At first Bony could not pick up its direction. The sound died away, lived again for a moment, and again sank into oblivion. A long thirty seconds passed before he heard it once more, and then could decide that the machine was somewhere at the foot of the range. Presently he saw it swiftly appear from the back-drop of bush and come gliding towards the hotel along the track which skirted the creek. It stopped at the side of the building, and Simpson appeared at that door by which Bony had left.

Although not “car-minded”, Bony saw that the machine was a particularly sumptuous Rolls-Royce. A uniformed chauffeur was at the wheel, the passengers being a man and a woman. Simpson walked to the side of the car and spoke to those within through the open window. What he said Bony could not hear, and it was the woman who betrayed the fact that he was speaking of the new guest-a mere involuntary movement of her face.

Then Simpson was standing back, standing upright, stiffly. The car began to move. It curved past the corner of the building to cross the clearing, and Bony received the impression of a stern masculine face and that of a woman distinctly handsome. The woman did not look at him, but the man did with one swift sidewise glance. The bush swallowed them and the car on its way to Dunkeld.

In all probability they were the Bensons of Baden Park, but their identity was of less import to Bony than the obvious fact that his map was inaccurate. On his map, the turn-off to Baden Park Station was half a mile beyond the bridge, on the road to Lake George, and not at the hotel.

He lingered on the bridge for five minutes or more before sauntering to the front veranda steps where he was greeted by the cockatoo with “Nuts!” There were chairs backed against the wall, and he sat in one near old Simpson, who visibly brightened at the prospect of talking with someone.