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I saw the sturdy Dudgeon's mouth working like a bull-terrier's over a shrewmouse. And between them, Alain had never a chance. Not for the first time in this history, I found myself all but taking sides with him in sheer repulsion from the barbarity of the attack. It seemed that it was through Fenn that Mr.
Under Dudgeon's ownership Waroona Downs flourished, and later he acquired the largest station in the district. The success he enjoyed at Waroona Downs followed him. His ownership of Taloona alone made him the richest man in the community. But no amount of money could bring back to him the nature which had been his before the bitterness of betrayal changed him to a misanthropical cynic.
He had stumbled on a clue, but the following it up was not for that day. Later he would return and complete his discovery. For the present he must leave it. There was a long ride before him if he were to reach Dudgeon's homestead at Taloona by sunset. That Eustace was one of the two men concerned in the robbery of the bank he had now no doubt.
One of the wheels was loose and askew on the axle, with the result that it made a wobbly mark on the ground, while the tyres on all the wheels were uneven in width and badly worn. "Almost as ancient as old Dudgeon's rattle-trap," Durham said to himself as he looked at the marks.
"Have you heard the latest?" he inquired as he joined them. "What's that? A clue? Have the police got a clue?" Soden exclaimed. "There's a clue of a sort, but the police haven't got it. Davy Freeman has been giving us a new theory. He says old Dudgeon's at the back of it all." "I'm not sure he's far wrong, Mr. Gale, to tell you the truth," Soden said in his slow manner.
The last of the homestead, now an irregular heap of smouldering ashes over which stray lambent flames flickered and danced, served to shed sufficient light to show where two still figures lay under the shelter of Dudgeon's rackety old buggy, thrown over on its side.
Another was there also, a young man about Dudgeon's age, an Irishman named O'Guire, a dashing, reckless fellow who made up in sharpness of wit and trickery what he lacked in moral stability and scruples. Indirectly, he was the pivot on which the course of Dudgeon's life turned from the normal. The direct cause was Kitty Lambton.
"You will do nothing of the kind, Mrs. Burke. I tell you the doctor sent to stop me from driving up to the huts where they are. You would do no good by going there; you may do a great deal of harm." "Oh, indeed. And pray what is there about me that is likely to do harm to any man?" "You know Mr. Dudgeon's character. The doctor says he is in a most critical condition.
"Merrily danced the Quaker's wife, And merrily danced the Quaker." I broke into that animated and appropriate air, clapped my arm about Dudgeon's waist, and away down the hill at a dancing step! He hung back a little at the start, but the impulse of the tune, the night, and my example, were not to be resisted.
He knew what it was in the past to which Tommy referred, and appreciated his delicacy of expression. "Yes, Tommy," he said, "and I, too, often think of the past. But is there anything special that brings it to your mind just now?" Upon this, all Tommy Dudgeon's clever plans vanished into air. His scheme for leading the conversation up to the desired point utterly broke down.
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