They shook hands warmly, and then Walters said, “Come along with me, Jack, to the Water Police Station; we can have a yarn there.... Oh, yes, I'm a Sydney man now—a full-fledged inspector of police... tell you all about it by and by. But, push along, old man. One of my men has just told me that a woman who jumped off the Circular Quay and tried to drown herself, is lying at the station, and is not expected to pull through. Hallo! here's a cab! Jump in, Jack; there's some whisky in the sergeant's room, and after I've seen the cadaver—if she has cadavered—we'll have a right down good yarn.”
The cab rattled through the now almost deserted street, and in a few minutes Harrington and his friend alighted at a small stone building overlooking the waters of Sydney Harbour. A water-policeman, who stood at the door under the big gas-lamp, saluted the inspector and then showed Harrington into the sergeant's room.
Ten minutes passed, and then Walters, accompanied by a big, stout, red-faced man, came in.
“Ha, here you are, old man. Jack, Dr. Parsons—the man who does the resuscitating and such silly business of this institution; Parsons, my old friend, Jack Harrington. Sergeant, where is that whisky?”
“Is the woman dead, doctor?” asked Harrington presently, as the sergeant's wife brought in a bottle of whisky and some glasses.
“No,” replied the police doctor slowly, as he poured some whisky into his glass, “she is not dead; but she may not live much longer—a day or so perhaps. It all depends. Shock to the system.”
“One of the usual sort, Parsons, I suppose?” inquired Walters—“left the baby on the wharf, with a written request for some 'kind Christian to love it,' eh?”
The fat doctor grunted. “You're a beast, Walters. There's no baby in the case. Here, give me ten shillings—you'll spend more than that in drinks before you go to bed to-night This girl isn't one of the usual sort. She's a lady—and she's been starving. So ante-up, you ex-nigger-shooting Queensland policeman; and I'll add another half-sov. Then perhaps your friend will give me something for her. And I'm not going to send her off to the hospital. I'm going to take her to some people I know, and ask them to keep her for a few days until she gets round.”
Harrington put his hand in his pocket, and then in a nervous, diffident way, looking first at Walters and then at the doctor, put five sovereigns on the table.
“I'm pretty flush now, you know.... I'm not a plunger, but I shall be glad, doctor, if you will take that and give it to her.... I was almost starving myself once—- you know, Walters, when I got the sack from the 'Morning Star' Mine for plugging the English manager when he called me a 'damned colonial lout.'”