"There, don't call me Merle," the voice of the speaker dropped almost to a whisper, but the old detective heard. "I'm in Melbourne on a bit of secret business and I don't care to be 'Merle' here."
"That's all right, but why didn't you say so at the start? I am always ready to do you a favor, Me—Jack. There, that's one of the old names, you know. It'll do, won't it?"
"Yes, 'Jack.' That name is all O. K."
The other slipped away and left Merle to himself covertly watched by the detective who was secretly rejoicing over this bit of good luck.
He knew his man now.
Once more he had found Rufus Redmond, the Cunarder's passenger, but in a distant part of the world, and there he had blossomed out again as Merle Macray.
Merle did not remain long at the dance.
With a last look around the hall he slipped out, and immediately after the detective's corner was deserted and the old sleuth was on the trail outside.
Now he must not lose his man.
Perhaps Merle Macray thought that in Melbourne he was safe.