den, of course."

"So you think he may be mistaken about the tracks, do you?"

"I think it's possible."

"You know a lot about such things yourself, of course! You have a wide
experience of the bush, haven't you? What do the police think?"

"They're leaving it till the morning. They hope for the best."

"So everybody is pleased except my brilliant brother! I want to know
why--I want to know more about these tracks."

He told her more with unruffled mien; he rather enjoyed her sarcasm; it
both justified and stimulated his own. Sarcasm he held to be the salt of
intercourse. It was certainly a game at which two Bethunes could always
play.

"But we shall see in the morning," concluded Theodore. "The heathen is
to be put upon the scent at dawn; if he passes it, well and good."

"Meanwhile you don't?"

"No, I'm hanged if I do," said Theodore, bluntly.

"Because you haven't been to see?"

Theodore smiled.

"Because you wouldn't know a man's track from a monkey's if you went?"

Theodore laughed.

"Why drag in Darwin, my dear girl? No, I've not been to look, and yet
I'm not convinced. I just have my doubts, and a reason or so for them;
then I haven't your admirable ground of belief in the infallibility of
our host's judgment. He may be mistaken. Mistakes do get made by
moonlight. Let's put it at that."

But Moya knew that he was not putting it at that in his mind, and she
made up hers to learn the worst of his suspicions.

"If the tracks are not his, whose are they?" she demanded, as though it
mattered. "If the creature is not somewhere about the run, where is he?"

And this did matter.

"If you ask me," said Theodore, with great gravity for him, "I should
say that he was within a few yards of us all the time!"

"A few yards?"

"I should say," repeated Theodore, "that he was somewhere about the
homestead, not the run. And you know perfectly well that you agree!"

"I?"

She jumped up in a fury.

"How dare you say that to me? How dare you, Theodore?"

"My dear Moya, I'm at a loss to understand you!" and his eyebrows
underlined the words into largest capitals. "How on earth have I
offended? I'm quite sure that you have the same suspicion--not to call
it fear--that I entertain myself. If not, why be in such a state? Why
not go to bed and to sleep like a rational person? I confess I don't
feel like doing so myself--with the chance of waking up to find an
escaped criminal on your chest. I prefer to sit u