'Oh yes. Did Stony quite escape you that night?'
'He did, thank's to you, Done.'
'A man couldn't see murder done under his very nose without stirring a hand.'
'Don't apologize. I have no grievance. If I had killed him I should have regretted it more than the death of my dearest friend, although no man from the time of Cain had better excuse for murder. I suppose you have not seen the man since?'
'No!' answered Jim with emphasis.
'Meaning that you would not tell me if you had. You need not fear being an accessory before the act. I want Stony alive, Mr. Done.'
'Mister Done!' Jim laughed. 'I did not think there was a Mister on the camp. But how do you know my name?'
'I have heard it here to-night half a dozen times. My name is Wat Ryder—Walter Ryder, but mono syllabic Christian names are insisted on amongst our friends.' He pointed his cigar towards the diggers at the tables. 'Forgive me,' he continued in an even voice, 'but your scrutiny of me is suggestive. May I ask what there is in my appearance or my manner that disturbs you?'
The question was put without feeling of any kind, but it startled Jim a little. He was surprised to find that he had betrayed any trace of his emotion.
'Well,' he said, 'my experience of you has not been commonplace.'