‘My faith,’ replied Vandeloup, carelessly taking the seat, ’there isn’t much to tell—­I said goodbye to Monsieur Marchurst and Mademoiselle Kitty and went down to Ballarar.’

‘How was it you did not pass me on the way?’ asked Madame, quickly fixing her piercing eyes on him.  ‘I drove slowly.’

He bore her scrutiny without blenching or even changing colour.

‘Easily enough,’ he said, calmly, ’I went the other direction instead of the usual way, as it was the shortest route to the place I was stopping at.’

‘The “Wattle Tree”, ye ken, Madame,’ interposed McIntosh.

‘I had something to eat there,’ pursued Vandeloup, ’and then went to the theatre.  Your husband came in towards the end of the performance and sat next to me.’

‘Was he all right?’ asked Mrs Villiers, eagerly.

Vandeloup shrugged his shoulders.

‘I didn’t pay much attention to him,’ he said, coolly; ’he seemed to enjoy the play, and afterwards, when we went to supper with the actors, he certainly ate very heartily for a dead man.  I don’t think you need trouble yourself, Madame; your husband is quite well.’

‘What time did you leave him?’ she asked, after a pause.

‘About twenty minutes to twelve, I think,’ replied Vandeloup, ’at least, I reached the “Wattle Tree” at about twelve o’clock, and I think it did take twenty minutes to walk there.  Monsieur Villiers stopped behind with the theatre people to enjoy himself.’

Enjoying himself, and she, thinking him dead, was crying over his miserable end; it was infamous!  Was this man a monster who could thus commit a crime one moment and go to an amusement the next?  It seemed like it, and Mrs Villiers felt intense disgust towards her husband as she sat with tightly clenched hands and dry eyes listening to Vandeloup’s recital.

‘Weel,’ said Mr McIntosh at length, rubbing his scanty hair, ’the deil looks after his ain, as we read in Screepture, and this child of Belial is flourishing like a green bay tree by mony waters; but we ma’ cut it doon an’ lay an axe at the root thereof.’

‘And how do you propose to chop him down?’ asked Vandeloup, flippantly.

‘Pit him intil the Tolbooth for rinnin’ awa’ wi’ the nugget,’ retorted Mr McIntosh, vindictively.

‘A very sensible suggestion,’ said Gaston, approvingly, smoothing his moustache.  ‘What do you say, Madame?’

She shook her head.

‘Let him keep his ill-gotten gains,’ she said, resignedly.  ’Now that he has obtained what he wanted, perhaps he’ll leave me alone; I will do nothing.’

‘Dae naethin’!’ echoed Archie, in great wrath.  ’Will ye let that freend o’ Belzibub rin awa’ wid a three hun’red ounces of gold an’ dae naethin’?  Na, na, ye mauna dae it, I tell ye.  Oh, aye, ye may sit there, mem, and glower awa’ like a boggle, but ye aren’a gangin’ to make yoursel’ a martyr for yon.  Keep the nugget?  I’ll see him damned first.’