ve happened. Mr. Cumshaw, on the other hand,
was alert and suspicious. He suspected everybody and everything, and he
had answered the advertisement solely because he believed, or affected
to believe, that an expedition to the hill country could have no other
object that the recovery of the gold. Doubtless it will appear strange
that Mr. Cumshaw had allowed so many years to elapse without attempting
to secure it for himself, but, as he told Bryce later on, there were
reasons even for that.

* * * * *

They stopped at Ballarat for lunch; Bryce refilled the petrol tank, and
then they set out on the long stretch to Ararat. Though no definite
statement exists, they passed the night at the latter town, for Cumshaw
afterwards told his son that they reached Landsborough about 10.30 the
following morning. Beyond Landsborough the track became very trying for
the car, and somewhere towards the evening of the second day the machine
was hidden away securely in one of the many gullies that abounded in the
neighbourhood. Then the hardest part of the journey began. Child's play
though it might have been to Cumshaw, who, for all his years, had a
constitution such as it is given to a few men to possess, it certainly
must have been a matter of infinite torture to Bryce, handicapped as he
was with his weak-heart and his wheezy lungs.

They spent the next few days in working across to the spot where Bradby
had been killed thirty odd years before. As they drew near to the place
Cumshaw became more self-contained and uncommunicative than ever. The
sight of the old scene seemed to have depressed him marvellously. Bryce
watched him with increasing attentiveness; he noticed that he picked out
the road as if he had been used to it from childhood. There were times
when Bryce turned suddenly on him and caught a glimpse of a hard-set jaw
and a mouth about which strong lines of determination had woven
themselves. Yet, as soon as Cumshaw fancied he was observed, the mask of
his face melted into a smile, and the sombre eyes sparkled with a humor
that somehow seemed too real to be assumed.

"You seem very familiar with the place, Cumshaw," Bryce remarked one
morning.

"I told you I was," Cumshaw answered, his unfathomable eyes searching
his employer's face.

"How long is it since you were here last?" Bryce asked.

At the question all expression vanished from the other's face, leaving
it as immobile as a carven imag