is a map of the Colony of Victoria,” he said. “I wired to Bristol for it last
He put his hand over part of the map. “What do you read?”
“ Arat ,” I read.
“And now?”
He raised his hand.
“ Ballarat .”
“Quite so. That was the word the man uttered, and of which his son only caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utter the name of his murderer. So-and-so, of Ballarat.”
“It is wonderful!” I exclaimed.
“It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field down considerably. The possession of a grey garment was a third point which, granting the son’s statement to be correct, was a certainty. We have come now out of mere vagueness to the definite conception of an Australian from Ballarat with a grey cloak.”
“Certainly.”
“And one who