“No, I don’t think that was it.”
“Was it Croft, Captain Link?”
“Well, one of them answered to the name of Croft, and now I recollect that it was the name of the little man; but his master’s—let me see, I have it now—he was called Falcon, and he was my employer’s friend—or, I should say, he passed as such for some time after the owner of the ship had left Sydney. However, we will not say more about them at present.”
“I am so glad,” said Mrs Chain, as they drew nearer to the palace, “that you were with my daughter, Captain Link, when those suspicious men turned up again.”
“Indeed, I am proud to have met Miss Chain; and, do you know, I have some idea of ascending this afternoon?”
“Indeed!” said the mother, “that will be nice, and I hope you will all have an enjoyable trip.”
“I want to ask you,” said the captain, “as we are getting near to the balloon, not to say anything to my friend, Mr Harry Goodall, about this man Falcon, or Filcher Falcon as William Goodall styles him—or of any family accident or bereavement in the Goodall family of which you may have heard.”
“We certainly will not,” said Miss Chain.
“By the way,” said the sailor, “did you notice a man walking near you, just before we met in the grounds?”
“I did,” replied Miss Chain. “He was Hawksworth, the gentlemanly detective, but not, I should say, a clever one.”