a reasonable proposal, as things stood; but she did not like the way in
which she had been bullied. She looked at Blake queerly.

"If we have to give ye a third, ye may as well know all about it. Ye'll
be a partner like."

Blake stared at her. He could not guess what she was driving at. Peggy
slowly drew out of a handbag a faded piece of paper and handed it to him
without a word. It was the original marriage certificate, the same that
Ellen Harriott had seen at Red Mick's. He unfolded it and spread it out
on the table.

"What's this?"

"Read it."

"I certify that I, Thomas Nettleship," he mumbled through the formula,
then, sharply "What's this name doing here? Who is Patrick Henry Keogh?
Is there such a person?"

"Yis," said Peggy, boiling up. "A long slab-sided useless feller. He's
gone to live wid the blacks. He'll never come back no more. Most like
he's dead by this time, speared or the like of that!"

For a few seconds Blake, the cool, audacious gambler, was dazed, in
spite of his natural self-confidence. He saw how he had been duped.
Peggy had married this other man, whoever he was, and had used the facts
of the real marriage to give her the details for her imaginary one,
while in copying the certificate she had, with considerable foresight,
filled in Grant's name instead of that of Keogh.

All Blake's castles in the air, his schemes for revenge, his hopes of
wealth, had vanished at one fell swoop. "Patrick Henry Keogh" seemed to
grin up at him out of the paper. His case had crumbled about his ears;
his defeat would be known all over the district, and nothing could much
longer stave off the inevitable exposure of his misappropriations. But
he was a fighter all over, and he still saw a chance to pull things
through.

He wasted no words on Peggy. "Go and get Mick to come here," he said,
and Mick, still somewhat lopsided about the face from his accident, was
soon in the room.

"Mick," said Blake, "your sister has told me something very important
that ought to have been told me before. It's no good crying over spilt
milk. There's still a chance. If Peggy and Martin tell the same story
they told me at first, they will win the case. This Keogh must be dead,
or too frightened to show up. If you stick to your story you will win.
It's a million of money. Will you chance it?"

"What about the sertiffykit?" said Mick.

"Leave that to me," said Blake. "I'll see to that. I suppose no one
knows the rights of thi