Silver Mines Company, Limited.
“Acting under legal advice, the Directors have decided to close the share list of this unparalleled mine, of which the ore bodies at greater depths are daily disclosing a state of phenomenal richness. All applications for shares not sent in by the fifteenth day of the present month will be returned. If over-applied for—of which information will be furnished by the incoming English mail—applicants will have shares allotted to them in the order of their priority.”
This was to Mr. Blount sufficient information for the present. The future of the mine was assured, and he was merely nervously anxious that no malignant interference with the normal course of events should prevent his arriving in Melbourne on the following day, in time to take his berth in the Sydney Express that afternoon—which indeed he had telegraphed for the day before. The partners had arrived on board the Pateena, now puffing angrily, with full steam up, a full half hour before the advertised time, owing to Mr. Blount’s anxiety not to be late, and were walking up and down the deck, Tregonwell in vain attempting to get his fellow director to listen to details, and Blount inwardly fuming at the delay and cursing the Tasmanian lack of punctuality and general slackness, when two shabbily-dressed men stepped on board, one of whom walked up to the friends, tapped Mr. Blount on the shoulder, and producing a much crumpled piece of paper, said shortly, “I arrest you in the Queen’s name, by virtue of this Warrant!”
To describe Mr. Blount’s state of mind at this moment is beyond the resources of the English language—perhaps beyond those of any language. Rage, mortification, surprise, despair almost, struggled together in his mind, until his heart seemed bursting.
For a moment it seemed, as he threw off his captor with violence, and faced the pair of myrmidons with murder in his eye, as if he intended resistance in spite of law, order, and all the forces of civilisation. But his companion, cooler in situations of absolute peril as he was more impetuous in those of lighter responsibility, restrained him forcibly.
“Nonsense! keep calm, for God’s sake, and don’t make a scene. Just allow me to look at the warrant,” he said to the apprehending constable. “I wish to see if it is in order. I am a magistrate of the territory. I can answer for my friend, who, though naturally disgusted, is not likely to resist the law.”
The men were placated by this reasonable treatment of the position.
“The warrant seems in order,” said Tregonwell. “The strange part of it is that it should not have been cancelled all this time, as we know that no proceedings were taken by the police at Bunjil in consequence of the non-appearance of the prosecution for the Crown. How this warrant got here and has been forwarded for execution is the astonishing part of the affair. Do you know,” he said, addressing the peace officer, “how this warrant came into the hands of the Department here?”
“Forwarded for execution here, sir,” said the man civilly, “with a batch of New South Wales warrants, chiefly for absconders, false pretences men, and others who have a way of crossing the Straits. It oughtn’t to have been allowed to run, as the case wasn’t gone on with. The acting clerk of the bench there is a senior constable, not quite up in his work; he has made a mistake, and got it mixed up with others. Most likely it’s a mistake, but all the same, the gentleman must come with us for the present.”
“All right, constable, we’ll go with you, and make no attempt to escape. Bail will be forthcoming—in thousands, if necessary.”