“You think you might convince me?”

“Yes. I’m betting on it.”

“On what grounds?”

“You being abushman, like me. That covers a lot, Inspector. Ben wasn’t exactly a bushman, but near enough. I’m asking you to believe I’m not shouting down a rabbit hole. Do I look like a ruddy lunatic?”

“On the contrary. It was not your thesis on alcoholism which induced me to apply for ten days’ leave. The doctor’s reputation is high in those quarters able to assess it. The policeman’s record is without blemish. But your reputation, Mr. Luton, is-shall we agree?-just faintly tarnished.”

“I’ve never robbed a man,” shouted Mr. Luton, eyes blazing. “I owe no man anything. I’ve always…”

The arched brows, the coldly analytical blue eyes, which only a moment before were warm and friendly, stopped Mr. Luton’s outburst. He sat opposite his guest, applied a match to his pipe, and admitted calmly:

“You’re about right, Inspector. I’m not much account locally. Still, I done no man wrong, not even Ben. I know what Iknow, and what I know no one will believe…exceptin ’ perhaps a bushman. A bushman can understand otherbushmen and their ways. So I’m still hoping.”

“You will, at least, find me sympathetic, Mr. Luton.” And Mr. Luton remembered how astonished he had been at what he had seen in those deep blue eyes, and was relieved that those same eyes were again expressing warmth.

The cat had subsided on the hearth before the cold stove. The two dogs were squatting that they could watch both their master and the visitor. Bony struck a match, lit a cigarette, puffed out the flame and balanced the stick on the heeler’s nose. The dog played along, moving only his tail.

“You got a way with dogs,” observed the old man, faintly impatient. “I hope you will bestayin ’.”