The inspector waited five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes.  He made enquiries, and finding that Mr. H. had gone away, he examined the books and vouchers, and concluded that there should be a cash balance of more than four hundred pounds payable to revenue.  He looked about the office for the cash, but did not find any.  Then the police began to look for Mr. H., but week after week passed by, and Mr. H. was neither seen nor heard of.

There were only two ways of leaving South Gippsland that could be considered safe; one was by sea from Port Albert, the other by the road over the mountains.  If anyone ventured to desert the beaten track, and tried to escape unseen through the forest, he was likely to be lost, and to be starved to death.  The only man ever known to escape was an eccentric farmer, a “wandering outlaw of his own dark mind,” as Byron so darkly expressed it.  He deserted his wife one morning in a most systematic manner, taking with him his horse and cart, a supply of provisions, and all the money he was worth.  A warrant for his arrest was issued, and the police were on the look-out for him at all the stations from Port Albert to Melbourne, but they never found him.  Many weeks passed by without any tidings of the man or his team, when one day he drove up to his own gate, unhitched his horse, and went to work as usual.  On enquiry it was found that he had gone all the way to Sydney overland, on a visit to an old friend living not far from that city.  It was supposed that he had some reason for his visit when he started, but if so, he lost it by the way, for when he arrived he had nothing particular to say.  After a few days’ rest he commenced his return journey to South Gippsland, and travelled the whole distance without being observed by the watchful police.  When asked about his travels, his only remark was, “Splendid horse; there he is between the shafts; walked twelve hundred miles; never turned a hair; splendid horse; there he is.”

But Mr. H. lacked the intellect or the courage to perform a similar fool’s errand successfully.  He rode up to the police station at Alberton, and finding from the officer in charge that he was wanted on a warrant, he supplied that want.  He stated that he had been on a visit, for the benefit of his health, to a friend in the mountains, a rail-splitter, who had given him accommodation in his hut on reasonable terms.  He had lived in strict retirement.  For a time he was in daily and nightly fear of the appearance of the police coming to arrest him; every sound disturbed him.  In about ten days he began to feel lonely and disappointed because the police did not come; neither they or anybody else seemed to be looking for him, or to care anything about him.  Heroic self-denial was not his virtue, and he felt no call to live the life of a hermit.  He was treated with undeserved neglect, and at the end of four weeks he resolved that, as the police would not come to him, he would go to the police.