“I only said that—­that perhaps—­you were tired, and therefore had—­had better rest—­before proceeding to the—­police.”

She tried to look indifferent, but the effort was a failure.

“O, bless your heart, not at all,” answered Fred, cheerily; “we will go at once, and you can read a few books that we own until we come back.  Rover will take care of you.”

The hound stretched himself in the doorway, and showed his teeth as though he understood the order, and was prepared to obey without demurring.

I saw a slight frown gather upon the brow of the girl, and I read her thoughts in a moment.  She was asking herself if she would not have possessed more power had she been dressed in female apparel and had never sacrificed her hair.  She passed her hand over her short locks two or three times, and a sigh escaped her at the ravage which the scissors had effected.

“Let us go,” I said; and I urged my friend from a sight more dangerous to him than a thousand pyramids of black snakes, and yet he was unconscious of fear.

We directed our steps towards the residence of Mr. Brown, the inspector, and were readily admitted to his presence.  He was stretched upon his bed, but was slowly recovering from the effect of his bruises, and was quite cheerful over his bodily injuries.

He extended such a welcome to us as gratified our pride, yet did not make us feel as though we were overpraised.  We soon laid our business before him, and he ordered a book containing a list of the tax-paying miners of Ballarat to be brought, and which he consulted, for a few minutes, in silence.

“There is no such name as Robert Herrets in the book, but there is a Robert Henrets, and that may be the person you are in pursuit of.  I will ask if any of my men know the latter.”

He touched a bell, and the policeman who was on duty at the door entered.

“James,” inquired the inspector, “do you know a miner here named Robert Henrets?”

“Yes, sir; young fellow—­sandy hair—­blue eyes—­scar over the left one—­saves his money—­is doing well—­never heard that he was a suspicious character,” answered the officer, promptly.

“Pshaw!” returned Mr. Brown, pettishly; “you think that every person I ask about is a rogue; you are mistaken.  Show these gentlemen to the shaft that Henrets is sinking, or the mine that he is working, and attend to their orders.”

“Yes, sir; I know where he is; works the old ‘Dugget mine;’ smart lad—­makes money—­pays his tax regular, and never growls ’cos he has to.”

“Then he is the only one at the mines,” returned the inspector, good humoredly, and we took our leave, fearful that he would begin a long discussion on the merits and rights of taxation.

We had to walk about a mile before we reached the “Dugget mine,” but our tramp was beguiled in listening to the peculiar conversation of our guide, who jerked out his sentences and words as though he was firing them at a whole regiment of refractory miners, and wished to make as short work as possible with them.