‘Jo!’ yelled a voice out in the darkness.

Instantly every pannikin was emptied on the floor, and thrust into a digger’s shirt.

‘The traps!’ cried Mrs. Ben, and her rum-jug flew into a tub of water behind the counter.  Several bundles of washing were tossed out, a loaf of bread was thrust upon Done, and at the same moment the door was thrown back, and in marched Sergeant Wallis, followed by five police.  Mrs. Ben Kyley was not surprised, and had expected that Aurora’s imposition would bring a raid down upon her sooner or later, and here it was.

‘You’re selling sly grog here, ma’am,’ said Wallis, sniffing like a retriever.

Ben Kyley rose silently from his stool and approached Wallis.

‘Sit you down, Ben Kyley!’ roared Mrs. Ben; and Kyley returned as silently to his seat, and sat smoking throughout the scene that followed, apparently quite listless.

’Am I selling sly grog, Mr. Sergeant?  Then it’s a miracle where it comes from.  I haven’t a drop in the place, or I’d stand you a nobbler gladly.  It’s my opinion there are worse-looking men than Sergeant Wallis in gaol.’

‘Rubbish, ma’am! the place reeks of rum,’ said Wallis.

’A bit of a bottle Quigley shouted for the boys, this being his birthday.’

‘Quigley has too many birthdays.  Search the place, boys!’

The police commenced a systematic search of the tent, examining both compartments, and trying the earthen floor for a secret cellar.  They found nothing, and meanwhile Mrs. Kyley was bantering Wallis with boisterous good-fellowship.

’The idea of an officer of your penetration, sergeant, mistaking a poor washerwoman’s tent for a grog-shop.’

The poor washerwoman does a big business, Mrs. Kyley.’

’Not amongst the police, Sergeant Wallis.  It is a miserable living a washerwoman would make out of them.  I hear they beat their shirts with a stick once a month, as we dusted the carpets in the old Country.’

‘We can find nothing, sergeant,’ said one of the police.

’Remember how Imeson tricked you all at Bendigo, Wallis, with a hollow tent-pole that held ten gallons of brandy.’

‘I do, Mrs. Kyley.  You were Mrs. Imeson then.’

‘And if you have the luck I may be Mrs. Wallis one of these days.’

‘Heaven forbid, ma’am!’

’Don’t waste your prayers on me, sergeant.  Maybe I deserve even that, my sins being many and various.’

’And sly grog-selling is one of them.  But I’ll have you there yet, my good woman.’  Wallis turned his thumb down.

’Remember I am only a poor weak woman when that happens, sergeant.  Will you have a drink before going?  There’s a nip left in Quigley’s bottle.’

‘No, ma’am, I don’t drink,’ answered Wallis from the door.

’Then, sergeant, commit your nose for perjury.  It’s bearing false witness against you all over the field.’