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Down at the garage, Ann was stowing small suitcases into the car. The children were playing quite happily in the sunshine on the tennis lawn, and Holmes had gone over to the cottage to interview the men before his departure. But Rodney Marsh was not with the other station hands. That morning, for the first time since his accident, he had saddled his horse and ridden out over the paddocks at the back of the homestead. He reached the stockyard slip-rails as Ann passed into the garage. She did not see him, but he had caught sight of her as he rode down the hillside. He dismounted to lower the slip-rails and for a moment he stood irresolute. Then as though making up his mind suddenly, he hitched his bridle to one of the posts, and limped into the garage. Ann started as she saw the sudden apparition, but she did not speak.

Marsh’s formidable jaw was set; his brows drawn down in a fierce scowl.

“Going into Wairiri?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Who’s taking you?”

“Mr. Holmes.”

“Oh, by God, that’s too much!”

The concentrated fury of his voice brought Ann round to face him.

“I don’t understand what you are shouting at me like that for,” she said coldly.

“You know well enough,” said Marsh, coming closer to her. “Isn’t what happened last night enough—without this?”

She eyed him steadily.