ing God's high praises. Scattered along the valley were the few houses composing the township, in the centre of which was an imposing suite of buildings, comprising an hotel, a store, the post-office, and suitable out-houses, including extensive stabling for the horses of Cobb's telegraph line of mail coaches. On the occasion of a recent sojourn at H., I heard the story I am about to tell; it has never yet been given to the public, and yet it well deserves a place among those detective notabilia which of late years have furnished such curious illustrations of the science of crime-discovery. I give it in the words of my informant, at least so far as substantial verity is concerned :

I

"I am a detective in the Victoria police, and have been one for some years; I was formerly one in Paris, and I was employed as such in the Hyde Park Exhibition of 1851. Since then I have been in various parts of the world; in fact there are very few of the force that haven't knocked about the world a good deal. However, at last I have settled in Australia, and hope my roving is ended. have never had but one crack case entrusted to my care; I have sometimes tracked thieves from the diggings into the interior, and found them boundary riders on stations, or clerks that did not keep their accounts straight, and found them bullock-driving up-country, but these were small affairs; a pair of bracelets soon settled such; but once I had a matter to find out on the very slightest information received, which required all my skill and all the resources of my long experience. Some four years ago there lived about a mile down the river, beyond the bridge yonder, an oldish man, who was reported to have made somewhere a good pile.' He was a thorough hermit; seldom stirred out, except to go to the store and buy a few necessaries, for which he always paid, and never was known to beat-down or haggle about the price of anything. This naturally led to the surmise that he had plenty of money. Near him lived another single man in a slab and bark hut; he was a shoemaker by trade, but in a small township like this his customers were but few, and his livelihood precarious. He was known to be as poor as his neighbour was supposed to be rich, and was as much dependent on the forbearance of his creditors as the other was on his ready money. Between these two solitary men, living on the river side, there sprung up a strangely intimate friendship; always after breakfast, often through the day, and regularly at night, they had their pipe together, sometimes with a pannikin of tea only, at others with a glass of grog. There was a dim mystery hanging over the

supposed rich man's history; where he had come from, or how he had made his money no one knew, and his churlish ways forbad any one to ask him; he and the shoemaker were all the world to each other, and beyond that neither seemed to care anything. In this uni form but curious mode of life, weeks and months passed away; the only difference observable being, that although Stevens, the shoemaker, had no more customers than formerly, he now seemed to have money always at command, and not only paid off his old scores but had ready money for all he needed.

"One morning, however—it was in the winter season, and the Glenelg was rolling its turbulent waters, muddy and swift, down to the sea-the old man's hut was not opened; wood splitters passing by observed that the old hermit was not sunning himself and smoking his 'cutty' as usual, and that night Stevens came running into the township greatly excited, and calling on Mr. T. at the inn, told him that not having seen old Jeffrey all the day, he had forced an entrance into the hut, but that the old man was not there, and what had become of him he did not know. A policeman, for H. is a police station, was immediately sent to take charge of the hut until the magistrates should make inquiry. Some days after the inquiry was made, but nothing came of it, further than the suspicion that Jeffrey had met with foul play. Still nothing was proved, nor could be proved, until the body could be found for eccentric as the old man was, who could say he had not got up in the night, and as suddenly started from H., as he had once suddenly made his appearance there?

"As soon as intelligence of this affair reached head-quarters at Melbourne, the matter was placed in my hands, with instructions to exercise my own discretion in my proceedings, absolving me from all disgrace if I failed, and promising me one hundred pounds if I succeeded. My plan was adopted after much consideration, and I have no reason to regret the steps I took, as will be seen in the sequel. I took the little steamer Western, Captain Lucas, to Portland, 260 miles, and after stopping a day or two at Mac's celebrated hotel, I started by the mail for the far interior. After three days' journey I arrived at H. as a 'traveller,' looking for a job of work; I had a tolerably heavy swag, and this with my pannikin and billy gave me all the appearance of a bonâ fide

Of

able for a long while to do nothing; but feeling more and more confident that the general suspicion of Stevens was well founded. course I became intimate with him, but only in the evenings when my work was done; in all respects I acted as an ordinary groom, receiving my weekly wages, and carefully avoiding everything that might lead anyone to suppose I was anything but a groom. Often have

I laughed within myself as a mounted trooper has ridden up, and called me to take his horse, and give him a feed; however, I kept my own counsel, and little by little light dawned upon my track. Over the never-failing pipe I had frequent conversations with Stevens about this old man; on such occasions he would generally fix his eyes upon the ground, which gave me the opportunity to watch him the more narrowly. I could then see the nervous twitchings of his face, the biting of his lip, and the sudden passing of his handkerchief across his brow, which convinced me that he knew more of this affair than I did. Frequently at the close of our conversations, in which Stevens was making these unconscious self-revelations, would he say,—'I hate talking of this dismal subject, let's have another glass.' On such occasions he always said,—'I'll shout; you are only a groom, I can afford it better than you.' Gradually he took to regular drinking; morning, noon, and night he was to be found at the bar. When joked about his finances, he had his answer ready: he had sold his horse, or an old mate had called and given him some cash. So long, however, as he 'shouted' freely, few cared where the money came from. My eyes, however, were steadily fixed on his drinking habits as the clue to my researches. Summer was now coming on; though it was a late summer, it was a regular hot Australian one; and in the course of a few weeks the Glenelg began to dry up, and its long chain of water-holes to appear. Now was the time for ascertaining whether the remains of the old man were to be found in any of the water-holes in the neighbourhood of H., and one evening as I was talking to Stevens about this, I said,' you or I may as well try and find the remains of Jeffrey, and so lay claim to the Government reward.' I noticed this gave him quite a turn; and although he tried to conceal it, I saw that he trembled all over, and though generally very mild spoken, he got quite angry with me, and told me I might do what I liked, but he wasn't so fond of looking after dead men, especially if they were murdered.' I replied,- No one said that Jeffrey was murdered; you have always said he made away with himself.' thought so once, but now, the more I think over the matter, the more convinced I am that

'I

he was murdered.' said I, and to prove it we must first find the remains, and as the river dries up I have no doubt we shall find them in one of the waterholes near his hut.' This was not exactly a guess, but was a conclusion arrived at thus: first, Stevens was a slight-built man, and, supposing him to have been the murderer, could not have carried Jeffrey far, and secondly, every one knows that murderers seldom have nerve or forethought to carry their victims far from the scene of the murder. As soon as I had said this he became very pale, and quickly said,—'Well, let's have a nobbler; I can't stand this everlasting talk about a murdered man.' We had our glass, and parted for the night; but my mind was already made up. Stevens, beyond doubt, was the murderer, and I must obtain the proof. I am not going to defend our code of morals. I admit that we often do evil that good may come; but society should not employ us to find out dark crimes if they mean to condemn us for our questionable methods of procedure. It was now late in January, and the weather was intensely hot. It was surprising to see how rapidly the Glenelg ceased to be a river, and how each day the water-holes became shallower and shallower. Prompted by me, Mr. T. obtained, from a neighbouring magistrate, orders for the police to examine every water-hole within a mile on either side of old Jeffrey's hut. As soon as this was known Stevens was down at the bar, trying, I suppose, to smother his memory in deep potations of whiskey. Directly the police commenced searching the river, I discharged myself, and having obtained my cheque, proceeded, or pretended, to spend it after the usual up-country fashion, which, as everybody knows, means staying in the bar, and shouting right off the reel. This I did not exactly do; I kept myself sober as a judge; behind the scenes I prompted every. thing; through Mr. T. I suggested every step that had hitherto been taken, and now I had only to wait the result of the searching and dragging these water-holes. Those who know the country, know that this is no easy matter, and that it occupies considerable time. Sometimes only two or three could be searched in a day, on others more. Whilst this was going on Stevens became almost a resident in the bar, seldom leaving it, but betraying the most intense and childish curiosity as to the result of the search. 'Have they found anything?' or, Haven't they found anything yet?' or, Well, I should have thought they would have found something by this time' were expressions that frequently fell from his lips. It was, I think, the fourth day of search, and Stevens

'That has to be proved,'

had been drinking hard all the time; on the afternoon of that day a sack was found with human remains in it at the bottom of a hole; and on the evening of that same day drink and excitement had rendered Stevens incapable of taking care of himself, and, at my suggestion, he was conveyed to the lock-up, as drunk and disorderly. I too, though perfectly sober,

affected to have been out on the spree, and was also locked up in the same place with Stevens, and my name also entered on the night-chargelist as drunk and disorderly. I never saw such a change in a man as came over Stevens when he found I was locked up with him. The effects of the drink were passing away owing to the strong mental excitement produced by the discovery of these remains; and no sooner was the lock turned on me, than he clasped me by the hand as the 'Groom that had always been so friendly,' and began to cry piteously like a child. His thoughts were running on the murder, and I resolved to use the opportunity. To make this right, I began,-'I say, Stevens, do you know they have found the old man's body. It was in a sack, and the sack was weighted with stones; and one of the stones, they say, was your lapstone. The skull is broken in two places, so that it is plain he must have been murdered. What made you talk about him in your sleep just now?' 'Did I? what did I say ?' 'You said if they would let you off, you would show them where his money was.' (This he had said in his sleep.) Upon this, he gave a convulsive shriek, fell back upon the straw, and exclaimed,—' Yes, I killed old Jeffrey-but don't peach on me ; they can only bring me up for being drunk and disorderly, and I'll give you half the money. I say, groom, you won't peach, will you? I will leave these parts. I have had too much whiskey. Let me sleep; I'll tell you everything to-morrow; but don't peach, and I'll make a clean breast of it.' Before the morning broke he had confessed everything to I had always been a good fellow, and he didn't mind telling Mr. T.'s groom everything. He had entered the old man's hut at midnight, beat in his skull, put the body in a sack, and, fool that he was, put in his own lapstone along with other stones to make it sink, and had hid his money beneath the mud floor of his cottage. The next morning we were both brought before the magistrate of the district, charged as aforesaid. On being asked what I had to say, I handed the magistrate my authority to act as detective, and requested to be placed in the witness-box, as I had a charge of murder to bring against Stevens, who was there on the minor charge. In less time than it takes to tell this, I had left the room, and greatly to

me.

the bewilderment of everyone, especially of the local police, the well-known groom at H. was in his uniform, bringing his charge against Stevens, founded on his own confession, of murdering the old hermit, Jeffrey.

"The sequel is soon told; my evidence hung Stevens, who again and again, previous to his execution, confessed not only this murder, but the murder of a mate in the bush some years back, with whom he was working on a station, making a stake and rail fence."

This was the story Delavan, the detective, told me. When he finished, I looked out upon the night stillness of the scene below and around me; here and there a solitary light glimmered through the latticed window of a bark hut; now and then a dog sent up his dismal howl as he bayed the moon in vain; the night-jar and the little "morepork" whizzed past with their melancholy and almost ominous cries; the river rolled below, and as its rapid waters rushed beneath the bridge, their gurgling sound was fearfully suggestive of the death-cry of a murdered man; above, the deep blue sky was encircling the silent earth as if to proclaim the Eternal tenderness that ever bends over man; the gentle Pleiades and the brilliant-belted Orion, looked serenely down from their empyrean heights on the quiet night-scene; while in the south, the Cross with its unequal beauty symbolised the deeper, tenderer love of Him, who may have had mercy even on the murderer at the eleventh hour. Everything said :—

How strikingly the course of nature tells, By its light heed of human suffering, That it was fashioned for a happier world. So thinking I retired to rest, and fell asleep to dream of this episode in my life-experience, gathered from the true story of an Australian detective. B.

THE MIDNIGHT WATCH.

I AM watching, watching lonely
For the love whom I love only;
I am dreaming of our meeting,
Of my love's low whisper'd greeting.

Kisses prest on lips which tremble With the love they can't dissemble; Vows respoken, seal'd for ever, Guarded close till death must sever.

Ties which here can ne'er be riven, Like two ships when tempest driven, Side by side, we'll brave the weather, Side by side go down together.

Wavelets bear my true love fleetly;
I am watching-murmur sweetly
Love's own song, thou midnight sea,
While thou bring'st him home to me.

CHAPTER XVI.

OUT ON THE TERRACE AFTER
NINE.

Ar about five minutes before nine that evening Miss Sydney Scott appeared before Theo in raiment so fresh, brilliant, and voluminous, that she resembled a substantial, not to say stout, butterfly. The little lady was arrayed in a white muslin, in a great expanse of it, and this was adorned with blue bows, blue ends, and blue runnings of glossy ribbon in a way that was very beautiful to behold. Over this she wore a blue china crape shawl, put on carelessly, so carelessly that it fell back and betrayed the fact of her braceleted arms and pretty white hands being bare.

"You see," she explained, when Theo had declared her "to be got up tremendously," "it's like one's own grounds after nine; we all come out then just as we have been dressed for dinner; you must have seen that everybody comes out as much got up as I am."

"I have not seen, for I have not thought of looking. I have not known who the promenaders were, so I haven't been interested, you see. What are we supposed to do now?" "Put on your hat and come out and walk up and down."

"That sounds cheerful, on those pebbles; can't we go up under the colonnades?"

no

"Oh, no," Sydney cried decisively; one goes there, all the fun is on the terrace; besides, to-night

"Well, what of to-night?"

Why, perhaps if he sees us, that friend of yours might like to come in; now don't be affected, and pretend that you would rather your grandfather did not join you from motives of propriety. Mrs. Leigh, you will come out too, won't you? Mamma's there, and will be delighted to get you to talk to again."

"But who's Theo's friend?" Mrs. Leigh asked. "I must hear that first."

"Oh, mamma, no friend; of course I should have mentioned meeting a friend,' but Mr. Linley, a mere acquaintance like Mr. Linley, I didn't think it worth while telling you that I met. I used to see him at Mrs. Galton's, and I met him this afternoon, that is all." "Linley!" her father ejaculated, "that's a name I ought to know very well." When he said that, Theo knew that she was in for it-in for continued intercourse with that man to whom Harold Ffrench was so antipathetic. "Come along," she said quickly to Sydney,

who was beating the floor with her foot in impatience to be off; "you'll come out and join us then, mamma?" Then, without waiting for a word more, the two girls went out of the house.

"Let us go up to the other end," Theo said; "it's more open up there."

"No," Sydney replied resolutely, "let us keep down here, we shall see the drags go off." Miss Sydney walked along towards the "hotel," with her white robes and blue drapery floating around her bravely.

There were four men out on the balcony of that room in the hotel which faces the west. Without looking up, Theo felt that one of the four was Mr. Linley, and that he would come down presently. Without looking up also, or at any rate without appearing to look up, Sydney knew that three of the men were young, and that they rejoiced in tenderly-tinted waistcoats and flowers in their button-holes.

Presently the four came in and gained the terrace just as the ringing-out bell commenced pealing. Theo's father and mother had come out by this time. And when an inexorable policeman was insisting upon the immediate withdrawal of the quartette, Mr. Linley came up to the Leighs, hat in hand, and said :—

"Will you plead privilege for myself and my friends, Miss Leigh, or will you see us turned out?"

It had come! there was no help for her. Theo felt that she must introduce him to her father.

She shook off the feeling of being a naughty mouse whose guardian cat was absent after a time, when the three younger men had been introduced to them and had succeeded in engaging Sydney and herself in conversation apart from the elders.

"Harold can't mind papa talking to him, surely," she thought; "it's only me he wants to keep from being friendly with Mr. Linley, and I have no desire to be it." With the thought her spirits rose, and altogether she was very happy, though the path was pebbly, and though the honours of the occasion were clearly with the pretty creature in blue and white who was being frank and engagingly outspoken in a wonderful manner.

It was very pleasant, and she wished that Harold Ffrench could have been there with her when the daylight quite died out of the sky and the moon shone forth in all her glory,

No. 288.