'Dayrell wouldn't do a thing like that, surely,' exclaimed the first speaker in tones of amazement. 'Why, it's as bad as murder, I call it. What's to become of a swell chap like him, if he's lagged and sent to the hulks?'

'There's devilish few things as Dayrell wouldn't do, it's my opinion, if he thought he'd get a step by it,' replied his friend. 'But this cove's friends'll make a fight for it. They'll have law. They've got money, and so has he, of course. They'll have a lawyer from Melbourne.'

It did not appear at first as if there was much danger to be apprehended as far as Lance was concerned. Directly his case was called, he stood up and faced the Bench and the expectant crowd with a stern expression—half of defiance, half of contempt.

'May I say a few words in my own defence?' he commenced. 'I am certain that a short explanation would convince the Bench that any charge such as I am called upon to answer is ludicrous in the extreme.'

'We must first have the evidence of the apprehending constable,' said the police magistrate decisively, 'after which the Bench will hear anything you have to say.'

'But, your worship, I wish to speak a few words before.'

'After the evidence,' said the P.M. sternly. 'Swear Sergeant Dayrell.'

That official strode forward, stepping into the vertical pew which is placed for the apparent in-convenience of witnesses, by adding to their natural nervousness and trepidation the discomfort of a cramped wearisome posture. To him, at least, it made no difference. Cool and collected, he made his statement with practised ease and deliberation, as if reading an oft-recited passage out of a well-known volume, watching the pen of the clerk of the Bench, so as to permit that official to commit to writing correctly his oft-fateful words. They were as follows—

'My name is Francis Dayrell, senior-sergeant of police for the colony of Victoria, at present stationed at Growlers' Gully. I know the prisoners before the court. On Friday the 20th September last, from information received, I proceeded to a digging known as Balooka, situated in New South Wales, and distant about one hundred and seventy miles from Ballarat. I arrived on Monday evening the 23d, and proceeded to the camp of the prisoner Edward Lawless, whom I arrested by virtue of a warrant, which I produce. It is signed by a magistrate of the territory. In a yard close to the prisoner's camp I found a large number of horses, several of which I at once identified as being stolen from miners at Ballarat, or in the vicinity. Others appeared to have brands resembling those of squatters in the neighbourhood. The prisoner Lawless was unable to account for his possession of these, or to produce receipts. He was about to leave for Melbourne, I was informed, in order to sell the whole mob. I arrested him and his cousin Daniel, and charged him with stealing the horse named in the warrant. While he was in custody I observed the other prisoner, Launcelot Trevanion by name, riding towards the camp in company with a young woman. She was riding one horse, and leading another. When he came up I identified both the horse he was riding and that of his companion as stolen horses, both of which have been advertised in the Police Gazette. I produce the Gazette wherein the brand and description correspond. I charged the prisoner with receiving a certain bay horse branded H. J., well knowing him to be stolen, and arrested him. I then conveyed the prisoners to the gaol at Ballarat East, where I confined them.'

This evidence—which even Lance admitted to himself placed matters in a more unfavourable light than he could have supposed possible—being read over, Mr. M'Alpine said, 'Have you any question to ask the witness?'