“Come on down. I’ve got something to show you.”

He turned about and went on down to the gate. Bisker paused, glanced back to see if Miss Jade was watching them, and followed. When hard on Fred’s heels, he said, hopefully:

“Got a bottle?”

“Better still,” Fred answered without turning about.“Just a bit of a surprise for you. You and me aregonna be famous.”

“I don’twanna be famous,” asserted Bisker. “If you’ve brought me all the way down here not to crack a bottle, youain’tno friend of mine any more. A coldmornin ’ like this, too. And that old cat will bestarin ’ at me with ’erblack eyes an’ all and willbewantin ’ to know this and that and who the hell you are, and all the ruddy rest.”

On arriving at the wicket gate, it could be seen that a ramp had been cut in the red bank skirting the top side of the highway. Fred and Bisker passed through the gate, down the ramp and so to the macadamised road where they were out of sight of anyone standing on the veranda. Fred stopped, turned and pointed a finger accusingly at Bisker.

“Where were you last night?” he asked.

“In bed. Whered’you think I was?”

“Wherewas you before you went to bed?”

“Where- I was drinking whisky with you in me ’utas you well know,” indignantly replied Bisker.

“You’re lucky,” he was informed. “Youever seen a dead man?”

“ ’Undreds. Why?”

“I’ve found a dead ’un.”

“You have? Where?”

“You’re that close to ’imthat you’re all ’ot.”

“You don’t say.”

“I do say. Come on and I’ll show you.”

Fred led Bisker along the road bordering the storm-water gutter dug deep against the foot of the bank. He led on down the road from the little bridge at the foot of the ramp which crossed the gutter. The gutter was almost hidden by the briars and winter weeds. When he stopped, he said: