“Can't you and I do that?” asked Frere uneasily.
“I am afraid not. I wouldn't like to swear to a man after five years.”
“By George,” said Frere, “I'd swear to him! When once I see a man's face—that's enough for me.”
“We had better get up a few prisoners who were at the Harbour at the time,” said Vickers, as if wishing to terminate the discussion. “I wouldn't let the villains slip through my fingers for anything.”
“And are the men at Port Arthur old men?” asked Meekin.
“Old convicts,” returned Vickers. “It's our place for 'colonial sentence' men. The worst we have are there. It has taken the place of Macquarie Harbour. What excitement there will be among them when the schooner goes down on Monday!”
“Excitement! Indeed? How charming! Why?” asked Meekin.
“To bring up the witnesses, my dear sir. Most of the prisoners are Lifers, you see, and a trip to Hobart Town is like a holiday for them.”
“And do they never leave the place when sentenced for life?” said Meekin, nibbling a biscuit. “How distressing!”
“Never, except when they die,” answered Frere, with a laugh; “and then they are buried on an island. Oh, it's a fine place! You should come down with me and have a look at it, Mr. Meekin. Picturesque, I can assure you.”