“You’re not afraid of opening your mouth to ask,” he says, fighting his ground as he retreats. “You know I’ve never given up all hopes of finding little George some day. I don’t believe the niggers that stole him killed him, or I’d have heard of it. I’d look nice if I gave away what’s to be his some day if he turned up afterwards, wouldn’t I?”
“If you make me a partner in the run I’ll help you. If not, I’ll marry Mr. Puttis at once, as he wishes me to do, and go to Brisbane. I don’t mind,” adds Lileth, pausing for a moment, “agreeing to give up to poor Georgie half my share if he ever returns to you.
“I shall want a written and signed agreement, uncle,” she observes, as she leaves him to enter the house, “before I commence work.” Then at the doorway she turns and remarks, in a careless tone of voice, “You may like to know that Angland—Dyesart’s nephew—has already left Sydney, and may be here any day.”
This last bit of news was just what was wanted to complete the subjugation of Mr. Giles to his niece’s will. How did she know of this news about Angland? Why, of course, from that young devil of a nephew of his, whom he had bribed to intercept the dead explorer’s approaching relative. His own rough-and-ready plan had failed; perhaps his niece’s scheme would succeed. Anyhow, it was best to have her on his side, for otherwise she might consider it best for herself to make young Angland fall in love with her. She could do that, if she liked, Giles felt certain. The squatter rises and paces up and down the creaking floor of the verandah restlessly at the thought.
“Fool that I was to let that black boy of the doctor’s escape me,” he murmurs aloud. “Torture and money would have made him reveal the grave to me. It is in that grave, or near it, where the secret that can blast and ruin me lies. If that girl knew that secret she would kill me without compunction. I know it. At any risk she must remain on my side till the danger is past.”
So the agreement is signed and handed to Miss Mundella that night. And the dark eyes flash like unto Diana’s upon a successful mythological hunting morning as Lileth’s steady pen directs two telegrams,—one for Inspector Puttis, which we saw him read at Ulysses, and another to an influential admirer of hers in the office of the Commissioner of Police, Brisbane. And then the active brain falls to pondering over the something that she believes her uncle kept back from her that afternoon.
CHAPTER XI.
THE BLACK POLICE.
“Ye to whose sovereign hands the Fates confide
Of this fair land the reins,—