"Now, Thompson," said Wetherell, looking sternly at him, "what have you got to say for yourself?"
Again the man only groaned. Seeing that in his present state he could say nothing, I went across to the table and mixed him a glass of grog. When I gave it to him he drank it eagerly. It seemed to sharpen his wits, for he answered instantly:
"It wasn't my fault, sir. If I'd only ha' known what their game was I'd have been killed afore I'd have let them do anything to hurt the young lady. But they was too cunnin' for me, sir."
"Be more explicit, sir!" said Wetherell, sternly. "Don't stand there whining, but tell your story at once."
The poor wretch pulled himself together and did his best.
"It was in this way, sir," he began. "Last week I was introduced by a friend of mine to as nice a spoken man as ever I saw. He was from England, he said, and having a bit o' money thought he'd like to try his 'and at a bit o' racing in Australia, like. He was on the look-out for a smart man who'd be able to put him up to a wrinkle or two, and maybe train for him later on. He went on to say that he'd 'eard a lot about me, and thought I was just the man for his money. Well, we got more and more friendly till the other night, Monday, when he said as how he'd settled on a little farm a bit out in the country, and was going to sign the agreement, as he called it, for to rent it next day. He was goin' to start a stud farm and trainin' establishment combined, he said, and would I take the billet of manager at three 'undred a year? Anyway, as he said, 'Don't be in a 'urry to decide; take your time and think it over. Meet me at the Canary Bird 'Otel on
