“Well,” inquired Mr. Brown, surveying our disguise with approval, “is every thing ready?”

We assured him that, as far as we were concerned, we were, and impatient to set out without delay.

“Where is Steel Spring?” Mr. Brown asked, while sipping his punch, with a gratified expression upon his face that showed how highly he enjoyed it.

“We are to meet him at Dan’s at one o’clock.”

“Then we had better be moving,” the inspector said, emptying his glass, and rising.  “I heard from one of my folks to-night, and he tells me that the gathering is unusually large at the ‘Cricket,’ and to prevent mistakes, I have stationed a small force of trusty men within sound of a call in case they are required.”

We left Rover in charge of the store and the sick man, and locked up, and then picked our way towards Gravel Pit Hill, where the “Cricket” was located.

Mr. Brown was in high spirits, and once called down the wrath of a guardian of the night because Mr. B. insisted upon showing us the extent and volume of his voice.

At length we gained “Gravel Pit Hill,” and had no difficulty in finding the celebrated “Cricket,”—­a house that made some pretensions to size and boards, for it was two stories high, with a large hall, or bar-room, on the first floor, and three or four smaller rooms leading from it.  The small rooms were for the elite of the bushranging profession, and when there was too great a cry for a notorious robber, he was accommodated with private quarters where he could enjoy his lush undisturbed by the thoughts of police officers.  The “Cricket” appeared to be unusually light and brilliant, for the sharp squeaking of a violin was heard, and the trilling of a clarinet blended with the catgut in most discordant notes.

“Now, gentlemen,” the inspector said, stopping short, and laying his hands upon our arms, “we have got to manage this matter with some skill, or we shall hardly escape without a blow from a knife, or a pistol shot, two very desirable things if we use the weapons with which they are inflicted, but bad if in other hands.  Let me caution you to study each word that you utter, and to maintain perfect control over your muscles.  Now, then, are you ready?”

We answered in the affirmative, and once more strode on until we reached the stout door that separated the “cricketers” from the outer world.  It was closed as we expected, for Steel Spring had informed us that after a certain hour at night all ingress had to be made by giving a password, and he had kindly provided us with the magic expression to be used.

Mr. Brown dealt a stout blow upon the door, and while we listened for a response the music ceased, and all was quiet as a churchyard within the house.  We could hear whispering near the door as though debating our business, and who we were.

Again did the inspector deal the door heavy blows, and while he rested a hoarse voice asked,—­