"I know that."
"If he turns on you your life won't be worth the flare of a candle."
"I've counted every cost, as I always do, Tom," was the answer. "I know the trail and the quarry. I am ready for the game."
By this time the landlady appeared at the door of the room and the two men turned to interview her.
She did not know much about her late roomer.
All she did know was in his favor, for he paid promptly and ahead for a week.
He was "a nice gentleman," and the detectives did not tell her that he was a suspected murderer.
Once more on the street below the Scotland Yarder proposed to escort Old Broadbrim to a lounging place for the English detectives when not officially engaged, but the Quaker did not want his presence known in London and declined.
By this time the shades of twilight had deepened over the city.
The night came on suddenly, as it does in London, and Old Broadbrim separated from Owens for the purpose of calling on a friend whom he had not seen for some years.
Promising to meet Owens the next day, Old Broadbrim walked off and turned the nearest corner.
He was in the act of taking a hansom, when his arm was touched by a hand, and he turned to look into the face of a young woman whose eyes were deeply sunken and staring.
"You're watched, sir," said she, with a hurried glance to the right. "Be careful."
"Thanks. Here's a guinea," said the detective, and springing into the hansom he was driven off.
Watched? he thought. By whom?
If Rufus Redmond was on the sea, who would play spy for him now?
CHAPTER V.
IN THE WAKE OF A MYSTERY.
Old Broadbrim did not let the woman's warning deprive him of the society of his friend, and some hours later he emerged from the house with the thousand-and-one lights of London before him.
Drawing his collar up, for the night was cool and a brisk wind was coming in over the waters of the Thames, he started back, intending to walk to a cab station in the immediate neighborhood and from there take a cab.
London was well filled, from what the detective could see, and some of its inhabitants were in the same condition.
Every now and then he was jostled by a drunken man or woman, and in some instances almost crowded off the narrow sidewalk.
Presently he was clutched by a hand and forced into the mouth of an alley.
"Don't talk, for it's all right," said a voice which he thought he recognized. "I followed you and I hope I've done no wrong, sir. The man is still watching you, sir. I hung onto the back of the cab, sir, and got a good jolting over the stones. But I'm here, sir, to tell you that you're still in peril."
It was the same warning woman, and her face was the very picture of starvation.
"Where is he?" asked Old Broadbrim.
"You can't see him from here, sir; but he's across the way near the Star and Garter over there. If you look very sharp you may see a man in the shadow of the place. That's him."
"What is he like?"
"He's a tall, slim fellow with the keenest eyes you ever saw in a human head; but those eyes mean mischief and death."
"And you?"
"Oh, sir, I'm Mag of the Dusthole. I'm out for wictims; but I saw him watching you, and I couldn't help wanting to spoil his game."
"You don't know him, then?"
"I know him, and that's why I want to bring his schemes to naught. It's Jem—Jem, the Sydneyite."
"I have no such enemy by that name."
"Mebbe not; but he's watching you, all the same. He used to live in Sydney, Australia, and——"
The detective started.
"In Australia?" broke in Old Broadbrim.
"Yes, yes. He came back from there a year ago, and has been lording it over some people in London ever since. He's cool-headed, and has the softest fingers you ever saw. Jem's a bad one."
"I don't doubt it. I'll see to him."
The detective pushed toward the mouth of the alley, and with a cry the woman fled.
It was a strange proceeding on her part, but the detective did not think anything of it.
Almost directly across the street stood a small, old-fashioned tap-house, called the Star and Garter.
It was like many others of its class in London, disreputable from the ground up, and he looked at it trying to make out the figure of his enemy.
Half screened himself by the shadows of the building at the opening of the alley, Old Broadbrim used his eyes to advantage, and presently made out a form across the street.
It moved.
Standing still, he watched it saunter off, and at last it came toward the alley on the same side.
The spy was coming to investigate, and the detective made ready for the meeting.
The figure of the spy was tall and agile.
It came along the sidewalk and seemed about to pounce down upon the American tracker with the greatest ease.
Old Broadbrim held his breath.
At the very mouth of the alley the spy stopped and looked into the darkness.
He did not stir for ten seconds.
"Gone, I guess," Old Broadbrim heard him say. "It's too bad. I wonder if the cat warned him. If she did, I'll throttle her and leave her in the cellar."
With an oath the man withdrew, and in another moment the detective heard his receding footsteps.
He was saved!
Old Broadbrim waited a while, and then slipped down the street.
He had eluded the spy, and now, perhaps, could get a better look at him.
But in this he was doomed to disappointment, for the fellow vanished too quickly for him and he turned at last and went to the lodging he had selected.
He thought of Rufus Redmond, or Merle Macray, who was on the high seas bound for Australia.
He recalled every incident in the crime in New York, and thought of his work so far.
The trail was growing longer.
It stretched across the great deep to a land still unknown, in part, to the world.
He recalled the letter from Perth, and knew that beyond that faraway town lay the deserts of West Australia and the wild tribes and wilder animals.
But he slept at last, and in the morning awoke refreshed.
He was at breakfast in a little chop-house near the inn when some one came in, and took a seat beside him.
He looked and saw that it was Owens, the Scotland Yarder.
"I have news for you," cried Owens. "There's a steamer going to sail for Sydney this afternoon."
Old Broadbrim gave utterance to an exclamation of joy.
"I don't think they really want any passengers, for it is a private expedition conducted by Lord Harway, but you might see him."
"I'll do