They got out of the cab to look at the aviaries. Wonderful, brilliant-coloured little birds, the love-birds self-consciously smirking. “Hello!”--pronounced pure Australian-cockney: “Helleow!” “Hello! Hello!” “Hello Cocky! What yer want?” This in a more-than-human voice from a fine sulphur-crested cockatoo. “Hello Cocky!” His thick black tongue worked in his narrow mouth. So absolutely human the sound, and yet a bird’s. It was startling, and very funny. The two men talked to the cockatoos, fascinated and amused, for a quarter of an hour. The emu came prancing up, with his alert, large, sticking-out eyes and his whiskers. An alert gentleman, with the dark Australian eye. Very wide-awake, and yet far off in the past. And a remote, alert, sharp gentleness belonging to far past twilight ages, before enemies and iron weapons were perfected. A very remote, dirt-brown gentleman from the lost plains of time. The peacock rustling his blue fireworks seemed a sort of nouveau-riche in comparison. Somers went in the evening of this memorable day to dine with Kangaroo. The other man was quiet, and seemed preoccupied. “I went to Willie Struthers this morning,” Somers said. Kangaroo looked at him sharply through his pince-nez. On the subtle face of Somers a small, wicked smile hovered like a half visible flame. But it was his alive, beautiful face. And his whole person seemed magnetic. “Who took you there?” asked Kangaroo sharply. “Jaz.” “Jaz is a meddlesome-Patty. Well, and what then?” “I think Willie is rather a terror. I wouldn’t like to have to spend my life with him. But he’s shrewd. Only I don’t like him physically--something thin and hairy and spiderish. I didn’t want to touch him. But he’s a force, he’s _something_.” Kangaroo looked puzzled, and his face took a heavy, stupid look. “He wouldn’t want you to touch him,” he barked. “He didn’t offer to shake hands, did he?” “No, thank goodness,” said Somers, thinking of the red, dry, thin-skinned hand. There was a hostile silence from Kangaroo. He knew that this subtle, attractive Somers with the faint glow about him, like an aura, was venomous. And yet he was helplessly attracted to him. “And what do you mean about his being something? Some more Trewhella?” “Perhaps. I couldn’t help feeling that Struthers was shrewder than you are--in a way baser--but for that reason more likely to be effectual.” Kangaroo watched Richard for a long time in silence. “I know why Trewhella took you there,” he said sulkily. “Why?” “Oh, I know why. And what have you decided?” “Nothing.” There was a long and obstinate silence. The two men were at loggerheads, and neither would make the first move. “You seem very thick with Trewhella,” said Kangaroo at last. “Not thick,” said Richard, “Celts--Cornish, Irish--they always interest me. What do you imagine is at the bottom of Jaz?” “Treachery.” “Oh, not only,” laughed Somers. “Then why do you ask me, if you know better?”