"My Dear Mr. Wetherell: Bags of imitation money and spurious bank notes will not help you, nor is it politic to arrange that the water police should meet you at the harbour for the purpose of arresting me. You have lost your opportunity, and your daughter accordingly leaves Australia to-night. I will, however, give you one more chance—take care that you avail yourself of it. The sum I now ask is 150,000, with the stick given you by China Pete, and must be paid without enquiry of any sort. If you are agreeable to do this, advertise as follows, 'I-Will-Pay-W.,' in the agony column Sydney Morning Herald on the 18th, 19th, and 20th of this present month. Further arrangements will then be made with you.The Man who Knows."
"Oh, my God, I've ruined it all! "cried Mr. Wetherell, as he put the letter down on the table. "And perhaps killed my poor child."
Seeing his misery, I did my best to comfort him, but it was no use. He seemed utterly broken down by the failure of our scheme, and I must own that my own heart was quite as heavy. One thing was very evident, there was a traitor in our camp. Someone had overheard our plans and carried them elsewhere. Could it be the footman? If so, he should have it made hot for him, I could promise him that most certainly. While I was thinking over this, I had heard a footstep on the stairs, and a moment later the inspector made his appearance. His astonishment at seeing us alone, reading a letter by the light of one solitary candle, evidently surprised him, for he said, as he came towards us and sat down, "Why, what does this mean? Where are the men?"
"There are none. We've been nicely sold," I an-
