his neck, having lost his collar. He look with black eyes at Richard.
"What time is it?"? asked Richard.
"Blowed if I know," answered Jack, like a drunken man.
"Half past eleven," said Jaz quietly.
Only an hour—or an hour and a half. Time must have stood still and waited.
"What has happened?" asked Richard.
"Nought!" blurted Jack, still like a drunken man. "Nought happened. Bloody blasted nothing."
"Kangaroo is shot," said Jaz.
"Dead?"
"No—o!" snarled Jack. "No, damn yer, not dead."
Somers looked at Jaz.
"They've taken him home—shot in the belly," said Jaz.
"In his bloomin' Kangaroo guts," said Jack. "Ain't much left of the ant that shot im, though—neither guts nor marrow."
Richard stared at the two men.
"Are you hurt?" he said to Jack.
"Me? Oh, no, I just scratched myself shaving, darling. Making me toilet."
There was silence for some time. Jaz's plump, pale face was still impassive, inscrutable, and his clothing was in order. Jack poured himself a half-glass of neat whiskey, put in a little water, and drank it off.
"And Willie Struthers and everybody?" asked Richard.
"Gone 'ome to his missis to have sausage for tea," said Jack.
"Not hurt?"
"Blowed if I know," replied Jack indifferently, "whether he's hurt or not."
"And is the town quiet?" Somers turned to Jaz. "Has everything blown over? What has happened?"
"What has happened exactly I couldn't tell you. I suppose everything is quiet. The police have everything in hand."
"Police!" snarled Jack. "Bloody Johnny Hops! They couldn't hold a sucking pig in their hands, unless somebody hung on to its tail for them. It's our boys who've got things in hand. And handed them over to the Hops."
