She was not to be found, and no one thought of searching Meg's domicile.
Some thought she had gone back to the ranch, but Broadbrim was equally certain that he had not seen the last of the cool-headed creature.
Nor had he.
The little vessel rocking lightly in the bay of Perth was ready for the voyage of the morrow, and Old Broadbrim stood on the deck with the lights of the town before him.
The night was a beautiful one, and he knew that the arrest of Merle Macray had stirred up the rough populace and that it was the talk in saloon and dance hall all over the port.
Suddenly there came into view a dark, straggling object, which grew larger as it approached, and the detective leaned over the vessel's side and waited.
The Swallow was moored close to the dock, and as she was a vessel of a few tons burden, for she was a coaster, she was at the mercy of almost any mob, however small.
The Quaker detective's face grew sterner as he looked, and watched the crowd of Australians as it came on silently, but with determined mien.
It did not take him long to know what had happened.
The Yankee spotter was not to be permitted to get away with his prey, if the men of Perth could prevent.