“Damned if I do,” exploded the inspector.

“Damned if I do, either, but when at home I’m damned if I don’t. Hullo!”

In the doorway appeared a schoolboy, his case in one hand, a cap of black-and-white rings in the other. His eyes sparkled with excitement, and when his father asked sharply what he wanted, he answered in the gruff tones of early adolescence.

“Abie’s taking the petrol cure, Dad. He’s down behind the gum tree in the compound.”

The inspector jerked to his feet and made for the door. The “petrol cure” being a new one to Bony, he excused himself with Mrs. Walters and hurried after the inspector and the boy, who led the way through the kitchen and out across the rear veranda. Ahead was a space of some several acres, bordered on one side by stables and out-houses, and on the other by a row of ten or a dozen cells. A hundred yards from the house grew a solitary gum, and as they approached the tree so did the boy and his father walk stealthily. Silently, the three moved round the trunk.

With his back to it and reclining at ease was a booted andovercoated figure, identifiable only by the hands as an aborigine. The head was enveloped by an exceedingly dirty dress shirt from whicharose the smell of petrol.

With swift action the inspector whisked away the shirt. Gripping the man by the coat collar, he stood him up as though he were a straw. The round face was vacant. The dark eyes rolled in their sockets. With his left hand the inspector slapped the black face and shouted:

“Where did you get the petrol, Abie? Come on now… tell!”

“Bin milk-um jeep. Lemmelo.”

“Coo! All right, my lad. I’ll attend to you after you come round.” Walters lowered the almost insensible man to the ground, and his son knelt and made Abie’s head comfortable on the battered felt hat. “He’ll be all right in an hour. Can you beat the blacks for finding out new ways of gettingdrunk! ”