“You have not forgotten how to lie, at all events,” I said, “and perhaps the peculiar talent that you display in that line may be of some service to us; so, for the purpose of keeping in practice, all your stories will go undisputed at present.”

“Ven a man is perfect in a certain line of things, he don’ vant practice, unless he grows rusty, or is out of employment.  Now, since I have been connected vid the police force, I’ve almost forgotten how to speak the truth; and, somehow, I don’t think that it agrees vid me; for unless I’se honest I have a fit of blues that lasts me until I’ve made up to my reckness.  Ven can I have the viskey?”

I gave him a glass of strong American whiskey, which would make the tears come into a man’s eyes unless his throat was sheathed with tin; but Steel Spring tossed it down, and smacked his lips, as though it was so much water.

“Now, then, I feel like a man vot has found a nugget—­perfectly happy for the time being, but miserable as soon as the excitement has passed away, ’cos he don’t know when he shall get another.”

“When did you reach Ballarat?” Fred asked, as soon as Steel Spring was inclined to hold his tongue.

“This evening.  I’ve been on the road two days, but feel as fresh as a newly-hatched parrot.”

“Did Murden tell you what we required of you?” I asked.

“He said something about my getting the vorst thrashing that I ever had in my life, unless I obeyed orders.  So here I am, ready to go to vork and do my best.”

“Where are you stopping?” I inquired.

“Vell, the lieutenant said that I vos to play loose; and pretend not to go near you, unless I vos so fixed up that even my dear friend, the governor, vouldn’t know me; and I don’t think that he vould, had he seen me to-night.”

“But where are you stopping?” I again asked.

“Vell, I am at Dan Brian’s ‘Cricket,’ and I must say that my old friend keeps tiptop lush, and is disposed to be civil,” answered Steel Spring.

The “Cricket” was one of the vilest places in Ballarat; and its proprietor, Dan Brian, one of the most noted characters.  He was once a convict, but made his escape, and joined a gang of bushrangers.  For two years he lived in the bush, and subsisted by killing sheep and cattle.

Soon after the gold mines were discovered, he helped to rob a government escort of dust on its way to Melbourne, and two thousand ounces of gold fell to his share.  His ill-gotten wealth made him long for an opportunity to squander it; and unknown to the gang, he sent word to the captain of police at Melbourne, and asked what terms he could receive if he betrayed his comrades.

Of course the police were too ready to accede to any proposition that Dan might make to haggle about terms; and the Judas was promised not only his life and a free pardon, but it was intimated that the treasure in his possession should never be claimed by government.