The Odds. Ethel M. Dell

      Dot looked from him to the man behind him.

      "Inspector Hill," said Jack. "Eh? What's the matter?"

      "Nothing—nothing!" said Dot. Yet she had gone back a step as if she had been struck. She held out her hand to the policeman. "How do you do? I—I—am very pleased to meet you. So you haven't caught him after all?"

      Inspector Hill was looking at her keenly. He wore a sardonic expression, as of one who knows that he has been outwitted. "I have not, madam," he said. "Neither, I presume, have you?"

      She shook her head, looking him straight in the face. "No, I haven't. I am afraid I have been asleep. Are you sure he passed this way?"

      Her eyes were clear and candid as the eyes of a boy. Inspector Hill turned his own away.

      "Yes. Quite sure," he said, with brevity.

      "He's a slippery devil," declared Jack Burton. "Sit down, man! My sister is a 'new chum.' She probably wouldn't have known him from a man on the farm if she'd seen him. In fact, if you'd turned up here by yourself she might have shot you—on suspicion."

      "I probably should," said Dot, coldly.

      She did not like Inspector Hill, and her manner plainly said so.

      At her brother's behest she set food before them, for they were hot and jaded after their fruitless day; but she left the duties of host entirely to him, and as soon as possible she went away with Robin to feed the lambs.

      A wonderful glow lay upon the grasslands. It was as if she moved through a magic atmosphere upon which some enchantment had been laid. Since that wonderful sleep of hers all things seemed to have changed. Had it all been a dream? she asked herself. Then, shuddering, she turned up her sleeve to find that small red patch upon her arm.

      She found it. It tingled to her touch. Yet she continued to finger it with a curious feeling that was almost awe. She thought it must be the memory of his kiss that made it throb so hard.

      Some one came softly up behind her. An arm encircled her. She turned with the day-dream still in her eyes and saw her brother.

      She pulled down her sleeve quickly, for though his face was kind, he seemed to look at her oddly, almost with suspicion.

      "Had a quiet day?" he questioned, gently.

      She leaned against his shoulder, feeling small and rather uncomfortable. "I—I was very busy all the morning," she said, evasively.

      "And in the afternoon?" he said.

      She nestled to him with a little coaxing movement. "In the afternoon," she told him softly, "I went to sleep."

      "Yes?" he said.

      "That's all," said Dot, lifting her face to kiss him.

      He took her chin and held it while he looked long and searchingly into her eyes.

      "Dot!" he said.

      She made a little gesture of protest, but he held her still.

      "Dot, tell me what has been happening!" he said.

      She had begun to tremble. "I'll tell you," she said, "when Inspector Hill has gone."

      "Tell me now!" he said.

      But she shook her head with tightly compressed lips.

      "You have seen the man!" he said.

      Dot remained silent.

      His face grew grim. "Dot! Shall I tell you what Hill said to me just now?"

      "If you like," whispered Dot.

      "He said, 'She has seen the man, and he has squared her. It's a way he has with the women. You'll find she won't give him away.'"

      That stung, as it was meant to sting. She flinched under it. "I hate Inspector Hill!" she said, with vehemence.

      He smiled a little. "I don't suppose that fact would upset him much. A good many people don't exactly love him. But look here, Dot! You're not a fool. At least, I hope not. You can't seriously wish to shield a thief. Only this morning you were going to shoot him!"

      "Ah!" she said. And then suddenly she pulled up her sleeve and showed him the mark upon her arm. "But he has saved my life since then," she said.

      "What?" said Jack. He caught her arm and looked at it. "You've had a snake-bite!" he said.

      "Yes, Jack."

      His eyes went back to her face. "Why didn't you tell me before? What kind of snake was it?"

      She told him, shuddering. "A horrible green thing—green as the grass. I think it had some black marking on its back. I'm not sure. I didn't stop to see. I—oh, Jack!" She broke off in swift consternation. "There is a dead lamb!"

      "Ah!" said Jack, and strode across to the barn where it lay, stark and lifeless in the shade in which it had taken refuge from the afternoon heat.

      "Oh, Jack!" cried Dot, in distress. "What can have happened to it? Not—not that hateful snake?"

      "Not much doubt as to that," said Jack, grimly. "No, don't look too close! It's not a pretty sight. And don't cry, child! What's the good?"

      He drew her away, his arm around her, holding her closely, comforting her. "It might have been you," he said.

      She lifted her wet face from his shoulder. "It was—it would have been—but for—"

      "All right," he interrupted. "Don't say any more!"

      He left her to recover herself and went back to Fletcher Hill, sardonically awaiting him.

      "On a wrong scent this time," he said. "She's lost one of the lambs from snake-bite, and it's upset her. She's a 'new chum,' you know."

      "I know," said Inspector Hill.

      Jack Burton leaned upon the table and looked him in the eyes. "My sister is not a detective," he said, warningly. "Buckskin Bill has been one too many for us this time. The odds were dead against him, but he's slipped through. And I've a pretty firm notion he won't come back."

      "So have I," said Inspector Hill, unmoved.

      "And a blasted good job too!" said Jack Burton, forcibly.

      A gleam of humour crossed the Inspector's face. He pulled out his pipe with a gesture that made for peace.

      "If I were in your place," he said, "I daresay I'd say the same."

Without Prejudice

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CHAPTER I

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SILLY SENTIMENT

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      "It's time I set about making my own living," said Dot Burton.

      She spoke resolutely, and her face was resolute also; its young lines were for the moment almost grim. She stood in the doorway of the stable, watching her brother rub down the animal he had just been riding. Behind her the rays of the Australian sun smote almost level, making of her fair hair a dazzling aureole of gold. The lashes of her blue eyes were tipped with gold also, but the brows above them were delicately dark. They were slightly drawn just then, as if she were considering a problem of considerable difficulty.

      Jack Burton was frankly frowning over his task. It was quite evident that his sister's announcement was not