 44 am repeating to you." early days, "Did you know the Edgar family w ry doubtful , lived at Parramatta," she pointedly ask turn of 1oz. him, looking straight into his face. He turned ghastly pale, and witl the ground. violent effort at control said : ent through " I did not know anyone of that nahe manager in Sydney." wash crushed "Pardon me for asking if you knCreek, where anyone of that name in other parts. shed. Some am anxious to find a person of t ased yield of name." conclusively "I really don't think I do," he repl with a well assumed effort to recollec gold at the such a name was amongst his list of only worked quaintances, " but when my memoryagement. I\aSer refreshed I may be able to oblige you, returns were if so I will let you know." He seemed a little fidgetty after this, and when Rennie came up a few moments after, he left the girl's side. . " You have been having a long talk with Simpson," remarked the young man to her, with a touch of jealousy in his voice. "Yes, we have been talking about Sydney. Mr. Simpson appears to know a great deal about that city, but, strange to say, he doesn't want other people to believe he knows anything." ''Some whim of his probably. He can have no reason for wishing to conceal his knowledge of Sydney surely." " I should think not," replied the girl, " but his manner was quite strange when I asked him if he knew the Edgar family. In fact, he looked frightened." ''Perhaps, my dear Miss Devereaux, if you will allow me to say so, you imagined that he was startled. The sad events connected with the Edgars have made a deep impression on your mind." The girl did not reply, but her look plainly said that she still held her own opinion in the matter. Simpson was standing near a small group at the other end of the room, when he was roused from his usual air of listlessness by over-hearing a voice say : "Yes, Steadman, it was a surprise. To see a human skull grinning at you in- stead of the expected wombat was a staggerer, and in such a wild and lonely spot, too." "I suppose you cleared away from the hole pretty quickly Bruce ?" "I was too surpriscd to move. I know what being "rooted to the ground " means now." The listener slowly approached the group, as if impelled by some invisible power. "I wonder if they will ever find out who the skeleton was when in the flesh?" asked the gentleman called Stead- man. " It seems to be pretty well agreed that it is the remains of a tourist named Edgar, who disappeared from the summit of the ' Camel's Hump ' over two years ago. Some people say that it is probably
the skeleton of Marshall, a survey man, who was lost at the same time at the same place. There is a terrible precipice near the spot, and it is surmised that during a heavy mist they walked over it." "But how did the body get into the wombat-hole?" "That's the puzzler in connection with the affair. There are those who hint at foul play. "It was a queer grave anyhow, and gives me the 'creeps' to think of it. The wombat must have devoured the flesh and then made playthings of the bones." "Oh, let us change the subject, Stead- man, to something more cheerful," one of the party said, as they moved away. "Are you ill, Simpson ?" said Mr. Evelyn, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder. "My good man, you look dreadful," he continued, in alarm. " Come with me and have a glass of brandy. I didn't know you were subject to such attacks." Simpson's face was ghastly. His body shook with agitation, and a sweat had broken out on his forehead. "I have a slight affection of the heart," he faintly answered. "It comes on me sometimes, but I shall be all right in a few minutes." He swallowed the brandy his host of- fered, and soon after — declining the bed that Mr Evelyn urged him to take under his roof — he got a cab and was driven to his residence. Declining the landlady's offer of supper, he passed on to his bedroom, leaving the good woman wondering at his early re- turn and his altered manner. "Something has upset him," she re- marked. "Perhaps his sweetheart has refused him." The contemplation of this stupendous calamity quite unnerved her, and she was forced to seek consolation in a gentle stimulant, Simpson lighted his lamp, and carefully locked the door. "On those cursed gold-fields," he mut- tered, "one never sees a newspaper. The chatter of those fellows gave me a shock — it was so unexpected. I don't think anybody except Evelyn noticed me though. I must hunt up the papers and read the full account of the discovery," he continued. "If the body had only been left where it fell everything would have been right, and accidental death, the verdict ; but now— ah, well, we shall see." Unlocking the door, he went down- stairs and asked the landlady if she had any brandy or spirits of any kind in the house, as he felt unwell. Sympathising with him, she quickly got a decanter of brandy, which he carried to his room, and from that night out she observed that the abstemious Mr. Simp- son evidently partook of something stronger than tea or coffee, or even lemonade or claret to induce the rolling and erratic gait with which he frequently returned to his lodgings. Indeed, on some occasions he never re- turned at all for two or three days at a time, but as he paid all the same it was none of her business, though she often sighed at the probability of "another good man going wrong." Yes ! A cloud had settled down upon "There is no doubt," continued the de- tective, "that the remains are those of the body that fell over the cliff. Of that I am certain , but I am absolutely in the dark as to which of the missing men— Marshall or Edgar— it belongs to. There are no traces that give a clue to the identification. "Had we not better go to the place and make a further search in the neighbor- hood?" queried the young man. "That is just my intention. I am going to morrow, and I would be glad to have your company." So it was agreed on, and that evening the two men went into Woodend and so that they could reach the mount early. Whilst there Rennie sent a telegram to Miss Devereaux, asking her to come to Melbourne, for he felt that an important discovery had been made which would lead to important results. At daylight the following day the two anxious seekers set out for the mount. The ascent on the north side is a steep and difficult one, but the to the two strong young men it was a mere bagatelle. The route they were taking led them very near to "Mountain Mag's" hut, and Rennie suggested a visit to the lonely Alpine dweller. "Perhaps the strange old woman may be able to tell us something that may assist. She is always here, and is the most likely person to know the secrets of the mount," he said. The detective readily agreed, and in half-an-hour they were at the abode of the old woman. She was as usual sitting outside in solitary state when the men appeared, and she greeted them as calmly as if they were expected visitors. 'Good morning, mother!" cheerily spoke the detective. "You are as lonely here as Crusoe was; but if you were monarch of all you survey your domain would be a pretty large one," he added, glancing around at the magnificent and far-reaching panorama which lay beneath them. "I am quite content with the small clearing that I have made about my quiet home," she answered.
" I suppose it is seldom you see people about here ?" asked Lynx. "With the exception of the survey men I don't see a human being up here once in a month, and then it is generally one of the saw-mill hands." "There are a good many of these em- ployed about here, sending logs down the 'shoots ' and tramways I believe." ques- tioned the officer. "They are mostly on the other side of the mount facing Woodend, and they generally live at the foot of the range around Saxon's and Barbour's mills.' " Do they work on the Camel's Hump timber getting?' was the next question. 'Oh, no IV she laughed, "there is no good timber there, and if there was it would not be possible to get it, as the Devil's Glen cuts off all practical com- munication." "I have been told that the 'Glen ' it a queer place," said the officer. ''Aye, it is. I have seen men coming out of it with their clothes in tatters, and scratched and bleeding, as if they had been through half-a-dozen briar hedges. I have seen them come from there as terrified as if they had seen the devil himself, whose haunt it is supposed to be. A couple of years ago a queer- looking fellow frightened me by breaking in here late in the afternoon, looking the very picture of misery and fear. "Two years ago?" broke in the de- tective." " Yes. It was on the 13th of October, 186-." "The 13th October!" suddenly ex- claimed Rennie. "Why that was the day—" he stopped abruptly as the old woman looked enquiringly at him. "You have a good memory for dates," the officer said. " Not as a rule, but I have cause to re- member that day, for the man lost a watch as he was leaving here, and I took a note of the date in case he should re- turn." " A watch?" they both exclaimed. " Yes. I will show it to you," replied the old woman, glad to have an oppor- tunity of prolonging the gossip. She returned in a few moments, and took the watch out of a small box in which it was carefully wrapped up. As Rennie looked at it he uttered a startled exclamation : "By heaven !" he cried, ' I believe that is Charles Edgar's watch ;" then checking himself he added, "at least my friend had one similar to it in appear- ance." "Oh ! there are thousands of watches," spoke the detective, "similar in appear- ance. Let me see," (taking the watch and examining it) "Delaney, Dublin. No. 14,321. Did you know the maker and number of Edgar's watch?'' "I did not," answered Ronnie. "I only saw it frequently in his hand, and the appearance of that watch is precisely similar." "Mrs. Argyle," said the detective, turning to Mountain Mag and speaking in a serious tone. " I may as well tell you that I am a detective. My friend and myself are here to-day on business con- nected with the strange disappearance of two men from the Camel's Hump, on the 13th Oct., a couple of years ago — the very day when you saw this excited and blood- stained stranger who lost the watch. You have doubtless heard of the strange oc- currence, and I am sure you will assist us if you can in our efforts to solve this matter. By doing so you will remove a stigma from the innocent and lighten the heart of the loving." The officer produced his credentials, and showed them to the old woman who appeared satisfied. " I am sure I don't know how I can as- sist you," was the reply. "The man was in such a ragged and frightened condi- tion that it would scarcely be possible to identify him again— unless I saw him in the same state." "Did he have a beard?" anxiously asked Rennie. "Yes ; his face was very hairy." "Then it could not have been Edgar, for he only wore a moustache on that day," said the young man. "I will not ask you to give me the watch, now that I have the number and maker's name, unless you choose to do so," the officer said to the old woman. " Take it, by all means, if you think it will assist you in your search. It is not mine, and I do not wish to keep it." "It is yours if the real owner can not be found, and I will give you an acknowledgement for it," the detective said, writing out a receipt, which he handed to her and took the watch. " Let me know if you succeed in your search," she asked, as they were about to depart. " If you address letters to the Woodend Post-office I will get them once a week." " We will certainly let you know all that transpires in this affair, and we are much obliged to you for your willingness to help us." " I don't like mysteries on this mount," the Alpine hermit laughingly said, as she waved them farewell. " I look upon these ranges as my exclusive property, and will not have any dark doings." As the two men disappeared among the dogwood trees, the old woman sat down remarking : "I hope I'll not be dragged into any 'court case ' over that watch. I don't like being mixed up with detectives and judges and all that. I like quietness.a' Rennie and the officer plunged into the gloomy depths of the Devil's Glen in the direction of the " Camel's Hump," and silently made their way through it. They emerged close to the recently excavated wombat-lair, and as Rennie looked up at the terrific cliff which over- shadowed them, he shuddered at the recollection of his awful night on the peak. With reverent feelings, he assisted the detective in his search amongst the debris in the wombat-hole, for he felt that he was disturbing a grave— and that grave probably Charles Edgar's. . They made the most minute examina- tion, and were rewarded by finding a few buttons, which, of course, afforded no clue. In several places they came upon traces of what was evidently decayed cloth, but it was almost reduced to the constituents of the soil in which it was embedded, and quite useless. Seeing that nothing could be found, the detective suggested a visit to the summit of the peak, and Rennie agreed, although he looked anxiously at the firmament to see if he could detect any signs of descending mist. He showed the officer where he and his friend had reclined under the spire which did duty for a landmark, when they were having their al fresco luncheon, and, in- deed, an empty beer bottle still marked the spot. He pointed out the place where they had separated, and where he had seen Charles Edgar for the last time, and together they approached the preci- lice over which the missing man might have fallen. They looked into the dizzy abyss below, but all was still as death, and there was
nothing to denote that a tragedy had even taken place on that peaceful spot. They were resting on the rock behind which the murderer lay concealed on that fatal day, but neither were gifted with the seers' faculty of looking back on the dead Past or forshadowing the dim Future. It is said that murders are sometimes revealed in dreams, and by some curious process of a animal magnetism engraved on the tablet of memory. No such inspiration, however, came to Rennie or his detective companion either in their slumbers or their waking moments. Slowly but laboriously they had to unravel the tangled skein, and as they descended from the mount this thought came to their minds. . "We are making progress, Rennie, but it is very slow. I am now confident of success." " Yes," assented the young man ; " a skeleton has been strangely found, and a watch you have will, I am sure, lead us on. If it be Edgar's watch, he must have been robbed by the wild-looking man Mrs. Argyle saw, for my friend did not wear a beard." "Do you think Miss Devereaux can identify the watch?" " I could not say. Probably she might be able to do so." "If not," answered the detective, " we must advertise in the Sydney papers, for I suppose that is where Edgar would ob- tain it." "He had it with him when he left Sydney I know, so doubtless we may be able to trace it there." The two men returned to Melbourne by the evening train, and, after an interview with the inspector, who looked upon the discovery of the watch as a very im- portant one, it was decided to await Miss Devereaux's arrival in the hope that she might be able to identify it. Two days afterwards she was in the city. Rennie and the officer met her on the steamer's arrival, and briefly ac- quainted her with the discoveries that had been made. She trembled and grew pale as she listened to the account of the finding of the human skeleton. "Oh, God!" she mentally thought ; " what if these bones should be Charlie's. Such a death ! and such a grave !" On being shown the watch she was greatly agitated, and declared it to be Edgar's, but she had no proof that it really was as she did not know the num- ber or the maker. Like Rennie she identified it by the outside appearance only. The cool detective at once saw that it would be necessary to obtain more definite proof, and accordingly the necessary en- quiries were placed in the hands of the Sydney police to make. They had no difficulty in deciding the matter, as one of the leading jewellers in George street on searching his books found that about four years previously he had sold the watch to Charles Edgar, whom he knew personally. "This is one point cleared up," mused the detective. " The watch is Edgar's ; now the question is, who is the man that dropped it ? Unless very much disguised, it could not have been the owner himself. I wonder if he wished to break off his marriage with Miss Devereaux, and adopted this strange and cruel way of doing it. The idea in hardly possible, but stranger things have happened. Then there is the fortune. He may be waiting until she marries, when he will reappear with some make-believe of a story." "Then," he continued, " whose skele- ton have we found ? It may be Marshall's, who disappeared at the same time. I must find out something more about that man if I can. I will hunt up the survey party he worked with." The detective soon found Dutton on applying to the head-office of the survey department, and closely questioned him about his former employee. "He was engaged by me as a temporary hand some six months before he disap- peared, and was working all that time on Macedon and Diogenes," was the chief's reply. " He had evidently been tramp- ing about a good deal before he came to me, but had been well brought up, I judge. for he was educated much beyond his station. He had a rather unstable temper, but did not trouble us much, for he was of a reserved and, indeed, morose disposition. He did his work well, and that was all concerned me. In appearance he was about five feet ten inches, rather stout build, fair complexion, and wore bushy whiskers, moustache and beard— in fact, he did not shave at all." " What effects did he leave behind him in the tent ?" asked Lynx. " I think he left all his things, although some of the men say that a dark tweed suit almost new was missing from the tent." " You never saw him after he was sent to the Camel's Hump ?" "No," replied the surveyor ; " I never saw him after that morning." " Could he have entered the camp and reached his tent during the night without your seeing him ?" "I daresay he could, but I cannot con- ceive any reason for a surreptitious en- trance and disappearance. There was £6 in wages owing to him also, which was a further reason that he would not volun- tarily leave. I believe the poor fellow walked over the cliff on Diogenes and was killed, and doubtless the skeleton you lately discovered there was his." 'Do you think a wombat could have dragged so heavy a body to its hole ?" "No, I do not. Yet, by what other means did it get there ?" "I couldn't say," mused the officer. "When you searched the place a couple of days after the disappearance, did you notice any sign of a body having been dragged away from where you found the blood-stains and the toot?" " I did not," replied the chief. " You are certain the foot-print you found close to the spot was Marshall's?" "Well, it exactly corresponded with Marshall's boot even to the missing three nails." " That is a good proof certainly," said the detective, as he shook hands with Dutton. "The man whom Mountain Mag saw corresponds to a great extent with Marshall, and not all with Edgar," thought Lynx. " The bones must be Edgar's, and Marshall is probably alive. But how did he get the watch ? If he robbed the dead body he would scarcely think of burying the ghastly object. And the body must have been robbed, and very effectually, too. Could it have been murder? My quest is after Marshall," he concluded emphatically, knocking the table in front of him. And thus, as is almost invariably the case, the coils of the web of fate were gradually, but surely, closing in around the murderer of poor Charles Edgar, and the merest accidents and coincidences were destined to unravel the tragic mys- tery that had baffled the long and anxious search of lover and friend and the keen investigations of one of the most astute detectives.— ( To be continued) MM 7
Novelist.
AN AUSTRALIAN NOVEL, BY IVAN DEXTER.
[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]
THE Mount Macedon Mystery CHAPTER XVIII. A RECOGNITION.
Mr Dutton, the leader of one of the Government Survey Parties, and who has been introduced to the reader already, was frequently In Melbourne. The nature of his duties often entailed his presence at head quarters, and on these occasions Mr Dutton, though an excellent officer, deemed it no breach of trust to remain in town as long as he possibly could, and take a little relaxation from the hard life he led in the bush. From the very nature of his work he was a sharp and keen observer. Accustomed to take bearings and fix landmarks with unerring accuracy on the face of nature he insensibly carried the acute perceptive faculty into his dealings with men. After his first scrutiny of a human face he never forgot it. He took in at a glance the landmarks, so to speak, which distinguished it. The salient points were fixed in his memory and brought forth for future use when re- quired. It was during one of those visits to Melbourne that Mr Dutton was carelessly and aimlessly strolling along Elizabeth Street when a man passed him whom the surveyor thought he knew. " Who is that man ?" he asked himself. "I have seen him somewhere, but I really cannot locate him. Now Dutton was almost childishly proud of his ability to recognise faces. "I ought to have been a detective" he would say, and he would not brook the idea of being baffled on this occasion, so he turned and followed the cause of his perplexity along the street. The man turned into an hotel, but Dut- ton calmly waited outside for him deter- mined, even if he had to speak to the stranger, to find out who he was. In a few minutes he reappeared, and the curious watcher had a good view of him, but still he could not recognise him. Following closely after the unsus- picious pedestrian Dutton suddenly ejacu- lated "Jehosaphat ! it can't be him. Yet I could swear to the walk and the build. Yes, the more I look the more certain I am, but I will soon find out." Going closer to the man he suddenly called out. "Marshall?" The pedestrian in front stopped as though he had been shot, and turning quickly around with a scared look was about to any something when he checked himself with an effort, and started to resume his walk. "Why Marshall," said the surveyor, hurrying to his side. " I am delighted to see you again. We all thought you were dead, but the dead is alive again ; the lost has been found." "You", evidently mistake me for some- one else." My name is not Marshall, and I have never been lost so far as I know," the other answered coldly. "Oh, what nonsense. I am a friend, and wish you well. Of course you know me— Dutton— whom you worked with on Mount Macedon. You needn't try to conceal your identity from me, because I am delighted to see you alive and well again." "I am sorry you should be so mis- taken," returned the supposed Marshall politely, though with an effort. This is my name, and I will add my address, so that you can verify what I say if you doubt my word," he added, taking out a pencil and writing on a card, which he handed to Dutton. Then wishing the surveyor good morning he walked on. Dutton stood for a few minutes looking at the card, on which was the name of Phillip Simpson, and the address——— Terrace, Nicholson Street. At last he exclaimed. "I don't care a fig what the fellow's name is now, but it was Marshall when he worked in my camp on Macedon. I don't understand why he should change it." As he thought longer over the mooting his confidence began to desert him. "I may be mistaken after all. There are many people so alike that it is almost impossible to detect the difference, hut why did he answer to the name of Mar- shall when I called, and he appeared so frightened. Yes, it must be him, for I have never been mistaken before." Thus swaying between two opinions Dut- ton decided to call at the detective office and report his suspicions, for if Mar- shall were alive it would be a great step towards clearing up the mystery of the skeleton found in the wombat hole. He waited some time until Lynx came in, and then told him all that had hap- pened in Elisabeth Street. The impassive face of the detective
assumed a more hopeful look as he listened "If this man is really Marshall, and w can prove it the back of our difficulty will be broken, and I can see my way to the end," the officer said. "I have scarcely a doubt as to his identity," answered Dutton. "How do you know him ? He must be changed, and I suppose he has shaved?" " He still wears a beard and moustache, but the whiskers are shaved. I can scarcely tell you how I know him again, but his walk, his form, and his face are quite familiar to me." " Have you any of the men that worked with him still in your camp?" "Yes, they are nearly all with me still. "Perhaps some of them would know him again?'' "It is quite probable. If necessary you can get them to try." "I scarcely know what steps to take first," pursued the officer. " It would be premature to visit his residence at present, but I can easily ascertain if a person named Simpson does live at the address given. If I go to the house he will no doubt give me the same answers that he gave you, and his suspicions being aroused he will be harder to deal with. If you could manage to point him out to me without being recognised I would shadow him, and probably dis- cover something that would help us." ''l can easily disguise myself so that he will not know me again, and accom- pany you in the streets," said Dutton. This plan was agreed on, and after it was ascertained that a Mr Simpson did live at the address given on the card, the detective accompanied Dutton through the streets where it was thought the man they wanted would be found. On the second day they met him, and when Lynx was satisfied he would know him again, Dutton was relieved of his self imposed task. "Lynx was an adept at "shadowing," and his skill stood him in good stead now. Never had he such a difficult job be- fore, for Simpson led him a pretty dance. In hotels and clubs during the day, and private suburban houses in the even- ing, it was one eternal round of monot- onous work. At the end of a week he was about
giving up the "shadowing," idea in des- pair, when an event happened that at once relieved and assisted him. His watching had convinced him that Simpson was a hard drinker — for nearly every night ho reached his home drunk — and that he was exceedingly quarrelsome when in that state. It was eleven o'clock on a Friday night that Simpson was staggering up Elizabeth Street, apparently on his way home, with the detective bringing up tho rear. Dur- ing the day the shadowed one had im- bibed very freely, and consequently the detective was not surprised to see him turn into a low shanty in Little Lonsdale Street. Knowing the character of the place Lynx, a minute afterwards, walked into the shanty and called for a drink, as he wished to see how Simpson acted. There were three or four low looking follows lounging about the bar when he entered, and Simpson, in a noisy man- ner, invited them to have a drink, at the same time taking out of his pocket a num- ber of sovereigns. One drink followed another in rapid succession, and at last Simpson showed signs of leaving. The detective slipped silently out, and stood in the recess of a doorway. In a few moments the drunken man came out and staggered up the dark street. As the officer expected the ruffians who had seen the gold soon followed, and sud- denly surrounding their victim, knocked him down, and coolly proceeded to rob him. With a cry of police Lynx bounded amongst them and seized one of the ring- leaders. Simpson, partly sobered, rose from the ground, and assisted the de- tective to beat off his assailants, which was easily done, as the fellows soon de- camped, leaving one of their number in the strong grasp of the officer, who soon lodged him in the lock-up, leaving Simp- son to get home as best he could. "Now, thought the detective, some- thing will come of this night's work, for the man I have been shadowing will have to give evidence in the case, and as soon as I get him in the witness box he will be asked a question which he must either answer truthfully, or commit. per- jury." Next morning the detective called at the terrace in Nicholson Street, and asked to see Mr Simpson. After waiting some time that gentleman made his appearance, looking considerably the worse for his night's dissipation. "I am glad I was in time to rescue you from those scoundrels who attacked and tried to rob you last night Mr Simpson." "l am very much obliged to you in- deed for your timely help, and I hope you will accept a small reward for the service you did me," he replied, holding out a handful of sovereigns to the officer. "I must decline your liberal offer, as I only did my duty. I am a detective, and it is part of our work to arrest such scoundrels." "Oh, indeed," answered Simpson, turning slightly pale. "Did you arrest any of those men?" "Yes. There is one in custody who is to be brought before the police court to- morrow, when your evidence will be re- quired." "I would much rather the fellows had escaped, for it will do me considerable social injury when it becomes publicly known that I was in such a disreputuble quarter, and rather under the influence of drink. Could I not be left out of the case. I would make it worth anyone's trouble who could arrange that I should not have to appear," he added signi- ficantly. "The case cannot go on without you, so that it is imperative to appear. You would surely not allow a villain like that to escape unpunished." " Well, I certainly do not care to ap- pear, and under the circumstances I am sorry you arrested the man." "Why?" "Because it places me in an ignomini- ous position if I go into the witness box." "I am sorry that it has happened Mr Simpson," the officer hypocritically an- swered, "but I only did my duty, and I must leave you this subpœna to appear to-morrow morning at the city court." As he finished speaking the detective laid the subpœna on the table in front of Simpson, and wishing him good morning left the house . "I'll find out something to-morrow l fancv," he chuckled. "There is some secret about that man which he wishes to hide. His talk about social ignominy is all 'my eye.' He is really afraid he may be asked some awkward questions which he cannot easily answer, and by Jove he will."
Meanwhile Phillip Simpson sat at the table looking at the scrap of blue paper as fixedly as if it had been a death war- rant. After some time buried in deep thought he rose from the seat, and opening the front door went into the street and walked towards town. Entering a shop in Swanston Street he emerged with a strong looking portmanteau, and then directed his steps to the Bank of New South Wales. He remained there for a considerable time, and on coming out hailed a cab, and with the portmanteau drove back to his lodgings. During the afternoon he left the house with the same portmanteau, after telling the landlady he would not be back until late, and taking a cab in Gertrude Street drove towards the city. The dingy city court was crowded the following day, for the newspapers had given wide publicity to the fact that the rich and well-known Mr Simpson had been assaulted and nearly robbed by a gang of ruffians, who were only prevented from effecting their purpose by the timely arrival of Detective Lynx, who had arrested one of the gang. Before the case was called on that officer looked expectantly around for Mr Simpson, but he had not yet arrived, and when it was called on the prosecuting lawyer asked that it might be placed at the bottom of the list until a messenger was despatched for Mr Simpson, who had no doubt mistaken the time. This was at once granted, and Lynx, jumping into a cab, drove, up to Nicholson Street. "No," the landlady answered to his enquiry. Mr Simpson was not at home, and in fact had not been at the house since the previous afternoon. "I believe the fellow has cleared out and foiled me " he groaned, as he drove back. "I am reluctantly compelled to ask your worships to remand this case for seven days, so that you may issue a war- rant to compel the attendance of the wit= ness Simpson, who cannot be found, al- though served with a subpœna," said Lynx, on returning into court. Of course the magistrates had no option but to comply, and great was the surprise when it became known that the police were searching for Phillip Simpson.
CHAPTER XIX.
"MOUNTAIN MAG" FINDS COMPANY AT LAST. Detective Lynx was doomed to disap- pointment in the production of his wit- ness. The most vigorous search failed to discover Simpson, as he had withdrawn a deposit of L3000 from the Bank of New South Wales in gold it was conjectured that he had fled from the colony. For several weeks a remand was granted to allow of his appearance, but at last the magistrates discharged the pri- soner, and the detective saw his scheme hopelessly defeated. He was now perfectly convinced that surveyor Dutton was right in his assertion that Simpson was identical with the miss- ing man Marshall, and he caused a des- cription of him to be sent throughout the various colonies. He seriously debated in his mind what next he should do. He had gained one great advantage by the recent proceed- ings in that the man he wanted could now be arrested for contempt of court. Although he strongly believed that Marshall was privy to Edgar's death— for the officer now felt certain on that point —or at least to the robbery of the body he had no direct evidence to implicate him. At best it was only a suspicion. The statement made to him by Dutton regarding his recognition of Marshall had been kept to himself by the officer, but now he thought it best to acquaint Rennie with the supposed discovery. The latter he found had gone back to his selection, and as the detective felt the trip would do him good he started for Woodend. He found Rennie busily engaged in his farming operations which were now as- suming considerable dimensions. "What have you discovered now ?" asked the young man as he greeted the visitor. "I believe one of the missing men we are in search of is alive," answered Lynx. " Which ?" curtly asked Rennie, with a slight tremor in his voice. "Marshall," but I am not absolutely certain on the point." "Oh," breathed the listener, in a tone which conveyed a strange mixture of pain and relief. "Dutton, the leader of the survey party he worked under on the Mount, met him in Elizabeth Street a few weeks ago and recognised him, although the man strongly disclaimed any acquaintanceship, and said his name was Simpson." " Simpson," repeated Rennie. "Where have I heard that namo. Oh ! I remem- ber, at a friend's house in town— a Mr Evelyn— but of course it would not be the same man." "It might be this Simpson that moved in good society, and did a lot ; of visit- ing." After the detective described him the young farmer exclaimed, "Now that I think of it something queer happened the evening I met Mr Simpson. Miss Devereaux had a long conversation with him, and she told me that his manner was strange. That he appeared to know a great deal about Syd- ney, though he professed to have only visited the city a couple of times, and that when she asked him if he knew the Edgar family he looked quite startled, and left he as soon as possible." "Ah, there may be something in that. Why should he be startled at such a com- mon question ? Who can the man be ? We must find that out somehow. Do you know," continued the detective, lowering his voice, "a suspicion some- times crosses my mind that Marshall may be Reginald Edgar, the disinherited son. There is no proof that he went to America, and it is far more likely that he came to this colony." "I scarcely think such a theory, pro- bable. I never saw the eldest son, as he was away before l arrived in Sydney, but if he were alive it is most likely he would return to his native place in the hope that his father had relented, and surely he would not encompass his brother's death — a man who had never injured him?" "Such a thought is certainly horri- ble," the detective answered, " but there is no accounting for perverse human na- ture. Could you tell me where Miss Devereaux is staying? I would like to, see her, and hear from her own lips all that passed with Simpson." "She is on a visit to her friends — the Evelyns, at Hotham Street, East Mel- bourne, but now you are here you might remain a day or two and have some kan- garoo hunting.'' ''Yes. I can spare a couple of days, and before I go back I will pay a visit to
Mountain Mag, and endeavor to get a more accurate description of the man who dropped the watch." The country around the head of the Campaspe abounded with kangaroos, so that the officer and his friend had ample sport for the ensuing two days. On the third morning the two men— for Rennie decided to vary the monotony by accompanying his friend as far as Macedon — mounted on serviceable cobs, made in the direction of the peak. They left the horses at a farm near the base of the Mount, and climbed towards the abode of "the old woman of the mountain." The sun was at the meridian when they reached it, but no sign of life was visible. The lonely form seated on the rough seat was absent, and the visitors began to think that Mountain Mag had gone on her customary weekly visits to one of the villages, and their journey would be fruit- less. " It's no joke to climb here and find the person we want not at home " said Lynx, wiping the perspiration from his face. "She may be having a noon-day sleep" suggested Rennie. "Yes, she may," acquiesced the detec- tive. "We will soon see," and going to the paling door he knocked rather loudly. There was no response to the repeated summons, and the officer said, "Our old friend is not frightened of being robbed. She goes away and leaves the door unlocked." "There is not much fear of thieves in this quarter, and locking that door would not be a protection if they wished to en- ter " Rennie replied, looking at the frail structure. The knocking caused the door to swing slightly ajar, and as it did so the collie came out, gaunt and famished looking, and sitting on its haunches began to whine piteously. "Why, that dog has not had food for a week " exclaimed both men simultane- ously. "Perhaps the old woman has left here and forgotten the dog," said Rennie. "She was too fond of it to do that. An accident may have happened to her down at the village," replied the other. The dog now ran back into the hut, and then coming to the door looked in such a plaintive manner at the visitors that it almost seemed as if it were taking the place of its absent mistress, and in- viting them to enter. "We might rest here for an hour, and perhaps Mrs Argyle will return, suggested Lynx, seating himself on the bench. This was mutually agreed, and Rennie sat down on the green sward, for his legs were tired after the steep climbing. The action of the dog claimed their at- tention as they sat smoking. It kept run- ning into the hut and back to them, and then it would stand at the door, and with piteous look entreat them to enter. "There is something unusual inside there " said Rennie, rising from the ground "and at the risk of being thought morbidly curious I will investigate.'' The officer did not reply, and the young man went to the door — much to the dog's satisfaction apparently— and looked into the hut. It consisted of two small rooms, one or which was partly screened off by slabs. The natural earth formed the floor. As Rennie peered in his eyes became accustomed to the dull light. The first room was unoccupied, but as he looked into the second, at one side of which the dog was standing, whining, and with its forefeet on the side of what was evidently a rude bedstead, he clearly distinguished a human arm, outstretched. With a rather scared look he turned to his companion. "The old woman is in bed, asleep— I think." "Asleep," cried the detective, spring- ing up and going to the door. "She could never sleep with the noise wo have made.' Looking in he called "Mrs Argyle," in a loud voice several times, but the out- stretched arm remained as still and rigid as though it were made of stone. Putting his hand on Rennie's shoulder, and looking solemnly at him, he said " Take off your hat my friend. We are in the presence of Death," and the two men walked into the hut to the bed- side. The detective was right. On the bed lay all that was mortal of Mountain Mag. As she had lived, so had she died — alone— save for that faithful though mute companion that now mourned her. She had evidently passed away in her sleep, for her face was unmarked by those ghastly and terrible signs with which the grim Destroyer marks his victims. She might have been dead a day or a week, for the cool mountain air would preserve the body from corruption for a long time. By the appearance of the dog it was probable that she had expired some days previously. The detective, with a pro- fessional eye, looked round for any signs of a struggle or foul play, but could not find the slightest indications of such. " This is a lonely death " spoke Rennie, "to die in this wild place without a single relative or friend at one's bedside. What a queer life, and a queer death ?" " She has died happy— and suddenly " —answered the stoical detective. "l would rather die like this than have a room full of howling relatives at my bed- side, and I think a sudden death the hap- piest of all. The contemplation of a lin- gering death must be as bad as dying a dozen times." "Your views of a happy death are not those of most people " said Rennie, "and your profession may be the means of gratifying your wish for sudden exit, but what will we do here" he added, glancing at the corpse. "There is only one course. One of us must go back to Woodend at once and inform the police, who can come here by nightfall with a coffin and remove the corpse in the morning. If you will go I will remain here and keep watch," said the officer. Rennie at once agreed to that course, for the loneliness of the place and the presence of death depressed him. "Bring back some food for the dog and for me too," shouted the detective after the young man, as he rapidly disappeared in the direction of Woodend, leaving Lynx to keep his lonely vigil. " It's a wonder these beasts of wombats did not smell death and get into the hut" he mused, as he sat down outside ; "but I suppose the dog kept them away." The lengthened shadows thrown by the setting sun were casting a gloom over the solitary hut when Rennie, with a con- stable and two assistants, arrived. All agreed that it would be impossible to transport the corpse down the moun- tain during the night, and it was decided to remain until the following morning. Food had been brought, to which Lynx did full justice ; and the dog, which was ravenously hungry, was not forgot- ten.— (TO BE CONTINUED) M M 8
CHAPTER XX.
A CHRISTMASTIDE.
Adeline Devereaux had apparently taken up her residence in Melbourne per- manently. Her friends, the Evelyns, had persuaded her to stay with them, and as her affairs in Sydney were going on smoothly she was not anxious to go back.
In fact she had few friends there. Brought up strictly she had entered little into society, and until she met Charles Edgar scarcely saw the outside world. She still clung to the hope that in Vic- toria she would discover the fate of her missing lover. "I lost him here, and I will find him here," she would say. In company with Miss Evelyn she paid several visits to Ernest Rennie's home- stead. Her friendship for the young man increased with every visit as his noble character unfolded itself to her. She had promised the young man to spend the Christmas tide amongst rural scenes, as she preferred the peaceful quiet
of Rennie's home to the more luxurious hospitality of the bustling city, and Christmas Eve found her on the Woodend platform, shaking hands with the young farmer who had come to meet her. Up to this time she was ignorant of the fact that the missing Marshall had been seen, as Rennie thought the news would only shatter any lingering hope she might have that Edgar was still alive, and he loved her too much to willingly cause her pain. Yes. Ernest Rennie loved the devoted young girl, over whose life a shadow had fallen. He loved her with the deep, strong affection, that only such natures as his is capable of, but he would willingly have buried his lasting love in the grave of his own heart to see Charles Edgar stand before him again as he did at the Forest Inn three years previously. He had never uttered even a hint of his feelings to the orphan girl, for until he was assured of his friend's fate he could not bring himself to do so. Miss Devereaux, we might mention here, knew that Mr Simpson, the visitor at Evelyn's, had disappeared, for it was in all the papers, and though she won- dered at him doing so, she attached no importance to it until Detective Lynx called upon her to ask the particulars of her conversation with him. She told him all she knew, and then it dawned upon her, as it had upon the officer, that Simpson was in some way connected with the Edgar's. " Who do you think the man is ?'' she pointedly asked the detective.
" I am sure I don't know. I suppose he is what he represents himself," re- plied the officer, who had been asked by Rennie not to tell his suspicions to the girl. "Do you think he is Reginald Edgar ?" she suddenly questioned. Taken aback by this straight query the detective looked somewhat confused, but recovering himself said, "It would be extraordinary if he were Charles's step-brother ; such a thing is scarcely possible." '' It is both possible and probable I think," persisted the young lady. The detective, anxious to escape such direct questioning, got away as soon as he could courteously do so, and left Miss Devereaux to puzzle out the identity of Phillip Simpson as best she could. "There is something in the detective's mind about this man that I would like to know," she murmured. As she stood on the platform with
Rennie this beautiful summer afternoon she felt that sense of security and con- tentment only enjoyed in the company of a good and true friend. She was soon seated in the strong but comfortable buggy that Rennie had added to his farm, and in a few minutes they had left the town behind them, and were plunging into the forest. Miss Evelyn had not accompanied her friend on this trip as she — like most other people — wished to spend her Christmas at home. With kind thoughtfulness Miss De- vereaux had brought quite a bundle of periodicals and newspapers from town, for such literature was not easily obtain- able in the district at that time. They spent the time pleasantly enough on the road, chatting about commonplace subjects, until they came in sight of the homestead.
"Each time I come here I can notice improvements," the girl said. "I am doing the best I can and expect in a few years to have quite a fine place if Providence spares me. I have managed to secure a large area of ground around me by purchase, and on one lot I have discovered excellent brick clay, which I will shortly turn to account. Just at the back there, in that creek which you can see," he added, pointing in the direction, " there is a splendid slate quarry. It is, in fact, called Slatey Creek. I have all the material to my hand almost to build with, and before another year passes I will make a start on a new house." Thus the sanguine young man went on
sketching the future, and the girl listened with a feeling akin to pride at the recital of the improvements he contemplated. Mrs Affleck was waiting for them at the door with a smile of welcome, and a couple of robust looking youngsters were playing in front of the house. The almost friendless girl felt as if she were entering home when she stepped across the threshold. "I feel as if I were coming back to my own house," she laughingly remarked to Mrs Affleck. "Indeed mistress," the good woman answered with her Scotch accent, "I wish it was your own house." There was no lack of Christmas cheer on the farm, for wherever the Anglo- Saxon goes he carries his customes. Eating tremendously heavy indigestible dinners when the heat is 100 degress in the shade is even more foolish than the practice of our judges and barristers en- veloping their heads during summer in oppressively hot wigs ; but it is custom, my dear readers, custom, and cannot be
dispensed with. Ernest Rennie had not been very long from the Christmas festivities of his native land, and he left nothing wanting on the farm that was necessary to celebrate the festival at the antipodes with the same hospitable cheer that it was being marked in the Old Land. Some of the surrounding settlers and others who were still living a bachelor life in a very primitive fashion visited the farm, and were treated to the best it afforded. On Boxing Day Miss Devereaux and Rennie strolled out in the direction of the Campaspe, and reaching one of the beau-
tiful waterfalls seated themselves on a rocky ledge, admiring the fantastic shapes that rose out of the rocky bed of the stream and the water that fell like a sheet of crystal over the small precipice, The romantic nature of the surround- ings impressed them both, and for a time neither spoke. At length the girl broke the silence by asking — the thought being uppermost in her mind, — "What is Mr Simpson's real name? If you know Mr Rennie I beg of you to tell me, for if it has any bearing on the matter we are so anxious about you should not conceal anything from me." The young man was troubled at the question, but as he looked at the plead- ing face his conscience smote him at the slight concealment he had been guilty of, though it was to save her pain. "Miss Devereaux," he answered, "myself and Mr Lynx have a suspicion as to the real name of Simpson, but it is only a suspicion, and we did not tell you because it might cause unnecessary pain. It is almost a certainty, however, that Simpson is the man named Marshall, who disappeared from the Camel's Hump the same day as Charles Edgar.'' . . "Then, " she faltered, "if that be so, the— the bones that were found must be — " Here she fairly broke down as she thought of the terrible fate that must have befallen her lover.
" It is only the merest conjecture " broke in Rennie, consolingly. "I would not dwell on any such suspicions." Nevertheless, the young girl could not stifle her natural feelings, and she re- turned to the farm house with a sad and despairing heart. " Charles is dead. I feel it now " she moaned, as burying her face on the pil- low that night she gave way to a passion- ate outburst of tears. The next morning found her calm and resigned, and after the heat of the day had passed she again strolled out with the young farmer. He was unusually moody and reserved. He was so preoccupied that he frequently neglected to answer questions she asked him. At length she looked at him smiI- ingly and said : "Mr Rennie, the Christmas cheer has surely disagreed with you. I just asked you twice if you were going to take me to that kangaroo hunt to-morrow as you promised, and I cannot get an answer from you." "I beg your pardon Miss Devereaux. The fact is I have something of the great- est importance to say Something that may, perhaps, cause me to forfeit your esteem, and — and lam very nervous in- deed." " I do not know of anything you could say that would lower you in the esteem I hold you. I regard you as the best friend I have on earth, and I trust I shall always do so." "Ah, Miss Devereaux — Adeline, for- give me for saying so, but I want you to regard me with something more than friendship — I want you to love me, for I love you devotedly. " I don't ask you to give up your pro- mise to Charles Edgar, for I would give all I hope to possess to see him standing again at your side, but if— if it will be no longer possible for you to see him again on earth, will you promise that in the future you may give me cause to hope." He spoke passionately, and with the pathos of true affection in his voice, and she was sensibly affected. "Mr Rennie," she answered. "I am sure you do not expect me to answer you just now. The offer you have made is one worthy of you, and I am sure you will give m time to consider it. I may tell you at once that so long as Charles Edgar's fate is unknown I will not marry. That much I have finally decided. If I were certain on that point I scarcely know what I would do, as I have never even thought of giving my love to any other man. Your proposal, under the circumstances, has been a surprise to me, and I consider it an honor. Do not let us talk about it again until we know something more definite regarding Charles Edgar's fate."
She gave him her hand as she finished, and turned in the direction of the home- stead. They had scarcely entered the door when a horseman was seen approaching. As he came near the house Rennie said — " Why, that's the telegraph messenger from Woodend. I wonder what's the matter now?" The young fellow jumped from his horse, and coming to the door handed Rennie a letter. Ho broke it open, and after glancing over it, read aloud — "Middle Gully, Come at once to Forest Inn here. Most important. Thomas Lynx." " It must be in reference to the my- stery " exclaimed Adeline Devereaux. "Oh, do go and help him, and I will accompany you if necessary." "If you do not mind I would rather you stayed here. It will be almost im- possible to get accommodation at Middle Gully, and I will send you the news daily if anything important occurs. She agreed to this, and Rennie, hastily packing up necessary change, was soon ready to accompany the messenger back, and one of his men had the buggy at the door waiting for him.
Taking Adeline Devereaux's hand he said— " I hope this journey may be the means of clearing away the shadow that has rested so long on you. God grant that I may be able to restore Charles Edgar to you." " Whatever happens I pray that you may return to us safely " she replied, looking at him gratefully for the kind words he had spoken, and which she knew now must have cost him a pang. He wrung her hand as he turned away, and little did the girl or himself dream of the deadly peril he was going to en- counter.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE WILD MAN.
From Buckley's time down to the pre- sent day there have been many traditions of "wild men " having been seen in the Australian bush. Frequently these statements have em- anated from imaginative persons who have mistaken some animal in the gloom of the bush for the Australian ourang out- ang, but many times veritable "wild
men" —that is outcasts from civilization, voluntary or otherwise, who have pre- ferred communion with wild beasts in the deep recesses of the bush or the wilderness to the society of their fellow men — have been known to haunt the soli- tary glades of the Australian forests. We hear strange stories even now from the interior of the continent regarding a " white wild man " who is supposed to be one of the survivors of Leichardt's ill- fated party, and the writer of this is per- sonally acquainted with the fact that a " wild man " some twenty years ago roamed the Black Forest, about eight miles to the west of Woodend.
During the Christmas tide of 186— rumours were current amongst the resi- sidents of Middle Gully and Woodend that a "wild man" had his abode in the ranges overlooking these places. They were only rumours, however, for no authentic account had yet been given of the strange being, and most people who heard the news treated the matter as a practical joke. Host English, of the Forest Inn, was particularly indignant that such a rumour should have gone abroad. ''Some enemy of mine, hang him, has spread the report to injure me. He wants to frighten the summer tourists away with his hobgoblin story. A wild man indeed. Surely people will not be mad enough to credit such a story. Such was the emphatic comment of the Forest Inn landlord, but as he surmised people on excursions bent were not foolish enough to believe the tale, and that Christmas time Mr English had his hotel as overflowing with pleasure seekers as ever. Amongst his guests was no lest a per- sonage than Detective Thomas Lynx. That gentleman -----------------------------
with the Mount and its surroundings. Like the lover who haunts the spot where he last parted from his lost mis- tress in the vain hope that she will re- appear the detective was irresistibly drawn to the spot where his thoughts constantly dwelt. Young Bruce, the warehouseman, and his friend Steadman were apparently in- fluenced by similar morbid fancies, for they had joined with the officer in the ex- cursion. "I'll not try any more wombat dig- ging " Bruce said, "for it's confoundedly hard work, and I don't suppose there's a human skeleton in every hole, but the Mount is a strange place, and there is no knowing what mystery we may un- earth." It was evidently the morbid desire of a strange, adventure, rather than the love of natural beauty or the quest of health that accounted for the presence of the three men at the Forest lnn. "I would like to ascend the obser- vatory on Macedon to-morrow, and write my name there as half the world have done," spoke Steadman. "It will be a nice trip," assented Lynx. "I have not been there myself yet." So it was agreed that the programme for the following day should be a climb to the western peak of the range, and the inscription of their names on the summit of the Government observatory, which crowned the eminence. They were astir at an early hour, for no sluggards are tolerated in hotels like the Forest Inn. The sleeper must per- force awake, for at daylight the din and bustle does not permit of further slum- ber. To regular habitues of such places who become accustomed to the noise — like the engineer who slept in a boiler whilst the rivetters were at work on it — it may be possible to sleep on unmindful of the up- roar, but the casual guest has no such chance, The road from the Inn to the top of the Mount is a gentle slope, and the scenery is very pretty. The tourists thoroughly enjoyed them- selves on the way up, for a broad track down which bullock teams dragged huge loss on "bogies" nearly reached the whole distance, and they were saved the rough scrambling through dense under growth. On the apex of the peak they came out on the clearing which the survey party had made, and they were astonished at the gigantic trees that lay prone upon the earth, victims of the woodman's axe. Some of those fallen leviathans were fully twenty feet in diameter, the wood right through being perfectly sound. It was those huge logs that were being conveyed to the saw mills at the foot of the Mount, and out of which most of the sawn hard- wood sent to the Melbourne market was obtained, for the Government had tardily proclaimed the ranges " a state forest"
and no "live" timber was allowed to be cut. This was another Government instance of locking the stable door after the steed was stolen, for nearly all the valuable timber had been taken, —or rather wasted. The observatory stood in the middle of the clearing near tho "lone tree," which had been left as a landmark, but was, a few years ago, blown down. Going to it the party passed by the site of Dutton's survey camp, which had re- cently been removed, and as he looked at the trenches Lynx thought "another act
in the tragedy was played here." After writing their names in the wood work on the platform of the observatory and taking in the glorious view for some time, the enthusiastic Bruce suggested an exploring expedition eastward. They descended on this wish being ex- pressed, and leaving the thick forest of young wattle trees which were springing up amongst the prostrate logs and hiding them from sight on their right they strolled away along the ridge of the peak in an easterly direction. They encountered nothing of note un- til the detective, recognizing the place, knew that they were in the vicinity of the late "Mountain Mag's " hut. She had been dead three months, and wondering whether the fragile erection was standing, he led his companions through the dog-wood grove to the spot. The hut was still there, almost the same as when he last saw it. Telling his comrades the history of the place the three men walked over to it and entered.
A glance from the detective's practised eye convinced him that the hut had been recently occupied. A fire had burned not long previously in the chimney, as the fresh ashes indicated, and pieces of half cooked meat and bones lay about. "Some pic-nic party has been here it seems, although for a wonder they have not left any bottles behind them," re- marked Bruce. "Rather some swagman crossing the Mount, by the appearance of the scraps. They don't look like pic-nic leavings," the officer said.
Dismissing the subject they sallied out again, and as evening was approaching they decided to skirt round and head for the Inn. This course brought them through a portion of the Devil's Glen where they were somewhat separated, each man "playing a lone hand " in getting through the scrub. Bruce and the detective were just clambering over a log that lay in their way when they were suddenly alarmed by a loud cry for help from their companion, who was in the rear, and the next moment he broke through the crackling under- growth in evident terror, and tried to force his way past them. "What the deuce is the matter with you man,'' cried Lynx, seizing him by the arm. "I have seen the devil himself I be- lieve," he tremblingly replied. " Let us get out of here for God's sake." "Don't talk nonsense to us. We're not children to be frightened with tales
of Old Nick and brimstone," said the cool and rather amused officer. "I am speaking the truth as I live," solemnly protested Steadman, who was no coward. " Not a dozen yards back there I came face to face with a creature that was not of this earth." Show me the place," asked the half convinced detective. ' Como on Bruce ; we will bag this monster. It will be bet- ter than your wombat capture." The three men cautiously proceeded to the spot indicated — Steadman nervously peering into the scrub the while — and sure enough there were indications that some animal had been recently there. The undergrowth was trampled down, and twigs broken off the surrounding bushes. No footprints were visible on account of the yielding debris. " Let us search around said Lynx. We may find something to enlighten us." Bruce went off in one direction, but Steadman, thoroughly frightened, would not leave him, and the detective took the ------- -------- ---- ------- -------- ------- ---
Novelist AN AUSTRALIAN NOVEL, BY IVAN DEXTER. ——————<>—————
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ——————<>————— THE Mount Macedon Mystery ——————<>————— CHAPTER XXIV.-(Continued.)
" Oh, yes. I know you now. I was in your house once speaking to a gentle- man named Simpson," replied the officer, considerably interested. "It is concerning Mr Simpson I am here," returned the boarding-house keeper. "I have some property of his that I do not feel justified in keep- ing."
"If you will come with me I will arrange your business. The detective office is the proper place for you to go," said Lynx, rather eagerly. The lady, glad to have an adviser, ac- companied the officer to the detective office, and taking her to a quiet room got a sheet of paper to take notes on, and introducing himself, asked her to state her errand. " Mr Simpson left me suddenly about four months ago," she started to say, " and very unaccountably, for he was an excellent boarder and always paid his way. He told me he would return again, and I have kept his room vacant ever since, especially as some of his things were in it. Yesterday I let the room, and removed the things to my quarter. In doing so I found this pocket book on the top of one of the boxes which was open, and not knowing what to do with it and the property not being mine, I thought it best to hand it to the police." This was in fact only part of the truth, for the naturally inquisitive landlady had thoroughly ransacked the belongings of her late lodger, and it was with a view of obtaining information regarding his whereabouts that her present visit was made. " You took a very proper course Mrs Butterly. Have you examined the pocket book ?" "I— I just had a glance at it," was the reply, as she handed it over to the officer. "I will make a note of its contents," he said.
The pocket book was an old and worn leather one, and rather bulky. The detective glanced his experienced eyes over it, and as he did so detected some indistinct, almost effaced letters stamped on the outside. Bonding closely to it he tried to make out the inscription, whatever it might be, but for a time he could not trace the dim letters. Gradually they became focussed, and he slowly made out the writing. As he did so his hands trembled with excitement, and his eyes lighted up with eager enquiry. The words on the pocket book were as follow : — " Charles Edgar, Parramatta." He opened the pocket book, and placed the contents on the table. With the ex- ception of a portrait which the detective recognised as that of Miss Devereaux, they consisted wholly of letters. One was an introduction to a prominent gentle- man in Melbourne, and the others the officer saw were from Miss Devereaux, and he, with good taste, refrained from reading them. "When did Mr Simpson come to your place," asked Lynx. "In the beginning of last year." "I shall require the other things you have belonging to Mr Simpson, but it will be no loss to you, Mrs Butterly. In fact it will be a gain." "You can take them when you please," said the lady. The detective, elated at the discovery he had made, bade her a hearty good day as she left,and then he rubbed his hands with evident satisfaction. "This it a discovery," he exclaimed. "Simpson has Charles Edgar's property. Simpson is Marshall, and he was on the Mount, the day Edgar disappeared. It's all as plain as noonday now. But it may be only a paltry case of robbery from a dead man after all. Yet why conceal the body. I must see Rennie at once." The officer at once set out for the Union
Hutel and asked to see Rennie. The latter was astonished at the news the detective brought. "I don't think we should tell Miss Devereaux about this yet," said Lynx. There can be no doubt that Charles Edgar is dead, and has been robbed. We have got his watch and his pocket book, and I am pretty certain that we have his bones also, but it is time enough for the girl to be told her former sweetheart is dead when we lay our hands on this Simpson or Marshall, or whatever the fellow's name may he," considerately suggested the officer. " I quite agree with you. It would only cause Miss Devereaux unnecessary pain." "We must do all we can now to find this Simpson. If we can run him down I think our work will be ended."
" He may not be so important a find as you imagine," replied Rennie. "If he can show that Edgar met his death accidentally our point will be gained at any rate. It is indeed most likely that he walked over the cliff during the mist." "I sincerely wish we could clear up the mystery of his fate," Rennie an- swered, and he looked as though he meant it. If a good reward were offered for the apprehension of Simpson it might assist us," put in the officer. "I shall have a talk with Miss Dever- eaux about it, and let you know tomor- row. I think she will agree to it." He placed the matter before that lady, and told her that it was of the utmost importance that Simpson should be found. The police had so far been unsuccessful in their search, for they had not taken much trouble to execute a warrant for mere contempt. A good reward, however, would spur them on. A few days after a notification appeared in the papers that £500 would be paid to anyone giving such information as would lead to the discovery of Phillip Simpson, and a full description of that person was appended.
CHAPTER XXV.
A HUMAN SATIRE.
A ghastly satire upon human life is a lunatic asylum. To the man who is sufficiently callous to examine such in- stitutions with the head and not with the heart, they present a microcosm of the great world in which the hopes and fears, the likes and dislikes, the passions and the virtues of sane humanity are aped.
Observe that man sitting yonder with hollow cheeks and nervous fingers. He is a miser and undreamt of wealth is his, but yet he pines and frets for more. Walking past him with pompous strut is the ambitious man of this little world. He is King ; he's Kaiser, and rules his subjects with Kingly sway. Lying there on the grass with eyes turned skywards is the day dreamer, for- ever planning, but never executing. Pass- ing backwards and forwards among the motley crowd is the man we often meet— the borrower. He is always in debt, and he button-holes his friends for a small loan. That dapper young fellow he has just stopped, and who is carrying a gum stick in lieu of a cane, is the dude of this sham city. There is a woman over the way en- grossed with a few gaudy pieces of cloth with which she is decking herself, and the septangenarian beside her is mumbling out her programme for the next ten years. Every type of humanity may be found here, and every passion that animates the race is present. The softhearted man who looks upon these hallucinations is inclined to pity the wretched inmates ; but the philosopher reserves his sympathy for those in the outer world who are just as mad, but do not know it. The maniac whom Lynx and his friends
had captured took little part in the va- garies of the queer people around him. He was still and impassive as the Sphynx, and absolutely no change had taken place in his demeanor. His warders had received imperative orders to exercise the greatest care with him, for he was a puzzle to the doctors, and they knew not the moment when a violent fit might seize him. It was very plain that physically he was declining, but the medical superin- tendant regarded this as a favourable sign of returning sanity ; for though physical weakness usually accelerates mental decay, in some rare instances it relieves the brain of undue pressure, and this, in the experienced superintendent's opinion, was one of them. Since his admission to the asylum a con- siderable change for the better had been made in his appearance. His hair and beard had been trimmed, and in the tidy clothes he looked a very different man than when he stood in the police court. Detective Lynx had not been to see him since his admission two months pre- viously, and that officer was strolling along Bourke Street one morning when a hearty voice sounded in his ears, and a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder. Turning round at this double summons Lynx met the smiling face of his friend Dutton, who was in town presumably on "business." " Hello! my friend. How do you do?" greeted the surveyor. "Down on business again, eh?'' '' Yes ; only for a summons to head quarters I would be a hundred miles away up north-west. But what is this reward I see in the papers about our friend Simpson ? How did you manage to let him slip after all the trouble you put me to ?" "Well, that's easier asked than an- swered, but if you can find him again it will be worth £500 to you." " I wish I could. That sum is not picked up every day." " You are proud of your faculty for knowing faces," answered the detective,
so that is an opportunity of putting it to practical use." " I have very little chance of doing so, buried as I am in the bush." "We'll get leave of absence and search the city and towns." " It would most likely be a wild goose chase. From what I read in the papers he cannot be in the colony, or probably not on the continent, for he drew his bank deposit in gold," replied Dutton, with a sigh. " If you accidentally meet him you will know what to do at any rate," concluded Lynx. " By the by," suddenly spoke Dutton. " That was a queer adventure of yourself and friends on the Camel's Hump with that madman. I wouldn't have been in Rennie's place for a lump of gold as big as the Mount itself." ''Yes; he was very near making another victim to the unlucky place. Another ten seconds and he would have been over the cliff, with the madman for company." "Who can that fellow be. You have not been able to identify him, I be- lieve?" "No," replied the detective. " So far he is unknown. Did you ever hear of a " wild man " being on the ranges while you were working there ?" " Never ; if such an animal had been there we would most certainly have seen it. I am curious now us to what sort of a creature it must be," said the zoologically inclined Dutton. "If you have the time to spare I can gratify your wish. I will take you to the asylum. I should have gone myself be- fore this but I have been too busy." The proposal was readily complied with, and hailing a cab the two started for the Yarra Bend. '"This is a queer place," said the sur- veyor, after they entered the grounds. " No one would think these people we see were insane ; they look as sensible as any we meet in the streets."
" Yes," assented the officer ; " but there is a lurking devil in every one of them, and it is impossible to tell when the fiend will rise up and assert his do- minion. It is awful to think what a nar- row boundary line separates the sane from the insane. Nine out of ten of the people we see here are as sensible as you or me on every point but one, yet that single taint causes them to be shunned by their fel- low men, and guarded like wild beasts. See that old man coming towards us ? Three generations of his family are here — father, son and grandson. The state should certainly take steps to prevent — cruel though, it may seem — marriages that lead to such dire results. Insanity as a mental disease is more hereditary than any physical infirmity and infinitely more disastrous in its results. In the latter the victims generally die, but in the former case they live to be a burthen to themselves, and a menace to others. My opinion is that families tainted with insanity should be allowed of necessity to die out. The remedy may be a Spartan one, but it is the only cure for the evil." "I must agree with you, inhuman as the remedy at first sight appears," replied Dutton, "No man should be allowed knowingly to inflict such terrible punish- ment on posterity. From every point of view it is indefensible. It injures the individual and the state, and it is only false ideas of humanity that prevents a law such as you indicate being placed on the Statute Book. It would have been little consolation to Rennie's friends if he had been hurled over the cliff by the maniac we are going to see to know that the man had inherited insanity, and was not responsible for his action. We do not hesitate to clutch a drowning man by the hair to save his life, and surely to save posterity we should be doubly anxious." "The patient you want to see Mr Lynx is here now," said an attendant, coming out to the officer. Passing into a small reception room the madman was seen standing near the fire- place. The detective scarcely knew him in his
altered state. He looked much better, but was considerably thinner. The detective turned to his companion and made some remark, but Dutton took no heed of it. He was fixedly staring at the lunatic. " Why," he gasped ; " it's Marshall." "What?" exclaimed Lynx. "Mar- shall. It can't he." "I am certain," excitedly replied Dut- ton. "I could swear it, now that his beard and whiskers are the same as they used to be." Then going towards the patient he said, " don't you know me Marshall ? Dutton, of the survey camp." The only response he got was a vacant stare. The man did not show the slight- est sign of recognition. "He does't know you at any rate," said Lynx. "But if this be Marshall he must be Simpson also, and in truth I see a resemblance to Simpson in the forehead. If these whiskers were off I would be able to judge better." "Get them off then, for I am certain of his identity with Marshall." The officer spoke to the superintendent, and the madman was taken away, return ing in a few minutes with his whiskers shaved off. The resemblance to Phillip Simpson was at once apparent, " What about tho reward ?" Lynx asked the surveyor. "Don't be anxious about that," was the answer. "I wish the man was in his right senses, so that I could question him. He wasn't so dumb as this a few months ago. I wonder if it is sham." He interviewed the medical superin- tendent, and explained the leading points of the case to him, and the necessity, if possible, of getting certain information from the patient." The doctor shook his head as the vis- itor spoke. "We cannot do any more than we have done, and are doing. It is quite impos- sible to force information from the man, even if it were desirable, and we can only hope that in time he will become sane enough to give you the desired informa- tion. It is a most peculiar case, and I am watching it myself carefully. Now that you have told me the questions you de- sire an answer to I will miss no oppor- tunity of assisting you." It was no use waiting longer, and the two men re-entered tho cab and drove back to the city. Making an appointment with Dutton to meet him a couple of hours later, the
detective hurried in search of Ernest Rennie. He had some difficulty in finding him, as the young man was inspecting some agricultural implements, and did not re- turn for some hours. The information was most gratifying to him. Now, he thought, we may be able to ascertain the fate of Charles Edgar. This man must know the secret. If not, how did he become possessed of the pocket book, and he must have been the same man who lost the watch at Mountain Mag's hut. Perhaps, thought the anxious man, he was making for the survey camp to get a change of clothing, that he might get away. His clothes wore in tatters and spotted with blood when he met the old woman, and he could not go into the village in that condition. It was said that a new suit of clothes was missed from the tent, and the story of the old wood- man about the meeting in the shanty was most likely true. Then Marshall's foot- print was formed near the base of the cliff. He must have robbed the body of my poor friend, and then hid it in the wombat hole, he said with a shudder. Then a despairing thought seized him. "Here is my future happiness depend- ing on a creature no better than a brute. My God ! Am I to be condemned to a life of misery because the torch of this man's intellect has been quenched. Am I, already sick with hope deferred, to go on hoping until the end of my days. If this wretched creature will not or cannot speak, then I am doomed, for I know Adeline's vow is irrevocable.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE DYING WORDS.
The science of pathology, especially in its relation to mental diseases, has made rapid progress during the nineteenth cen- tury. Researches, observations and ex- periments in the past have armed the medical practitioners of to-day with potent weapons for the annihilation of many diseases that afflict humanity. The old idea that a maniac was pos-
sessed by a devil, or a legend of devils, according to the intensity of his fury, has long since died out, as the real causes of such intellectual aberrations are now known with certainty, and if not always curable such mental disorders can be mitigated, and even the idiot — that piti- able object who has the body of a man with the mind of a child is not outside the far reaching influence of medical science.
The superintendent at the Yarra Bend Asylum had correctly diagnosed the case of the "wild man," when he said that as his physical strength declined his mental faculties might resume their normal state. Day by day the strength of that terrible man, in whose grasp the powerful Rennie had been little better than a child, de- clined, and now at times a gleam of in- telligence would light up the vacant face. Rennie and Lynx were almost daily visitors, so eager were they for the infor- mation that would set so many doubts and fears at rest. The young farmer was most restless. He passed his time between his farm and Melbourne, and though he had not told Adeline Derereaux all he knew he had given her sufficient information to lead her to anticipate an important dis- covery. That lady had gone back to Sydney for a month or two on business, but she had expressed her full intention of re- turning as soon as the work was fin- ished. The last time the detective visited the Asylum where all his hopes were now centred, the superintendent there had taken him aside and said "Your patient — or rather mine — will not live another month. He is going very rapidly." " What ! dying ?" asked the detective, in amazement. "Yes ; he cannot hold out much longer. In fact, from the first I never expected that he would live long, but now I am certain," " What is the matter with him. He is a young man, and has no apparent dis- ease," the officer answered. " No apparent disease," laughed the doctor. "Why, I thought you saw a pretty strong exhibition of his disease on the Mount when you captured him." "Yes; but he has no physical disa bility has he ?" "He is afflicted with one of the most fatal complaints a man can have. He has a mind that is killing the body, and consequently committing suicide itself. That leader and guide of the body — the brain — has urged its slave on in a man- ner that must crush it. It is working blindly, and as the maniac would have rolled over the cliff himself to kill Ren- nie, so is the madman's mind slaying it- self in thus harrasing and destroying its fleshy tabernacle." "If he dies his secret will die with him," anxiously spoke Lynx. " I am not so sure of that. I have hopes that he will regain his senses be- fore he dies. That great change scarcely ever ensues without benefically affecting the brain of such as he." "I sincerely hope that he may regain his senses and recollect the past. The happiness of at least two persons depend on him, and I would like to hear what he knows myself," he added, thinking of his professional reputation. A week after this conversation Rennie was in town, and the detective told him what the medical officer had said. " I pray to God he may not die with dumb lips. If he does die my life is blasted." Let us hope for the best," replied his visitor. They went to the Asylum together that day and found the lunatic in bed ; he was too weak to Ieave it. He gave a glance of half recognition at the two men as they entered, and it al- most seemed to Rennie as if he know them. The old wild, restless look had almost gone from his face, and the medical at tendant to whom they spoke was quite pleased with the mental condition of his patient. "He will be as sane as the best of us in a week or two. The man is naturally in telligent, but he has always been predis- posed to insanity, and either through brooding over fancied wrongs or through remorse, the taint has developed and made him what he is." " What a terrible thing hereditary insanity must be," said Rennie, with a shudder. " You may well say that," answered the doctor. "We who make it our daily study know what an accursed enemy it is to the human race. Its evil hand is every- where. Nine-tenths of the murders, suicides, and outrages are directly attri- buted to it. It decimates humanity, but that appalling fact is only now being found out. Doubtless, legislation will be brought to bear against it in coming years. It is an awful realisation of that curse — ' the sins of the father shall be visited on the children.' " Rennie went back to his hotel that evening with mingled fear and hope. The stricken man was evidently regaining his right mind, but what if he knew noth- ing of Edgar's disappearance, or if he did know anything, would he tell it to pro- bably criminate himself ? It was scarcely likely that he would do so. But if he were on his death bed, thought the young man, he would surely not conceal any- thing, for it would avail him nothing. He would be past reward or punish- ment. He was interrupted in his meditations by the entrance of a waiter with a let- ter. It was from Miss Devereaux, stating that she would be back in Melbourne in a few days. The missive turned his thoughts from the gloomy channel they were in, and looking forward with pleasure to the arrival of the young girl, he sauntered down the streets to occupy his mind with the bustle and hurry of the crowded thoroughfare. Miss Devereaux had been in Melbourne a fortnight, and Rennie had not yet gone back to the farm. He would not leave the city for a day, because he did not know the moment he might be summoned to the asylum. He was in a constant state of suppressed ex- citement, as the chances were evenly balanced, whether the dying man in the asylum would say anything to remove the barrier that stood between him and Ade- line Devereaux. The suspense was torturing, and he looked so pale and ill that Adeline urged him to go back to the farm for a change of air. " You are worrying yourself to death here. If you go on like this you will soon be on a sick bed," she said. The young man protested that his looks belied him, and that in reality he was never better in his life. He knew that a crisis in his life had arrived, and he did not wish to let the young girl know that anything unusual was troubling him, " If this man dies silently," he said to himself, "I will give up hoping any longer. He was sitting at breakfast next morn- ing when a telegram was placed before him. It was a message from the Yarra Bend, asking him to call at once. He did not wait to finish his breakfast, but going into the street he hailed a cab, and was driven down at once to the asylum. — To be Continued. MM 11
CHAPTER XXVII. ———————
CONCLUSION.
When Host English, of the Forest Inn' read the account in the papers that the " wild man" of the ranges was dead, he felt as if a personal enemy had been re- moved. He had undoubtedly suffered consider- ably in pocket by the former presence of the maniac, for many nervous persons
could not be induced to visit a place where they might meet death at the hands of some terrible monster, and con- sequently the Forest Inn was not so crowded with visitors as it formerly was. But compensation is one of the great laws of nature — it permeates all things, and Mr English was about to experience it. He was glancing over a Melbourne paper a few mornings after the death of the madman, when his eye caught a para- graph that rivetted his attention. It was a simple statement that there was good reason to believe that the man, Reginald Edgar, who had recently died in the Yarra Bend, had concealed three thousand sov- ereigns on the Masedon ranges, most pro- bably on Mount Diogenes, or, as it was
locally known, the Camel's Hump, on which he had been captured. It was known — the paper said — that the man took the money away from the Bank of New South Wales in a portman- teau, and he was seen the same day with the portmanteau in the train bound for Macedon, so that there was little doubt the money was in that neighborhood. "Three thousand sovereigns," said the old man ; why, if I could only manage to find that plant I would give up my busi- ness." Next day there was quite a rush of visitors to the Forest Inn. It nearly took away the landlord's breath. "I wonder what they want here at this time of the year," he thought, and then he suddenly remembered the three thou- sand sovereigns. " Well, it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good," he mut- tered, and then retired to solve the pro- blem of getting six people into a room that would only hold three. The paragraph in the papers had done it all. People flocked from all quarters to visit Macedon — for the benefit of their health they said — but others knew better. The Camel's Hump became quite a lively place for a time, and it is a wonder many people were not killed through the reckless manner in which they scaled cliffs, and entered crumbling caves in search of the hidden treasure. The young goats were nearly annihilated by the army of gold-seekers which came upon them, and the dirt in the old wombat hole where Charles Edgar's skeleton was found was dug over and over again in the vain quest. M M 12
The Devil's Glen resounded with the noise of human voices, the owners of which, having pinned their faith to the gloomy valley as the most likely place for a "plant," spent day after day in the search. "Mountain Mag's " hut was ransacked, and the western peak of Macedon had its quota of pleasure seekers. But all the searching was of no avail, for the money has not been found to this day — that is, so far as is known,— though it might be possible that some "canny" person found the treasure, and wisely kept the fact to himself. That has al- ways been the opinion of Detective Lynx, who paid a few visits to the Mount him- self, and carefully searched the Glen about the spot where the maniac knocked him senseless. He was as unsuccessful as the rest, al- though both he and Mr Dutton had rea- son to give the Mount credit for putting a substantial sum in their pockets, as Miss Devereaux divided £1000 between them. Host English was amply recompensed by this "rush" for any temporary loss he had previously suffered on account of the "wild man." Another Christmas has come round, and Ernest Rennie is standing on the Wood- end platform, anxiously waiting for the arrival of the Melbourne train. It rushes in, puffing and apparently out of breath at last, and Adeline Devereaux steps on to the platform. She looks more serious and grave than of old, but there is a contented expression in the eyes, which tell of a mind at rest. Rennie eagerly greets her, and as his
man looks after her boxes, band-box, and brown paper parcels — for what lady can travel without those accompaniments — he helps her into the comfortable carriage, and they drive over the familiar road in the direction of the farm. How the country is changing, she thinks, as they drive on. The forest is disappear- ing, and cultivated fields are taking its place. As they attain the summit of the hill overlooking Rennie's homestead, she finds it changed almost beyond recogni- tion. A handsome brick mansion has taken the place of the rough wooden structure, and fields of golden corn are waving in the breeze. Quite a large company come out to meet the welcome guest, as Miss Devereaux is a general favourite with the farm servants and employes. Mrs Affleck comes to the carriage side to wish her a Merry Christmas, and to take her under her motherly wing ; and with the smiles of affectionate recognition from those assembled, she passes into "Good Rest." as Ronnie has called his
new mansion. After their Christmas dinner next day the two young people, tempted by the beautiful day, stroll out for a walk down to the winding river. They sit down on the rock they both know so well, and Rennie takes both her hands in his as he says : "Adeline, you remember the promise you made me two years ago. I am going to ask for my answer now." And I am here to give it," she re- plied. "You have acted to your dead friend so loyally that I feel, could he speak from the grave, he would approve of my decision in accepting the offer you made me two years ago. I know that I can be happy with you, and I know too well that I could not be happy without you." He took her in his arms and kissed her, and they said nothing more, as their hearts were too full for utterance. They went back to the house, and Mrs Affleck, whom Rennie regarded almost as a mother, came out to meet them.
" Mrs Affleck," said the young man, " Adeline has promised to be my wife." " Then may God bless both of you," she fervently answered ; "and may the shadow of trouble never darken your lives again." THE END.