g the glass the latter
noticed that a uniformed trooper had suddenly appeared in the doorway. A
turn of the eye satisfied him that there was another at the French
window. He gave no sign of emotion, but leaned forward and spoke in a low
voice to Yarra.

'You remember, Yarra, what I have told you. Trooper fellow come now,
maybe.' He added a few words in the aboriginal tongue. 'Go quick!' he
said.

There was a wait of some minutes, during which Ryder sat sipping at his
drink, apparently entirely unconscious of anything but the singing. But
presently he knew that he was the third point of a triangle, from the
other points of which two regulation revolvers covered him. He satisfied
himself with a movement of his elbow that his own revolver was in its
place under his vest.

'Wat Ryder, alias Solo, I arrest you in the name of the Queen!' The
trooper from the door had advanced into the room. 'You are my prisoner.
Stir a finger, and I'll shoot you where you sit.'

Ryder had shown no disposition to stir; he was still sipping at the
glass, the coolest man in the room. The other guests looked unspeakably
stupid in their open-mouthed amazement. Ryder saw that another trooper
had taken the sergeant's place at the door, and that the man at the
French window was now on the inside.

The first trooper had advanced to within a few feet of Ryder before it
seemed to occur to the latter that he was the person addressed.

'Do you mean me, my man?' he said.

'I do; and I may tell you hanky-panky won't be healthy for you. We've got
you cornered.'

Ryder arose quite unruffled, and set down his glass. Looking round upon
the guests, he smiled and said:

'This is another of the possibilities of social life in Victoria. Will
you tell me who I am supposed to be, and what I am supposed to do?'

'You are supposed to take these on for one thing,' said the trooper,
swinging a pair of handcuffs in his left hand.

'Oh, certainly, if it's in the game.' Ryder offered his wrists.

'Behind you, please.'

'To be sure.' With his clenched fists behind him, Ryder submitted to the
handcuffs, and then, as he stood manacled, his eye fell upon Donald
Macdougal. The squatter was almost at his elbow, leaning against a small
table, rolling his tongue under his teeth. The eyes of the two men met,
and under the bushy brows of Monkey Mack there was a reddish gleam in
which the Honourable Walter Ryder read a baboon-like malignancy, and in a
moment the latte