Part 31 (2/2)

As the days wore on and Durham won his way back to health, he waited in vain for a token from Mrs. Burke that the memory which persisted so clearly was other than the figment of a dream.

Although she gave him every attention a sick man required, there was neither look nor word from her to justify him in believing that the memory was of an actual scene. For hours she would be with him, reading to him, talking to him, meeting his glance freely and frankly; but never was there the veriest hint of the emotion he had seen in her eyes on that occasion.

Nor did he hear again the curious stifled cry which had seemed to ring in his ears the night he arrived. He was constantly on the alert for it, both by night and day, while he was confined to his room and later when he was able to get out on to the verandah. But there was no repet.i.tion of it, until at last he had perforce to accept the doctor's view and regard it, as well as the other memory, as merely the vagaries of delirium.

But if she gave him nothing whereon to feed the love he had for her, that love did not diminish as the days pa.s.sed. It took a deeper and firmer hold upon him until he lived in a veritable Fool's Paradise, giving no thought of the morrow, saving that it would be spent with her, and forgetting even the task which had brought him to the district. The outside world did not obtrude itself upon him, till the doctor declared that only once more would he visit him. Then it came with a rush.

A dozen questions forced themselves upon his mind.

Since his arrival at Waroona Downs, no word had reached him from Brennan, no mention had been made of the robberies. When, once or twice, he had attempted to speak of them, Mrs. Burke told him the doctor's orders were that he was not to be allowed to dwell upon anything likely to disturb him, and she insisted on carrying out those orders. He had always yielded, lest she put into execution the threat she made, to leave him to the tender mercies of old Patsy for a whole day. But now the injunction was removed, for the doctor himself had asked whether he should tell Brennan to come out.

Durham awaited his arrival with impatience. Now that he allowed his mind to revert to more prosaic matters than the object of his adoration, he concluded that, as he had not been troubled with official detail, someone else had been sent up to continue the investigation into the mystery.

He ran over the names of the men most likely to be entrusted with the work, speculating which one it was, and what course he had followed. He hunted for the letter he had found the day he discovered the track leading to the lake among the hills, and when he could not find it, he inferred that after he had been struck down at Taloona, the two marauders had searched him and had recovered what would have been invaluable evidence against Eustace.

The excuse Mrs. Burke had put forward for refusing to discuss the matter with him suggested she knew he had been superseded; the belief grew in his mind that his successor had succeeded in either tracing the stolen gold or securing the arrest of Eustace, and perhaps his companion also.

Mrs. Burke, knowing this, had declined to talk lest she revealed the secret and gave him, as she would consider, cause for mental anxiety and distress.

It was therefore a great surprise for him to learn from Brennan, as soon as he came out, that no one had been sent up to take charge of the case; that no arrest had been made, nor clue discovered; but that everything had been allowed to remain as it was until such time as he was sufficiently recovered to resume duty.

”They should not have done that,” he exclaimed. ”Look at the time wasted.”

”I understand the Bank wished it, sir,” Brennan answered. ”Mr. Wallace told me as much. He said he and his directors were satisfied no one could solve the riddle as you could, and head-quarters had been asked not to put anyone else in charge, but to leave you with an absolutely free hand.”

”It is very good of them,” Durham said. ”But still--look at the chance it has given the thieves to get away with the gold.”

”They haven't gone, sir,” Brennan said quietly.

”How do you know?”

”One of them was seen only last night,” Brennan continued in a low tone.

”He was seen on the Taloona road, riding the white horse. That is what puzzles me. How does he hide that horse? It's never been seen in any of the paddocks for miles round, for everyone is on the watch for it. And a man can't hide a white horse in a hollow log--it must run somewhere some time.”

”Where is Mrs. Eustace?”

”She's at Smart's cottage. She came in from Taloona yesterday. That's what makes it strange, to my mind, this white horse and rider being seen on the Taloona road the day she leaves the place.”

”Where are the troopers--Conlon and his mate?”

”Went away three days ago, sir, on orders from head-quarters.”

”And Mr. Dudgeon?”

”Oh, he's still at Taloona. They say he's pretty well right again, except that he limps with a stick.”

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