‘Because of this?’ She indicated the now re-packed drum. ‘Isn’t it a fairly risky strategy, keeping it in the river? Supposing a croc had snapped the rope? Why not bank it? It would be safer surely?’

Connor nodded. ‘Safer, but a bit hard to account for. Dirty money has to be laundered or held in cash. The last thing your villain wants is for the tax man to find vast undeclared sums in bank accounts. They tend to notify the cops.’

‘Yes, of course. I hadn’t thought . . . So what happens now?’

He smiled at her. ‘A cuppa first. Then I’ll get you to sign something verifying the amount of cash and the circumstances under which you saw it recovered. After that,’ he said, glancing at his watch, ‘I’ll head for Darwin to hand it over to my superiors. And you can’t—’

‘I know,’ Tilly sighed, ‘I won’t say a word. Not even to Sophie, I suppose?’

‘Better not,’ he agreed soberly. ‘It’s not that I don’t trust her, but when you know something damning about a person, it’s hard not to show that you know. And crims have good antennae. Besides, if he finds the money gone – hopefully he won’t – but if he does, you musn’t give him any cause to think it anything but an accident.’ His gaze and tone were serious now. ‘Be very careful, Tilly. I don’t want anything happening to you.’

‘I’ll make sure it doesn’t,’ she replied, her mind running on ahead of her assurance. ‘He must meet with somebody – some sort of messenger for the gang – fairly often, don’t you think? How else would the money get here? He hardly ever leaves the place.’

‘No reason why he should. Anyone could pose as a tourist to meet him and pass it over. It’s an ideal set-up. He’s on the spot, but at one remove from the action. The goods, whatever they are – parrots, people, drugs – are passed and the payoff comes back to him in untraceable cash, which he plants. I wonder how many more caches he might have around the place?’

‘Good Lord!’ Tilly said faintly. ‘I never thought . . . You don’t really think there could be another drumful somewhere?’

Connor shrugged. ‘Depends. Is this lot a season’s work, or two, or five? Till we know that, we can’t even begin to guess. I’ve got to admit it’s a sweet deal, though. If things were to go belly-up for him, he can grab the swag and run.’ He coughed awkwardly. ‘I reckon it’s a pretty big organisation to generate this sort of dough, and I think your husband’s a part of it. He pretty well has to be, given that he turned up here and then vanished overnight, as it were. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it’s looking.’