ion of the sum of money "in the old house in Blue Anchor Yard"
flashed across his memory. Perhaps Sarah had got the money from the
receiver and appropriated it. But why invest it in an oil and tallow
warehouse? He had always been suspicious of the woman, because he had
never understood her, and his suspicions redoubled. Convinced that there
was some plot hatching, he determined to use all the advantages that his
position gave him to discover the secret and bring it to light. The name
of the man to whom Rex's letters had been addressed was "Blicks".
He would find out if any of the convicts under his care had heard of
Blicks. Prosecuting his inquiries in the proper direction, he soon
obtained a reply. Blicks was a London receiver of stolen goods, known to
at least a dozen of the black sheep of the Sydney fold. He was reputed
to be enormously wealthy, had often been tried, but never convicted.
Frere was thus not much nearer enlightenment than before, and
an incident occurred a few months afterwards which increased his
bewilderment He had not been long established in his magistracy, when
Blunt came to claim payment for the voyage of Sarah Purfoy. "There's
that schooner going begging, one may say, sir," said Blunt, when the
office door was shut.

"What schooner?"

"The Franklin."

Now the Franklin was a vessel of three hundred and twenty tons which
plied between Norfolk Island and Sydney, as the Osprey had plied in the
old days between Macquarie Harbour and Hobart Town. "I am afraid that is
rather stiff, Blunt," said Frere. "That's one of the best billets going,
you know. I doubt if I have enough interest to get it for you. Besides,"
he added, eyeing the sailor critically, "you are getting oldish for that
sort of thing, ain't you?"

Phineas Blunt stretched his arms wide, and opened his mouth, full of
sound white teeth. "I am good for twenty years more yet, sir," he said.
"My father was trading to the Indies at seventy-five years of age. I'm
hearty enough, thank God; for, barring a drop of rum now and then, I've
no vices to speak of. However, I ain't in a hurry, Captain, for a month
or so; only I thought I'd jog your memory a bit, d ye see."

"Oh, you're not in a hurry; where are you going then?"

"Well," said Blunt, shifting on his seat, uneasy under Frere's
convict-disciplined eye, "I've got a job on hand."

"Glad of it, I'm sure. What sort of a job?"

"A job of whaling," said Blunt, more uneasy than before.

"Oh