"Dear friend, I will make no objection to any thing, and I promise you
that all my best efforts shall he directed toward finding them out."

"Tell them to come to me, that I am rich, and can make them happy."

"I'll make them go to you if they are alive," said Brandon.

"God bless you!" ejaculated the old man, fervently.

Brandon spent the greater part of that day in making business
arrangements, and in reading the papers which Compton had preserved
containing an account of the Despard murder.

It was late at night before he returned to his hotel. As he went into
the hall he saw a stranger sitting there in a lounging attitude reading
the Sydney _News_.

He was a thin, small-sized man, with a foreign air, and quick, restless
manner. His features were small, a heavy beard and mustache covered his
face, his brow was low, and his eyes black and twinkling. A sharp,
furtive glance which he gave at Brandon attracted the attention of the
latter, for there was something in the glance that meant more than idle
curiosity.

Even in the midst of his cares Brandon's curiosity was excited. He
walked with assumed indifference up to the desk as though looking for
the key of his room. Glancing at the hotel book his eye ranged down the
column of names till it rested on the last one.