The Second String

"I'll be back in half an hour," said Amos.

"Mind you bring it with you," was the reply.

"He knows all about it," thought Amos, and then, with a sudden fear, he muttered —

"He may be the man with the warrant. No, that's not likely, he'd remain on board. A hundred pounds for a pearl worth thousands, it's shameful."

He gave no thought to the manner in which it came into his possession, he grudged parting with it for such a paltry sum. It was, however, the best thing to do, in fact the only way. He would clear eighty pounds, which was better than nothing, and at the same time secure a powerful friend in Silas Filey, who might be very useful at another time if he chose. There was no help for it, no way out of the trap Silas had laid for him. That old affair of the "Mary Hatchett," if stirred up, would prove very bad for him, it might mean a halter round his neck, and there was a man on the "Swan" empowered to take him into custody.

He took the black pearl from its hiding place, and handled it fondly. What cursed luck it was to have to part with it in this way. No doubt Silas had been set on by Barry Tuxford to get the pearl back, it was a smart move on his part. He walked slowly back, and when he reached the boat, called the man on one side.

"You are to hand over a hundred pounds to me."

"In exchange for a black pearl, which has been described to me, and which I must see."

"Here it is."

The man examined it carefully, and was apparently satisfied with his scrutiny.

"Here is the money," he said, giving Amos a small, heavy bag. "You can count it if you like, but it is quite correct."

"It's a barefaced robbery, I have been forced into it," said Amos, in a rage.

The man laughed, as he replied —

"The robbery is on the wrong side this time, you are the victim."

Amos Hooker showered curses upon him as the boat put off for the schooner, with the precious pearl in the man's keeping.

Kylis came down to him, and Amos said —

"I have sold the pearl, here is the money," and he jangled the bag.

"How much?"

"One hundred pounds."

"You are a fool," said the black, savagely. "It is worth many hundreds."

"Which I could not get."

"We must have our share."

"Not a fraction," said Amos.

Contrary to his expectation the black walked away, and the evil look in his eyes caused Amos some uneasiness.

He shook off the feeling, and went to his tent, which was at the furthest end of the camp, away from that of the blacks.

He counted the gold, it was correct, one hundred pounds, neither more nor less. Hiding it under his bed he lay down to rest, intending to be up early in the morning and secure a safe place for it.

Kylis returned to his tent in a sullen mood, and Miah knew he was best left alone.

In the middle of the night the black stole out of the tent, leaving Miah asleep. He knew his way almost as well in the dark as by daylight. Keeping well to the rear of the camp he approached the tent of Amos Hooker noiselessly, carrying in his hand a big pearling knife. Lying on the ground he listened intently, but heard no sound. Crawling snake-like round the canvas he came to the opening, where he again stopped, listening. He peered into the darkness, but saw nothing. Crawling inside he felt his way cautiously, the slightest noise might rouse his intended victim.

His hand felt the rough mattress on which Amos Hooker lay. Kylis stood up, motionless, then bending down he found out how he lay by his breathing. His eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness, and he saw a faint outline of Hooker's form.

Suddenly, quickly, with a panther-like spring, Kylis was on top of the sleeping man. His strong left hand felt for the throat, and caught it in a grip of iron; the black raised his right hand and struck home at his victim's heart. A faint gurgling sound was heard, a convulsive shudder, and then Amos Hooker lay still for ever.

Kylis crawled about the tent hunting for the bag of gold. He dragged the body off the bed, pulled it over, and in another minute had the bag in his hand. He made his way out of the tent and disappeared in the darkness.

Next morning Amos Hooker was found stabbed to the heart, and Kylis had vanished.

Miah was questioned, but it was evident the terrified black knew nothing about the deed. Search was made for the murderer, but there was not much heart put into the work.

Some of the pearlers showed plainly they were not at all sorry Amos Hooker was gone from their midst. He had bullied everyone in the settlement and was generally disliked.

"I wonder what Kylis did it for," said one man.

"He had good reason for it, no doubt; Amos was a devil where blacks were concerned," answered another.

CHAPTER TWENTIETH

THE TRAINER'S SUGGESTION

When Jack Redland and Barry Tuxford arrived in Sydney, it was arranged that the former should go to Randwick and ascertain if Joel Kenley would take charge of Lucky Boy.

"He will probably have received a letter from his brother about you," said Barry, "and that will serve as an introduction."

Nothing loath, Jack went by train and found his way to Joel Kenley's house.

The trainer's stables were at lower Randwick, where he had a comfortable house and about a score horse boxes. Jack was favourably impressed with his first glimpse of the "Newmarket" of New South Wales. He saw the racecourse as the train went past and wound at a steady pace up the hill. He had no difficulty in finding Joel Kenley's, for the first man he asked said, in reply to his question, —

"Know where Joel lives, I should say so, there's not many people hereabouts do not know him."

"A celebrated trainer, is he?" asked Jack.

"You may well say that. He's won nearly all our big races at one time and another, and he's about as clever as any man can be with horses."

Jack thought his informant looked like an old jockey, and was about to ask him if his surmise was correct, when the man saved him the trouble by saying with a smile, —

"I see you have sized me up. I was a well known rider fifteen years ago, but I got too old fashioned, it's the young 'uns get all the luck in these days."

"I was going to ask you if you were a jockey," said Jack. "It does seem rather hard lines that a man who has given the best part of his life to his work should be discarded when he is old. I suppose you made sufficient to live on?"

The man shook his head as he replied, —

"There was not much chance, I got a fair amount of riding, but the fees did not amount to much, it is different here to the old country, where a jockey can earn thousands a year."