Indeed the girl was glowing, though dusty and dishevelled from head to foot. Her splendid colouring had never been more radiant, nor had the bewildered sergeant ever looked upon such brilliant eyes. But it was a feverish brilliance, and a glance would have apprised the skilled observer of a brain in the balance between endurance and suspense.
"What on earth were you doing in Blind Man's Block?" asked Harkness, suspiciously.
"I'll tell you. I'll tell you something else as well! But first you must tell me something, Sergeant Harkness."
"I believe you know where he is," quoth the sergeant, softly.
"Do you know who he is?" cried Moya, coming finely to her point.
Harkness stared harder than ever.
"Well, I thought I did—until this afternoon."
"Who did you think it was?"
"Well, there's no harm in saying now. Rightly or wrongly, I only told Mr. Rigden at the time. But I always thought it was Captain Bovill, the old bushranger who escaped from Pentridge two or three weeks ago."
"Then you thought wrong," said Moya, boldly.