the way into the tap-room in the sitting posture, only relinquishing him at the constable’s feet.
“Here’s something for you!” he cried. “Caught him in the act of riding off with my master’s horses!”
“Why, it’s my ostler!” roared the landlord.
“I was only fetching of ’em round to the door, ’cos I thought they was goin’!” whined bowlegs.
“It’s you that’ll get run in, I’m thinking,” remarked the constable severely to Tom.
“Fetching them round!” cried the latter. “Then why didn’t you say so, and what made you strike at me when I said they were my master’s horses? Oh, I see the kind of place I’m in!” And he rushed upstairs to the room, and nearly trod on something crouching at the door, that fled with a flutter, while a little instrument fell from the key-hole and rang upon the floor. Tom picked it up, unlocked the door, and strode in.
Mr. Nat took some waking, but started up at length with clenched fists and an oath.
“We’re in a den of thieves!” whispered Tom. “Don’t you remember me? Your new groom! We must get out of this as quick as we can!”
“Why, where are we?”
“At an inn: the ‘Bull and Tumbledown.’”
Mr. Nat whistled, and flung his legs over the side of the bed.
“One of the worst houses in Sydney,” said he. “Ring the bell, if there is one.”
There was one, and a woman-servant answered its summons.
“Send up the landlord,” said Sullivan, “and tell him to bring plenty of change. Now, landlord,” he continued when that worthy appeared with a lighted candle,
