The Intrepid was gone.
Once more the prey had slipped through his fingers by a few hours, and the long trail stretched before him.
Silently the detective walked from the steamer office.
Owens was chagrined.
For some minutes he did not speak, and his silence showed his deep disappointment.
"To think that the rascal should take Tom Owens in so cleverly!" suddenly cried the Scotland Yarder. "It makes me feel sick. I tracked him from Liverpool so nicely, and had everything snug for you, Mr. Broadbrim; but here he slips through my fingers like a Thames eel; it's too bad. I'll go with you and help you find him in Australia."
"No," said the Quaker, laying his hand on the other's arm. "This is my trail from now on, and this scoundrel will be hunted to his doom if I have to track him all over the world!"
"You can't get another steamer out of London port for Melbourne inside of a week," said Owens.
"Will I have to lie here in agony that long?" was the reply.
"It seems so, but you'll find plenty here to interest you, and we'll see that time doesn't hang heavily on your hands. Redmond has got clean off, and neatly, too, but we'll find out if he left anything behind."