ld bones, and heads and tails, and all that kind of ill-assorted
refuse. Now a young rhybok or so--or a few partridges would come in
well."

"Musgrave doesn't give much of his spare time to buck-shooting now.
Higher game, don't you know," chaffed another, with what was intended
for a very meaning wink.

"Talking of shooting," said Lambert, getting up from where he sat, "I
wish you'd lend a fellow one of your guns, Musgrave. I want to go out
this afternoon somewhere."

"I've only got two," answered Roden, "and you don't want the old
muzzle-loader, I suppose?"

"That's just the one I do want," rejoined the other eagerly. "At
least--er--I mean, I couldn't of course think of asking for your other
one--your best."

"All right. It's a very true shooter, although, a trifle heavy. Look
round at the office about twelve, Lambert, and you shall have it."

"At the office? Is it there then?" quickly asked the doctor, again
giving himself away, and causing his precious confederate, who was
intently listening, to swear almost audibly.

"You look round about then," was the careless rejoinder.

"What does he mean? What the devil does he mean?" whispered Sonnenberg,
excitedly, beckoning the doctor back after the others had gone in. "Tom
swears it's all right, yet you're to have the gun about twelve o'clock.
Now, I believe he's going to try and get it back again. Yes; that's it.
I'll keep an eye on Tom till then and stop that little game."

This the amiable Jew accordingly did. But that sable servitor, though
never out of his master's sight, was more good-humoured than ever, and
trotted about the store and the yard, doing his work thoroughly and
well, and notwithstanding that he never left the premises, by the time
Lambert appeared at the public offices, according to direction, Roden
reached the gun from the corner--the very weapon supposed to have been
sold to Tom. Lambert could hardly believe his eyes. There it was,
however; the identical piece. There had been no substitution, as he had
at first suspected. Every one knew it; for the peculiar rifling of its
long-range barrel was unique in Doppersdorp. No, there could be no
mistake.

"I'm sorry, Lambert," said Roden, in the indifferent tone of a man
speaking to another whom he disliked but had never quarrelled with, "but
I find the old shooter has broken down. It'll want some tinkering
before it'll be good for anything."

There could be no mistake as to the t