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been inspecting the prison a few hours before the escape
took place, and his efforts were therefore attributed to zeal,
not unmixed with chagrin. ‘Our dear friend feels his repu-
tation at stake,’ the future chaplain of Port Arthur said to
Sylvia at the Christmas dinner. ‘He is so proud of his knowl-
edge of these unhappy men that he dislikes to be outwitted
by any of them.’
Notwithstanding all this, however, Dawes had disap-
peared. The fat landlord of the Star Hotel was the last person
who saw him, and the flying yellow figure seemed to have
been as completely swallowed up by the warm summer’s af-
ternoon as if it had run headlong into the blackest night that
ever hung above the earth.
