‘Well, if you’re sure. I suppose a bit of fresh stuff in my diet wouldn’t hurt. Actually, the reason I stopped by was to give you this.’ He held out the jar that had been half concealed in his hand. It was full of a golden liquid with something floating within it.

‘What is it?’ She eyed it curiously, lifting it to eye level.

‘Just a little carving I thought you might like. You should leave it to cure in the bottle for a month or so, because the wood’s green and it’ll split if it dries too quickly. And as you seem to be the one who looks after him . . .’

‘It’s Harry!’ She looked from the jar to him and back again, marvelling at the detail. ‘Good Lord, you can see every feather! It’s beautiful, Connor. Thank you. Though why—’

‘It’s all in the timber,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘That’s got to hold the shape before you start. You can’t, for instance, get a horse out of something that’s plainly holding a dog. Birds are simpler. There’s plenty of them lurking in branches everywhere.’

‘Well, I think you’re very talented and I do thank you. You must have spent hours getting it so perfect. It’s Harry to the life! He’s even got a broken beak.’ Tilly was awed by the work’s perfection.

‘Yep. It’s a warts and all job with me,’ Connor agreed. ‘I carve what I see. I’m glad you like it. Making things passes the time for me, and right now there’s a lot of it to pass. Incidentally, I think that your stolen wildlife may have left the country. My mate at the station says there was a boat in the inlet – came in last evening and was gone again by daylight before the Customs vessel could get there to intercept it. The timing fits with that stray vehicle. So they collect the cages, make a loop via that new graded track and drive back to Spadgers Creek, where they lay up in the scrub until dark.’ He sighed and scratched at his jaw. ‘You can see the Gulf waters from the homestead verandah, but it’s too far to hear a motor. Which doesn’t rule out them meeting the boat’s runabout on the western edge of the inlet. It’s just too damned easy. They load up the cargo – you’d get it all in a dinghy – and you’re home free. Back at sea by daybreak and no one the wiser.’

‘I see. Not much to be done about it then. So they’ll wind up in Asia, the cockies and whatever else?’

‘For starters,’ he agreed. ‘Maybe even New Guinea – and who knows from there? America, Europe . . . The world’s a big place. They’ll go where the price is highest.’