‘He did, thank’s to you, Done.’

’A man couldn’t see murder done under his very nose without stirring a hand.’

’Don’t apologize.  I have no grievance.  If I had killed him I should have regretted it more than the death of my dearest friend, although no man from the time of Cain had better excuse for murder.  I suppose you have not seen the man since?’

‘No!’ answered Jim with emphasis.

’Meaning that you would not tell me if you had.  You need not fear being an accessory before the act.  I want Stony alive, Mr. Done.’

‘Mister Done!’ Jim laughed.  ’I did not think there was a Mister on the camp.  But how do you know my name?’

’I have heard it here to-night half a dozen times.  My name is Wat Ryder—­Walter Ryder, but mono syllabic Christian names are insisted on amongst our friends.’  He pointed his cigar towards the diggers at the tables.  ‘Forgive me,’ he continued in an even voice, ’but your scrutiny of me is suggestive.  May I ask what there is in my appearance or my manner that disturbs you?’

The question was put without feeling of any kind, but it startled Jim a little.  He was surprised to find that he had betrayed any trace of his emotion.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘my experience of you has not been commonplace.’

’You mean that affair in the Bush?—­a casual fight, with the usual loud language merely, for all you know.’  Ryder maintained silence for a few moments.  He was studying his cigar when he spoke again.  ‘By the way,’ he said abruptly, ’I know a good deal about you, Done, if you came out in the Francis Cadman.  He expected this announcement to have some effect.

‘I saw you one day in Melbourne,’ Jim replied.  ’You were driving with Mrs. Macdougal.’

‘Mrs. Donald Macdougal of Boobyalla,’ said Ryder gravely.

‘She was a shipmate of mine.’

Yes; and you saw my face for a moment in Melbourne and remembered it.  You observe narrowly and quickly, Mr. Done.  It was not Mrs. Macdougal who was most communicative on the interesting subject I have broached, however, but a very charming young friend of hers, Miss Woodrow.  The young lady’s concern was excusable in view of certain services, but nevertheless flattering.  She asked me to constitute myself a sort of foster-Providence over you if we ever met, Mr. Done.’

Jim laughed to smother a pang.

‘Do I need it, Mr. Ryder?’ he asked.  He fancied there was a flutter of the other’s eye towards Aurora, but Ryder did not reply to the question.  ‘Miss Woodrow told me of the rescue,’ he said, ’of your solitary disposition, and spoke of a life of suffering in England.’

Done’s lips tightened; he squared his shoulders.  The fear that had possessed him on leaving his birthplace was no longer upon him, but he desired no revelations, no digging into the past, and there was a hint of motive in the other’s tone—­he was inviting confidence.  For a few moments Ryder bent a keen glance upon the younger man, his face bowed and in shadow, toying with his cigar.