cannot go faster than we are going. We have not lost an
instant up till now."

"Where does this Goodchild live?"

"His place is ten miles from here, on the North-Western line. He has a
private siding called Lewisham."

"One of us had better go and see him. How do the trains run? Where's the
guide?"

"Here you are. The first train leaves at 8.10. I think I had better go,
and leave you to get our things packed and square up, in case I send you
a wire."

"Yes, all right. I should like to sympathize with him, but I may get
another chance. This is the only thing that gives me relief," added Reg,
holding up his die, "when I think that some day it will be used for the
purpose that I had it made for."

"Let's hope so, old chap. But now to bed."

CHAPTER XII.

GOODCHILD'S.

The North-Western express pulled up for a few moments at the Lewisham
siding, and Hal alighted with a "Thank you, sir; that's the house, over
there," from the guard; and the train proceeded on its way.

The house referred to was a mansion in size. It was surrounded by
beautiful trees, and stood in well-kept grounds, in the midst of which a
lake could be discerned glistening in the sun. The country round was the
pick of the land, for Goodchild's father had taken it up in the early
days, when every pound in cash that a man could show entitled him to an
acre of land. No check being put on this rough-and-ready mode of
procedure, the sovereign was frequently passed on to a friend to show,
who would secure another portion and hand over the title to his
principal, receiving something for his trouble. Most of the rich
estates in Tasmania were originally obtained in this manner. Hal walked
along the path leading to the house, lost in admiration of its
beautiful, natural surroundings. His arrival was apparently noted, for
an elderly man came out to meet him.

"Mr. Goodchild, I believe?"

"Yes, that's my name," and he gave his visitor a close scrutiny,
wondering what his errand could be.

"My name is Winter, sir, and I have called for the purpose of having
some conversation with you."

"What is your business, sir?"

"If we could go inside we could talk it over."

"Are you a book-traveller, or anything of that kind?" asked he,
snappishly, "for if you are I cannot see you."

"No, sir, I am not. I have called on business too important to be
discussed out here."

"Then you had better come inside and tell it," he answered, leading the
way i