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In the two weeks since his return from the mouth of the Lias River his preparations had been completed, and they were more considerable than might have been supposed to be necessary. This was his home for the time. This was his hunting ground. It was an uncharted, unregistered gold prospect, and as such it was open to invasion or any chance discovery that might completely rob him of any proprietary rights he might claim. So his preparations had been made carefully and in a fashion best calculated to safeguard his interests.

Now with the last detail worked out to his satisfaction he had abandoned himself to a contemplation of the good time which he intended Beacon Glory should yield him. And for all his pale eyes gave no sign, the mind behind them was full of smiling anticipation. He was thinking of the burden of gold on the pack-saddle, and of the balance of credit at Victor Burns’ bank which he knew to be lying there in his name. He was thinking of the wine to be bought at Max Lepende’s “Speedway”; of the orgy he intended to buy there. He was contemplating the glitter of the place and the seductive charm of the women with whom he would dance. Then there was the great game with its never-failing lure, and the thought of this last was bound up with the vision of a young girl, beautiful as a dream, with flaming hair, and eyes whose colour seemed to change with her every mood, now violet, now blue, and sometimes almost sea-green. He had only seen her once, but memory had never let go of the vision. This time he was determined his memories of her should be more intimate, whatever the price to be paid.