 CHAPTER X It was a broiling hot day, one of those cloudless days, with the blazing sun beating down on the arid streets, and casting deep black shadows, a real Australian December day dropped by mistake of the clerk of the weather into the middle of August. The previous week, having been really chilly, it was all the more welcome. It was Saturday morning, and Fashionable Melbourne was doing the block. Collins Street is to the southern city what Bond Street and the Row are to London, and the Boulevard to Paris. It is on the block that people show off their new dresses, bow to their friends, cut their enemies, and chatter small talk. The same thing, no doubt, occurred in the Appian Way, the fashionable street of Imperial Rome, when Catalysts talked gay nonsense to Lesbia, and Horace received the congratulations of his friends over his new volume of Society Versus. History repeats itself, and every city is bound by all the laws of civilization to have one special street wherein the voteries of fashion can congregate. Collins Street is not, of course, such a grand thoroughfare as those above mentioned, but the people who stroll up and down the broad pavement are quite as charmingly dressed, and as pleasant as any of the parapetetics of those famous cities. As the sun brings out bright flowers, so the seductive influence of the hot weather had brought out all the ladies in gay dresses of innumerable colors, which made the long street look like a restless rainbow. Carriages were bowling smoothly along, their occupants smiling and bowing as they recognized their friends on the sidewalk. Lawyers, their legal quibbles finished for the week, were strolling leisurely with their black bags in their hands. Portly merchants, forgetting Flinders Lane and the incoming ships, walked beside their pretty daughters, and the representatives of Swelldom were stalking along in their customary apparel of curly brimmed hats, high collars, and immaculate suits. Altogether it was a pleasant and animated scene, which would have delighted the heart of any one who was not dyspeptic or in love—dyspeptic people and lovers, disappointed ones, of course, being want to survey the world in a cynical vein. Madge Freddleby was engaged in that occupation so dear to every female heart—shopping. She was in Moebray, Rowan and Hicks, turning over ribbons and laces, while the faithful Brian waited for her outside, and amused himself by looking at the human stream which flowed along the pavement. He disliked shopping quite as much as the majority of his sex, and though as a lover he felt a certain amount of self-abundation to be coming into him, it was difficult to drive away the thoughts of his pleasant club, where he could be reading and smoking, with perchance something cooling in a glass beside him. However, after she had purchased a dozen or more articles she did not want, Madge remembered that Brian was waiting for her and hurried to the door. "'I haven't been many minutes, have I, dear?' she said, touching him lightly on the arm. "'Oh, dear, no,' answered Brian, looking at his watch, only thirty, a mere nothing, considering a new dress was being discussed. "'I thought I had been longer,' said Madge, her brow clearing, "'but still I am sure you feel a martyr.' "'Not at all,' replied Fitzgerald, handing her into the carriage. "'I enjoyed myself very much.' "'Nonsense,' she laughed, opening her sunshade, while Brian took his seat beside her. "'That's one of those social stories which everyone considers themselves bound to tell from a sense of duty. I'm afraid I did keep you waiting, though after all, she went on with a true feminine idea as to the flight of time, I was only a few minutes.' "'And the rest,' said Brian, quizzically looking at her pretty face, so charmingly flushed under her great white hat. Madge disdained to notice his interruption. "'James,' she cried to the coachman, "'drive to the Melbourne Club. Papa will be there, you know,' she said to Brian, "'and we'll take him off to have tea with us.' "'But it's only one o'clock,' said Brian, as the town hall-clock came in sight. "'Mrs. Samson won't be ready.' "'Oh, anything will do,' replied Madge. "'A cup of tea and some thin bread and butter isn't hard to prepare. I don't feel like lunch, and Papa so little in the middle of the day, and you eat a great deal at all times,' finished Brian with a laugh. Madge went on chattering in her usual lively manner, and Brian listened to her with delight. Her pleasant talk drove away the evil spirit which had been with him for the last three weeks. Suddenly, Madge made an observation as they were passing the Birkin-Wheels Monument, which startled him. "'Isn't that the place where Mr. White got into the cab?' she asked, looking at the corner near the Scotch Church, where a vagrant of musical tendencies was playing, just before the battle-mother, on a battered old concertina?' "'So the papers say,' answered Brian listlessly, without turning his head. "'I wonder who the gentleman in the light coat could have been,' said Madge, as she settled herself again. "'No one seems to know,' he replied evasively. "'Ah, but they have a clue,' she said. "'Do you know, Brian?' she went on, that he was dressed just like you in a light overcoat and soft hat.' "'How remarkable!' said Fitzgerald, speaking in a slightly sarcastic tone, and as calmly as he was able. He was dressed in the same manner as nine out of every ten young fellows in Melbourne. Madge looked at him in surprise, at the tone in which he spoke, so different from his usual nonchalant way of speaking. She was about to answer when the carriage stopped at the door of the Melbourne club. Brian, anxious to escape any more remarks about the murder, sprang quickly out, and ran up the steps into the building. He found Mr. Freddleby smoking complacently, and reading the A-G-E. As Fitzgerald entered, he looked up, and putting down the paper, held out his hand, which the other took. "'Ah, Fitzgerald,' he said, "'have you left the attractions of Collin Street for the still greater ones of Club Land?' "'Not I,' answered Brian, "'I've come to carry you off to afternoon tea with Madge and myself.' "'I don't mind,' answered Mr. Freddleby, rising, "'but is an afternoon tea at half-past one, rather an anomaly?' "'What's in a name?' said Fitzgerald, absently, as they left the room. "'What have you been doing all morning?' "'I've been in here for the last half-hour reading,' answered the other carelessly. "'Woolmarket, I suppose?' "'No, the handsome cab-murder.' "'Oh, damn that thing,' said Brian hastily, then seeing his companion looking at him in surprise, he apologised. But indeed, he went on, I'm nearly worried to death by people asking about White, as if I knew all about him, whereas I know nothing.' "'Just as well you don't,' answered Mr. Freddleby, as they descended the steps together. He was not a very desirable companion. It was on the tip of Brian's tongue to say, and yet you wanted him to marry your daughter, but he wisely refrained, and they reached the carriage in silence. "'Now, then, Papa,' said Madge, when they were all settled in the carriage, and it was rolling along smoothly in the direction of East Melbourne, what have you been doing?' "'Enjoying myself,' answered her father, until you and Brian came and dragged me out into this blazing sunshine. "'Well, Brian has been so good of late,' said Madge, that I had to reward him, so I knew that nothing would please him better than to play host.' "'Certainly,' said Brian, rousing himself out of a fit of abstraction, especially when one has such charming visitors. Madge laughed at this and made a little grimace. "'If your tea is only equal to your compliments,' she said lightly, "'I'm sure Papa will forgive us for dragging him away from his club.' "'Papa will forgive anything,' murmured Mr. Freddleby, tilting his head over his eyes, so long as he gets somewhere out of the sun. "'I can't say I care about playing the parts of Shadrack, Meshack, and Abednego in the fiery furnace of a Melbourne hot day.' "'There, now, Papa is quite a host in himself,' said Madge, mischievously, as the carriage drew up at Mrs. Samson's door. "'No, you're wrong,' said Brian, as he alighted and helped her out. "'I am the host in myself this time. "'If there is one thing I hate above another,' observed Miss Freddleby, calmly, it's a pun, and especially a bad one.' Mrs. Samson was very much astonished by the early arrival of her lodger's guests, and did not hesitate to express her astonishment. "'Being taken by surprise,' she said, with an apologetic cackle, "'it ain't to be supposed as miracles can be performed with regard to cooking.' "'The fire having gone out, and not being kept alight on account of the eat of the day, which was that odd as never was, though to be sure, being a child in the early days, I remember it were, that odd as my sister's aunt was in the abode of roasting her joints in the sun.' After telling this last romance, and leaving her visitors in doubt as to whether the joints referred to belonged to an animal or to her sister's aunt or to herself, Mrs. Samson crackled away downstairs to get things ready. "'What a curious thing that landlady of yours is,' said Brian, said Madge, from the depths of a huge arm-chair. "'I believe she's a grasshopper from Fitzory Gardens.' "'Oh, no, she's a woman,' said Mr. Freddleby cynically. "'You can tell that by the length of her tongue.' "'A popular era, papa,' reported Madge sharply. "'I know plenty of men who talk far more than any woman.' "'I hope I'll never meet them, then,' said Mr. Freddleby. "'For if I did I should be inclined to agree with de Quincey on murder as a fine art.' Brian winced at this, and looked apprehensively at Madge, and saw with relief that she was not paying attention to her father, but was listening intently. There she is,' as a faint rustle at the door announced the arrival of Mrs. Samson in the tea-tree. "'I wonder, Brian, you don't think the house is on fire, with that queer noise always going on. She wants oil.' "'Yes,' sent Jacob's oil,' laughed Brian, as Mrs. Samson entered, and placed her burden on the table. "'Not having any cake,' said that lady, through not being forewarned as to the time of arrival, though it's not often I'm taken by surprise, except as to a headache which, of course, is accidental to every person. I ain't got nothing but bread and butter, the baker and grocer, both being all that could be desired, except in the way of worrying for their money, which they thinks is how I keep the bank in the house, like a ladding's cave, as I've heard them tell in the Arabian Nights, me having gained it as a prize for English in my early girlhood, bein' then considered a scholar and industrious.' Mrs. Samson's shrill apologies for the absence of cake having been received. She hopped out of the room, and Madge made the tea. The service was a quaint Chinese one, which Brian had picked up in his wanderings. He used it only on special occasions. As he watched Madge he could not help thinking how pretty she looked, with her hands moving deftly among the cups and saucers, so bizarre looking with their sprawling dragons of yellow and green. He half smiled to himself as he thought, if they knew all, I wonder if they would sit with me so unconcernedly. Mr. Freddleby, too, as he looked at his daughter, thought of his dead wife and side. Well, said Madge, as she handed them their tea, and helped herself to some thin bread and butter, you two gentlemen are delightful company. Papa is sighing like three furnace, and Brian is staring at me with his eyes like blue china saucers. You ought both to be turned forth to funerals like melancholy. Who I like melancholy, queried Brian lazily. I'm afraid, Mr. Fitzgerald, said the young lady with a smile in her pretty black eyes, that you are not a student of a mid-summer night's dream. Very likely not, answered Brian, mid-summer out here is so hot that no one gets any sleep, and consequently no dreams. Depend upon it, if the four lovers whom Puck treated so badly had lived in Australia, they wouldn't have been able to sleep for the mosquitoes. What nonsense you two young people do talk! said Mr. Freddleby, with an amused smile as he stirred his tea. Dolce is despairing and loco, observed Brian gravely. A man who can't carry out that observation is sure not to be up to much. I don't like Latin, said Miss Freddleby, shaking her pretty head. I agree with Hyna's remark that if the Romans had been forced to learn it they would not have found time to conquer the world. Which was a more agreeable task, said Brian. And more profitable, finished Mr. Freddleby. They chattered in this dulcetory fashion for a considerable time, till at last Madge rose and said they must go. Brian proposed to dine with them at St. Kilda, and they would all go to Brock's fireworks. Madge consented to this, and she was just pulling on her gloves when suddenly they heard a ring at the front door, and presently Mrs. Samson talking in an excited manner at the pitch of her voice. You shan't come in, I tell you, they heard her shesh really. So it's no good trying, which I've always heard is an Englishman's house is his castle, and you're a break in the law, as well as a spoil in the carpets which has been newly put down. Someone made a reply, then the door of Brian's room was thrown open and Gorby walked in, followed by another man. Fitzgerald turned as wide as a sheet, for he instinctively felt that they had come for him. However, pulling himself together, he demanded, in a haughty tone, the reason of the intrusion. Mr. Gorby walked straight over to where Brian was standing and placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. Brian fits Gerald, he said in a clear voice, I arrest you in the queen's name. For what? asked Brian, steadily. The murder of Oliver White. At this, Madge gave a cry. It is not true, she said wildly. My God, it's not true! Brian did not answer, but ghastly pale held out his hands. Gorby slipped the handcuffs onto his wrist with a feeling of compunction, despite his joy in running his man down. This done Fitzgerald turned round to where Madge was standing, still and still, as though turned into stone. Madge, he said in a clear low voice, I am going to prison, perhaps to death, but I swear to you, by all that I hold most sacred, that I am innocent of this murder. My darling! She made a step forward, but her father stepped before her. Keep back, he said in a hard voice, there is nothing between you and that man now. She turned round with an ashen face, but with a proud look in her clear eyes. You are wrong, she answered, with a touch of scorn in her voice. I love him more now than ever. Then before her father could stop her, she placed her arms round her lover's neck and kissed him wildly. My darling, she said, with the tears streaming down her white cheeks, whatever the world may say, you are always dearest of all to me. Brian kissed her passionately and moved away. Madge fell down at her father's feet in a dead faint. CHAPTER X Red for LibriVox.org into the public domain. COUNCIL FOR THE PRISONER Brian Fitzgerald was arrested at a few minutes past three o'clock, and by five all Melbourne was ringing with the news that the perpetrator of the now famous Handsome Cab murder had been caught. The evening papers were full of the affair, and the Herald went through several additions, the demand being far in excess of the supply. Such a crime had not been committed in Melbourne since the Greer shooting case in the Opera House, and the mystery by which it was surrounded made it even more sensational. The committal of the crime in such an extraordinary place as a Handsome Cab had been startling enough, but the discovery that the assassin was one of the most fashionable young men in Melbourne was still more so. And Fitzgerald, being well known in society as a wealthy squatter and the future husband of one of the richest and prettiest girls in Victoria, it was no wonder that his arrest caused some sensation. The Herald, which was fortunate enough to obtain the earliest information about the arrest, made the best use of it, and published a flaming article in its most sensational type, somewhat after this fashion. Handsome Cab tragedy, arrest of the supposed murder, startling revelations in high life. It is needless to say that some of the reporters had painted the lily pretty freely, but the public were ready to believe anything that came out in the papers. Mr. Fretelby, the day after Brian's arrest, had a long conversation with his daughter, and wanted her to go up to Yabba Yalik's station until the public excitement had somewhat subsided. But this match flatly refused to do. I'm not going to desert him when he most needs me, she said, resolutely. Everybody has turned against him, even before they have heard the facts of the case. He says he is not guilty, and I believe him. Then let him prove his innocence, said her father, who was pacing slowly up and down the room. If he did not get into the cab with White, he must have been somewhere else, so he ought to set up the defense of an alibi. He can easily do that, said Madge, with a ray of hope lighting up her sad face. He was here till eleven o'clock on Thursday night. Very probably, returned her father, dryly. But where was he at one o'clock on Friday morning? Besides, Mr. White left the house long before Brian did. She went on rapidly. You must remember it was when you quarreled with Mr. White. My dear Madge, said Freddleby, stopping in front of her with a displeased look. You are incorrect. White and myself did not quarrel. He asked me if it were true that Fitzgerald was engaged to you, and I answered yes. That was all, and then he left the house. Yes, and Brian didn't go until two hours after, said Madge. He never saw Mr. White the whole night. So he says, replied Mr. Freddleby significantly, I believe Brian, before anyone else in the world, said his daughter hotly, with flushed cheeks and flashing eyes. Ah! But will a jury? queried her father. You have turned against him, too, answered Madge, her eyes filling with tears. You believe him guilty? I am not prepared either to deny or confirm his guilt, said Mr. Freddleby coldly. I have done what I could to help him. I have engaged Colton to defend him, and if eloquence and skill can save him, you may set your mind at rest. My dear father, said Madge, throwing her arms round his neck, I knew you would not desert him altogether for my sake. My darling, replied her father in a faltering voice, as he kissed her, there is nothing in the world I would not do for your sake. Meanwhile, Brian was sitting in his cell in the Melbourne jail, thinking sadly enough about his position. He saw no hope of escape except one, and that he did not intend to take advantage of. It would kill her! It would kill her! He said feverishly, as he paced to and fro over the echoing stones, better that the last of the Fitzgeralds should perish like a common thief than she should know the bitter truth. If I engage a lawyer to defend me, he went on, the first question he will ask me will be where I was on that night, and if I tell him all will be discovered, and then—no, no, I cannot do it! It would kill her, my darling! And throwing himself down on the bed, he covered his face with his hands. He was roused by the opening of the door of his cell, and on looking up saw that it was Colton who entered. He was a great friend of Fitzgeralds, and Brian was deeply touched by his kindness in coming to see him. Duncan Colton had a kind heart, and was anxious to help Brian, but there was also a touch of self-interest in the matter. He had received a note from Mr. Freddleby, asking him to defend Fitzgerald, which he agreed to do with avidity, as he foresaw in this case an opportunity for his name becoming known throughout the Australian colonies. It is true that he was already a celebrated lawyer, but his reputation was purely a local one, and as he foresaw that Fitzgerald's trial for murder would cause a great sensation throughout Australia and New Zealand, he determined to take advantage of it as another step in the latter which led to fame, wealth, and position. So this tall, keen-eyed man, with the clean, shaven face and expressive mouth, advanced into the cell, and took Brian by the hand. It is very kind of you to come and see me, said Fitzgerald. It is at a time like this that one appreciates friendship. Yes, of course, answered the lawyer, fixing his keen eyes on the other's haggard face, as if he would read his innermost thoughts. I came partly on my own account, and partly because Freddleby asked me to see you as your defense. Mr. Freddleby, said Brian in a mechanical way, he is very kind. I thought he believed me guilty. No man is considered guilty until he's been proved so, answered Colton evasively. Brian noticed how guarded the answer was, for he heaved an impatient sigh. And Miss Freddleby, he asked in an hesitating manner. This time he got a decided answer. She declines to believe you guilty, and will not hear a word said against you. God bless her, said Brian fervently. She is a true woman. I suppose I am pretty well canvased, he added bitterly. Nothing else talked about, answered Colton calmly. Your arrest has for the present suspended all interest in theatres, cricket-matches, and balls, and you are at the present moment being discussed thread-bearing clubs and drawing-rooms. Fitzgerald writhed. He was a singularly proud man, and there was something inexpressibly galling in this unpleasant publicity. But this is all idle chatter, said Colton, taking a seat. We must get to business. Of course you will accept me as your counsel. It's no good my doing so, replied Brian gloomily. The rope is already round my neck. Nonsense! replied the lawyer cheerfully. The rope is round no man's neck till he's on the scaffold. Now you need not say a word, he went on, holding up his hand as Brian was about to speak. I intend to defend you whether you like it or not. I do not know all the facts except what the papers have stated, and they exaggerate so much that one can place no reliance on them. At all events I believe from my heart that you are innocent, and you must walk out of the prisoner's dock a free man, if only for the sake of that noble girl who loves you. Brian did not answer, but put out his hand which the other grasped warmly. I will not deny, went on Calton, that there is a little bit of professional curiosity about me. This case is such an extraordinary one, that I feel as if I were unable to let slip an opportunity of doing something with it. I don't care for your humdrum murders with the poker and all that sort of thing, but this is something clever and therefore interesting. When you are safe we will look together for the real criminal, and the pleasure of the search will be proportionate to the excitement when we find him out. I agree with everything you say, said Fitzgerald calmly, but have no defence to make. No defence? You are not going to confess you killed him. No, with an angry flush, but there are certain circumstances which prevent me from defending myself. What nonsense! retorted Calton sharply, as if any circumstances should prevent a man from saving his own life. But never mind, I like these objections. They make the nut harder to crack. But the Colonel must be worth getting at. Now, I want you to answer certain questions. I won't promise. Well, we shall see, said the lawyer cheerfully, taking out his notebook and resting it on his knee. First, where were you on the Thursday night preceding the murder? I can't tell you. Oh, yes you can, my friend. You left St. Kilda and came up to town by the eleven o'clock train. Eleven twenty, corrected Brian. Calton smiled in a gratified manner as he noted this down. A little diplomacy is all that's required, he said mentally. And where did you go then? he added aloud. I met Rolston in the train, and we took a cab from the Flinders Street station up to the club. What club? The Melbourne Club. Yes, interrogatively. Rolston went home, and I went into the club and played cards for a time. When did you leave the club? A few minutes to one o'clock in the morning. And then I suppose you went home? No, I did not. Then where did you go? Down the street. Rather vague, I presume you mean Collins Street. Yes. You were going to meet some one, I suppose. I never said so. Probably not, but young men don't wander about the streets at night without some object. I was restless and wanted a walk. Indeed, how curious you should prefer going into the heart of the dusty town for a walk to strolling through the Fitzroy Gardens which were on your way home. It won't do. You had an appointment to meet some one. Well, uh, yes. I thought as much. Man or woman? I cannot tell you. Then I must find out for myself. You can't. Indeed. Why not? You don't know where to look for her. Her! cried Colton, delighted at the success of his craftily put question. I knew it was a woman. Brian did not answer, but sat biting his lips with vexation. Now, who is this woman? No answer. Come now, Fitzgerald. I know that young men will be young men, and of course you don't like these things talked about. But in this case your character must be sacrificed to save your neck. What is her name? I can't tell you. Oh! You know it, then. Well, yes. And you won't tell me? No. Colton, however, had found out two things that pleased him. First that Fitzgerald had had an appointment, and second that it had been with a woman. He pursued another line. When did you last see White? Brian answered with great reluctance. I saw him drunk by the Scotch Church. What! You were the man who hailed the handsome. Yes, assented the other, hesitating slightly. I was. The thought flashed through Colton's brain as to whether the young man before him was guilty or not, and he was obliged to confess that things looked very black against him. Then what the newspaper said was correct? Partly. Ah! Colton drew a long breath. Here was a ray of hope. You did not know it was White when you found him lying drunk near the Scotch Church? No, I did not. Had I known it was he I would not have picked him up. Of course you recognized him afterwards? Yes I did. And as the paper stated I dropped him and walked away. Why did you leave him so abruptly? Colton looked at his questioner in some surprise. Because I detested him, he said shortly. Why did you detest him? No answer. Was it because he admired Miss Freddleby and from all appearances was going to marry her? Well yes, sullenly. And now, said Colton impressively, this is the whole point upon which the case turns. Why did you get into the cab with him? I did not get into the cab. The cabman declares that you did. He is wrong. I never came back after I recognized White. And who was the man who got into the cab with White? I don't know. You have no idea? Not the least. You are certain? Yes, perfectly certain. He seems to have been dressed exactly like you. Very probably. I could name at least a dozen of my acquaintances who wear light coats over their evening dress and soft hats. Do you know if White had any enemies? No I don't. I know nothing about him, beyond that he came from England a short time ago with a letter of introduction to Mr. Freddleby, and had the impertinence to ask Madge to marry him. Where did White live? Down in St. Kilda, at the end of Gray Street. How do you know? It was in the papers, and—and, hesitatingly, I called on him. Why? To see if he would cease his attentions to Madge and to tell him that she was engaged to me. And what did he say? Laughed at me, curse him. You had high words, evidently? Brian laughed bitterly. Yes, we had. Did anyone hear you? The landlady did, I think. I saw her in the passage as I left the house. The prosecution will bring her forward as a witness. Very likely. Indifferently. Did you say anything likely to incriminate yourself? Fitzgerald turned away his head. Yes, he answered in a low voice. I spoke very wildly. Indeed, I did not know at the time what I said. Did you threaten him? Yes, I did. I told him I would kill him if he persisted in his plan of marrying Madge. Ah! if the landlady can swear that she heard you say so, it will form a strong piece of evidence against you. So far as I can see there is only one defense, and that is an easy one. You must prove an alibi. No answer. You say you did not come back and get into the cab? said Calton, watching the face of the other closely. No, it was someone else dressed like me. Then you have no idea who it was? No, I have not. Then after you left White and walked along Russell Street, where did you go? I can't tell you. Were you intoxicated? No, indignantly. Then you remember? Yes. And where were you? I can't tell you. You refuse? Yes, I do. Take time to consider. You may have to pay a heavy price for your refusal. If necessary I will pay it. And you won't tell me where you were? No, I won't. Calton was beginning to feel annoyed. You're very foolish, he said, sacrificing your life to some feeling of false modesty. You must prove an alibi. No answer. At what hour did you get home? About two o'clock in the morning. Did you walk home? Yes, through the Fitzroy Gardens. Did you see anyone on your way home? I don't know. I wasn't paying attention. Did anyone see you? Not that I know of. Then you refused to tell me where you were between one and two o'clock on Friday morning? Absolutely. Calton thought for a moment to consider his next move. Did you know that White carried valuable papers about with him? Fitzgerald hesitated and turned pale. No, I did not know, he said, reluctantly. The lawyer made a master stroke. Then why did you take them from him? What? He had it with him. Calton saw his advantage and seized it at once. Yes, he had it with him. Why did you take it? I did not take it. I didn't even know he had it with him. Indeed. Will you kindly tell me what it is? Brian saw the trap into which he had fallen. No, I will not, he answered steadily. Was it a jewel? No. Was it an important paper? I don't know. Ah! It was a paper. I can see it in your face. And was that paper of importance to you? Why do you ask? Calton fixed his keen gray eyes steadily on Brian's face. Because, he answered slowly, the man to whom that paper was of such value murdered White. Brian started up gasly pale. My God! he almost shrieked, stretching out his hands. It is true after all, and he fell down on the stone pavement in a dead faint. Calton alarmed, summoned the jailer, and between them they placed him on the bed and dashed some cold water over his face. He recovered and moaned feebly, while Calton, seeing that he was unfit to be spoken to, left the prison. When he got outside he stopped for a moment and looked back on the grim gray walls. Brian fits Gerald, he said to himself, you did not commit the murder yourself, but you know who did. CHAPTER XII of Mystery of a Handsome Cab by Fergus Hume. Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. She was a true woman. Melbourne society was greatly agitated over the Handsome Cab murder. Before the assassin had been discovered it had been looked upon merely as a common murder, in one of which society need take no cognizance beyond the bare fact of its committal. But now that one of the most fashionable young men in Melbourne had been arrested as the assassin, it bad fair to assume gigantic proportions. Mrs. Grundy was shocked and openly talked about having nourished in her bosom a viper which had unexpectedly turned and stung her. Morning, noon and night, in Torek drawing-rooms in Melbourne clubs, the case formed the principal subject of conversation. And Mrs. Grundy was horrified. Here was a young man, well-born, the Fitzgeralds, my dear, an Irish family, with royal blood in their veins, well-bred, most charming manners, I assure you, and so very good-looking, and engaged to one of the richest girls in Melbourne. Pretty enough, madam, no doubt, but he wanted her money, sly dog. And this young man, who had been petted by the ladies, voted a good fellow by the men, and was universally popular, both in drawing-room and club, had committed a vulgar murder. It was truly shocking. What was the world coming to, and what were jails and lunatic asylums built for if men of young Fitzgeralds caliber were not put in them, and kept from killing people? And then, of course, everybody asked everybody else who White was, and why he had never been heard of before. All people who had met Mr. White were worried to death with questions about him, and underwent a species of social martyrdom as to who he was, what he was like, why he was killed, and all the rest of the insane questions which some people will ask. It was talked about everywhere, infashionable drawing-rooms at five o'clock tea, over thin bread and butter and Souchon, at clubs, over brandies and sodas and cigarettes, by working men over their midday pint, and by their wives in the congenial atmosphere of the backyard over the wash tub. The papers were full of paragraphs about the famous murder, and the society papers gave an interview with the prisoner by their special reporters, which had been composed by those gentlemen out of the floating rumours which they heard around, and their own fertile imaginations. As to the prisoner's guilt, everyone was certain of it. The cabman Royston had sworn that Fitzgerald had got into the cab with White, and when he got out White was dead. There could be no stronger proof than that, and the general opinion was that the prisoner would put in no defence, but would throw himself on the mercy of the court. Even the church caught the contagion, and ministers, Anglican, Roman Catholic and Presbyterian, together with the lesser lights of minor denominations, took the handsome cab-murder as a text, whereon to preach sermons on the profligacy of the age, and to point out that the only Ark which could save men from the rising flun of immortality and immortality was their own particular church. God! as Calton remarked, after hearing five or six ministers each claim their own church as the one special vessel of safety, there seems to be a whole fleet of Ark's. For Mr. Felix Royston, acquainted as he was with all concerned, the time was one of great and exceeding joy. He was ever to the fore in retelling to his friends, plus certain garnishments of his own, any fresh evidence that chanced to come to light. His endeavour was to render it the more pecanth, if not dramatic. If you asked him for his definite opinion as to the innocence or guilt of the accused, Mr. Felix shook his head sagaciously, and gave you to understand that neither he, nor his dear friend Calton, he knew Calton to nod to, had yet been able to make up their minds about the matter. Fact is, you don't know, observed Mr. Royston wisely. There's more in this than meets the eye and all that sort of thing. Think tech to fellas wrong myself. Don't think Fitz killed White. Jolly well sure he didn't. Even this would be followed invariably by a query in course of, Who killed him then? Aha! Felix would retort, putting his head on one side like a meditative sparrow. Tech to fellas can't find out, that's the difficulty. Good mind to go on the prowl myself, by Joe. But you don't know anything of the detective business, some one would ask. Oh! Dear yes! With an airy wave of his hand. I've read Gabarro, you know, awfully jolly life tech-tives. Despite this evasion, Royston, in his heart of hearts, believed Fitzgerald guilty. But he was one of those persons, who having either tender hearts or obstinate natures, the latter is perhaps the more general, deem it incumbent upon them to come forward in championship of those in trouble. There are doubtless those who think that Nero was a pleasant young man, whose cruelties were but the resultant of an overflow of high spirits, and who regard Henry VIII in the light of a hen-pecked husband unfortunate in the possession of six wives. These people delight in expressing their sympathy with great scoundrels of the Ned Kelly order. They view them as the embodiment of heroism, unsympathetically and disgracefully treated by the narrow understanding of the law. If one half of the world does kick a man when he is down, the other half invariably consoles the prostrate individual with half-pence. And therefore, even while the weight of public opinion was dead against Fitzgerald, he had his share of avowed sympathy. There was a comfort in this for Maj. Not that if the whole countryside had unanimously condemned her lover, she would have believed him guilty. The element of logic does not enter into the championship of women. Her love for a man is sufficient to exalt him to the rank of a demigod. She absolutely refuses to see the clay feet of her idol. When all others forsake, she clings to him. When all others frown, she smiles on him, and when he dies she reveres his memory as that of a saint and a martyr. Young men of the present day are prone to disparage their women-kind, but a poor thing is the man, who in time of trouble has no woman to stand by him with cheering words and loving comfort. And so, Maj. Freddleby, true woman that she was, had nailed her colors to the mast. She refused to surrender to any one, or before any argument. He was innocent, and his innocence would be proved, for she had an intuitive feeling that he would be saved at the eleventh hour. How she knew not, but she was certain that it would be so. She would have gone to see Brian in prison, but that her father absolutely forbade her doing so. Before she was dependent upon Calton, for all the news respecting him, and any message which she wished conveyed. Brian's persistent refusal to set up the defense of an alibi annoyed Calton, the more so as he could conceive no reason sufficiently worthy of the risk to which it subjected his client. If it's for the sake of a woman, he said to Brian, I don't care who she is, it's absolutely chaotic. Self-preservation is the first law of nature, and if my neck was in danger I'd spare neither man, woman, nor child a save it. I dare say," answered Brian, but if you had my reasons you might think differently. Yet in his own mind the lawyer had a suspicion which he thought might perhaps account for Brian's obstinate concealment of his movements on the fatal night. He had admitted an appointment with a woman. He was a handsome young fellow, and probably his morals were no better than those of his fellows. There was perhaps some intrigue with a married woman. He had perchance been with her on that night, and it was to shield her that he refused to speak. Even so, argued Calton, let him lose his character rather than his life. Indeed, the woman herself should speak. It would be hard upon her, I admit. Yet when a man's life is in danger, surely nothing should stop her. Full of these perplexing thoughts, Calton went down to St. Kilda to have a talk with Maj. He intended to ask her to assist him towards obtaining the information he needed. He had a great respect for Maj, and thought her a really clever woman. It was just possible, he argued, that Brian's great love might cause him to confess everything to her at her urgent request. He found Maj awaiting his arrival with anxiety. Where have you been all this time? She said as they sat down, I have been counting every moment since I saw you last. How is he? Just the same, answered Calton, taking off his gloves. Still obstinately refusing to save his own life. Where's your father? He asked, suddenly. Out of town, she answered impatiently. He will not be back for a week. But what do you mean that he won't save his own life? Calton leaned forward and took her hand. Do you want to save his life? He asked. Save his life! She reiterated, starting up out of her chair with a cry. God knows I would die to save him. Pish! murmured Calton to himself, as he looked at her glowing face and outstretched hands. These women are always in extremes. The fact is, he said aloud, Fitzgerald is able to prove an alibi, and he refuses to do so. But why? Calton shrugged his shoulders. That is best known to himself. Some chaotic idea of honour, I fancy. Now he refuses to tell me where he was on that night. Perhaps he won't refuse to tell you. So you must come up and see him with me, and perhaps he will recover his senses and confess. But my father, she faltered. Did you not say he was out of town? asked Calton. Yes. Hesitated madge. But he told me not to go. In that case, said Calton, rising up and taking his hat and gloves, I won't ask you. She laid her hand on his arm. Stop! Will it do any good? Calton hesitated a moment, for he thought that if the reason of Brian's silence was, as he surmised, an intrigue with a married woman, he might not tell the girl he was engaged to about it. But on the other hand there might be some other reason, and Calton trusted to madge to find it out. With these thoughts in his mind he turned round. Yes, he answered boldly, it may save his life. Then I shall go, she answered recklessly. He is more to me than my father, and if I can save him I will. And she ran out of the room. An uncommonly plucky girl murmured the lawyer as he looked out of the window. If Fitzgerald is not a fool, he will certainly tell her all. That is, of course, if he is able to. Queer things these women are. I quite agree with Balzac saying that no wonder man couldn't understand woman, seeing that God who created her failed to do so. Madge came back dressed to go out, with a heavy veil over her face. Shall I order the carriage? She asked, pulling on her gloves with trembling fingers. Hardly, answered Calton dryly, unless you want to see a paragraph in the Society Papers to the effect that Miss Madge Freddleby visited Mr. Fitzgerald in jail. No, no, we'll get a cab. Come, my dear, and taking her arm he led her away. They reached the station and caught a train just as it started, yet notwithstanding this madge was in a fever of impatience. How slowly it goes! She said fretfully. Hush, my dear, said Calton, laying his hand on her arm. You will betray yourself. He'll arrive soon and save him. Oh, God grant we may, she said with a low cry, clasping her hands tightly together, while Calton could see the tears falling from under her thick veil. This is not the way to do so, he said almost roughly. You'll be in hysterics soon. Control yourself for his sake. For his sake, she muttered, and with a powerful sort of will, calmed herself. They soon arrived in Melbourne, and getting a handsome drove quickly to the jail. After going through the usual formula, they entered the cell where Brian was, and when the warder who accompanied them opened the door, they found the young man seated on his bed. He looked up and on seeing Madge rose and held out his hands with a cry of delight. She ran forward and threw herself on his breast with a stifled sob. For a short time no one spoke, Calton being at the other end of the cell, busy with some notes which he had taken from his pocket, and the warder having retired. My poor darling, said Madge, stroking back the soft fair hair from his fleshed forehead, how ill you look! Yes, answered Fitzgerald with a hard laugh, prison does not improve a man, does it? Don't speak in that tone, Brian, she said. It is not like you. Let us sit down and talk calmly over the matter. I don't see what good that will do, he answered wearily as they sat down hand in hand. I have talked about it to Calton till my headaches, and it is no good. Of course not, retorted the lawyer sharply as he also sat down. Nor will it be any good until you come to your senses and tell us where you were on that night. I tell you I cannot. Brian, my dear, said Madge softly, taking his hand, you must tell all for my sake. Fitzgerald sighed. This was the hardest temptation he had yet been subjected to. He felt half inclined to yield and chance the result, but one look at Madge's pure face steeled him against doing so. What could his confession bring but sorrow and regret to one whom he loved better than his life? Madge, he answered gravely, taking her hand again, you do not know what you ask. Yes, I do, she replied quickly. I ask you to save yourself, to prove that you are not guilty of this terrible crime, and not to sacrifice your life for the sake of—of— She stopped and looked helplessly at Calton, for she had no idea of the reason of Fitzgerald's refusal to speak. For the sake of a woman, finished Calton bluntly. A woman, she faltered, still holding her lover's hand. Is—is—is—is that the reason? Brian averted his face. Yes, he said in a low, rough voice. A sharp expression of anguish crossed her pale face, and sinking her head on her hands she wept bitterly. Brian looked at her in a dogged kind of way, and Calton stared grimly at them both. Look here, he said at length, to Brian in an angry voice. If you want my opinion of your conduct I think it's infamous. Begging your pardon, Miss Freddleby, for the expression. Here is this noble girl, who loves you with her whole heart, and is ready to sacrifice everything for your sake, comes to implore you to save your life, and you coolly turn around and acknowledge another woman. Brian lifted his head haughtily, and his face flushed. You are wrong, he said, turning round sharply. There is the woman, for whose sake I keep silence. And rising up from the bed, he pointed to Madge, as she sobbed bitterly on it. She lifted up her haggard face with an air of surprise. For my sake!" she cried in a startled voice. Oh, he's mad, said Calton, shrugging his shoulders. I shall put in a defence of insanity. No, I'm not mad, cried Fitzgerald wildly, as he caught Madge in his arms. My darling, my darling, it is for your sake that I keep silence, and I shall do so, though my life pays the penalty. I could tell you where I was on that night and save myself, but if I did you would learn a secret which would curse your life, and I dare not speak, and I dare not. Madge looked up into his face with a pitiful smile as her tears fell fast. Dearest, she said softly, do not think of me, but only of yourself. Better that I should endure misery than that you should die. I do not know what the secret can be, but if the telling of it will save your life, do not hesitate. See, she cried, falling on her knees, I am at your feet. I implore you, by all the love you ever had for me, to save yourself, whatever the consequence may be to me. Madge, said Fitzgerald, as he raised her in his arm, at one time I might have done so, but now it is too late. There is another and stronger reason for my silence, which I have only found out since my arrest. I know that I am closing up the one way of escape from this charge of murder, of which I am innocent, but as there is a God in heaven I swear that I will not speak. There was a silence in the cell, broken only by Madge's convulsive sobs, and even Calton, cynical man of the world as he was, felt his eyes grow wet. Brian led Madge over to him and placed her in his arms. Take her away, he said in a broken voice, or I shall forget that I am a man, and turning away he threw himself on his bed, and covered his face with his hands. Calton did not answer him, but summoned to the water, and tried to lead Madge away. But just as they reached the door she broke away from him, and running back, flung herself on her lover's breast. My darling, my darling," she sobbed, kissing him, you shall not die, I shall save you in spite of yourself. And as if afraid to trust herself longer, she ran out of the cell, followed by the barrister. CHAPTER XIII. OF MYSTERY OF A HANDSOME CAB BY FERGUS HUME. Madge makes a discovery. Madge stepped into the cab, and Calton paused a moment to tell the cabman to drive to the railway station. Suddenly she stopped him. Tell him to drive to Brian's lodgings in Powlett Street, she said, laying her hand on Calton's arm. What for? asked the lawyer in astonishment. And also to go past the Melbourne Club, as I want to stop there. What the deuce does she mean? muttered Calton, as he gave the necessary orders, and stepped into the cab. And now, he asked, looking at his companion, who had let down her veil, while the cab rattled quickly down the street, what do you intend to do? She threw back her veil, and he was astonished to see the sudden change which had come over her. There were no tears now, and her eyes were hard and glittering, while her mouth was firmly closed. She looked like a woman who had determined to do a certain thing, and would carry out her intention at whatever cost. I intend to save Brian in spite of himself. She said, very distinctly. But how? Ah! You think that being a woman I can do nothing, she said bitterly. Well, you shall see. I beg your pardon, retorted Calton, with a grim smile. My opinion of your sex has always been an excellent one. Every lawyer's is. Stands to reason that it should be so, seeing that a woman is at the bottom of nine cases out of ten. The old cry. Nevertheless a true one, answered Calton. Ever since the time of Father Adam it has been acknowledged that women influence the world, either for good or evil more than men. But this is not to the point, he went on rather impatiently. What do you propose to do? Simply this, she answered, in the first place I may tell you that I do not understand Brian's statement that he keeps silence for my sake, as there are no secrets in my life that can justify his saying so. The facts of the case are simply these. Brian, on the night in question, left our house at St. Kilda at eleven o'clock. He told me that he would call at the club to see if there were any letters for him and then go straight home. But he might have said that merely as a blind. Mad shook her head. No, I do not think so. I did not ask him where he was going. He told me quite spontaneously. I know Brian's character and he would not tell a deliberate lie, especially when there is no necessity for it. I am quite certain that he intended to do as he said and go straight home. When he got to the club he found a letter there which caused him to alter his mind. From whom was the letter? Don't you guess, she said impatiently. From the person, man or woman, who wanted to see him and reveal this secret about me, whatever it is. He got the letter at his club and went down Collins Street to meet the writer. At the corner of the Scotch Church he found Mr. White and on recognizing him, left in disgust, and walked down Russell Street to keep his appointment. Then you don't think he came back? I am certain he did not, for as Brian told you there are plenty of young men who wear the same kind of coat and hat as he does. Who the second young man who got into the cab was, I do not know, but I will swear that it was not Brian. And you're going to look for that letter? Yes, in Brian's lodgings. He might have burnt it. He might have done a thousand things, but he did not, she answered. Brian is the most careless man in the world. He would put the letter in his pocket or throw it into the waste paper basket and never think of it again. In this case he did, however. Yes, he thought of the conversation he had had with the writer, but not of the letter itself. Then upon it we shall find it in his desk or in one of the pockets of the clothes he wore that night. Then there's another thing, said Calton thoughtfully. The letter might have been delivered to him between the Elizabeth Street railway station and the club. We can soon find out about that, answered Maj, for Mr. Rolaston was with him at the time. So he was, answered Calton, and here is Rolaston coming down the street. We'll ask him now. The cab was just passing the Birkenwil's Monument, and Calton's quick eye had caught a glimpse of Rolaston walking down the left-hand side. What first attracted Calton's attention was the glittering appearance of Felix. His well-brushed top hat glittered, his varnished boots glittered, and his rings and scarf-pin glittered. In fact, so resplendent was his appearance that he looked like an animated diamond coming along in the blazing sunshine. The cab drove up to the curb, and Rolaston stopped short as Calton sprang out directly in front of him. Rolaston went to lay back in the cab and pulled down her veil, not wishing to be recognized by Felix, as she knew that if he did it would soon be all over the town. Hello, old chap, said Rolaston in considerable astonishment. Where did you spring from? From the cab, of course, answered Calton with a laugh. A kind of Deus ex machina, replied Rolaston, attempting a bad pun. Exactly, said Calton. Look here, Rolaston. Do you remember the night of White's murder? You met Fitzgerald at the railway station. In the train, corrected Felix. Well, no matter, you came up with him to the club. Yes, and left him there. Did you notice if he received any messages while he was with you? Any message, replied Felix, no, he did not. We were talking together the whole time, and he spoke to no one but me. Was he in good spirits? Excellent! Made me laugh awfully. But why, all this thusness? Oh, nothing, answered Calton, getting back into the cab. I wanted a little information from you. I'll explain next time I see you. Good-bye. What I say, began Felix, but the cab had already rattled away. So Mr. Rolaston turned angrily away. I never saw anything like these lawyers, he said to himself. Calton's a perfect whirlwind, by Jove. Meanwhile, Calton was talking to Maj. You were quite right. There must have been a message for him at the club, for he got none from the time he left your place. And what shall we do now? Asked Maj, who, having heard all the conversation, did not trouble to question the lawyer about it. Find out at the club if any letter was waiting for him on that night. Said Calton as the cab stopped at the door of the Melbourne Club. Here we are. And with a hasty word to Maj, he ran up the steps. He went to the office of the club to find out if any letters had been waiting for Fitzgerald, and found there a waiter with whom he was pretty well acquainted. Look here, Brown, said the lawyer. Do you remember on that Thursday night when the handsome cab murder took place if any letters were waiting here for Mr. Fitzgerald? Well, really, sir, hesitated Brown, it's so long ago that I almost forget. Calton gave him a sovereign. Oh, it's not that, Mr. Calton said the waiter pocketing the coin, nevertheless, but I really do forget. Try and remember, said Calton shortly. Brown made a tremendous effort of memory, and at last gave a satisfactory answer. No, sir, there were none. Are you sure, said Calton, feeling a thrill of disappointment? Quite sure, replied the other confidently. I went to the letter rack several times that night, and I am sure there were none for Mr. Fitzgerald. Ah, I thought as much, said Calton, heaving aside. Stop! said Brown, as though struck by a sudden idea. Though there was no letter come by post, sir, there was one brought to him on that night. Ah! said Calton, turning sharply. At what time? Just before twelve o'clock, sir. Who brought it? A young woman, sir, said Brian, in a tone of disgust. A bold thing, begging your pardon, sir, and no better than she should be. She bounced into the door as bold as brass, and sings out, Is he in? Get out, I says, or I'll call the police. Oh, no you won't, says she. You'll give him that. And she shoves a letter into my hands. Who's him? I asked. I don't know, she answers. It's written there, and I can't read. Give it him at once. And then she clears out before I could stop her. And the letter was for Mr. Fitzgerald? Yes, sir, and a precious dirty letter it was, too. You gave it to him, of course. I did, sir. He was playing cards, and he put it in his pocket, after having looked at the outside of it, and went on with his game. Didn't he open it? Not then, sir, but he did later on, about a quarter to one o'clock. I was in the room, and he opens it and reads it. Then he says to himself, What damned impertnance, and puts it in his pocket? Was he disturbed? Well, sir, he looked angry like, and put his coat and hat on, and walked out about five minutes to one. Ah, and he met white at one, muttered Calton. There's no doubt about it. The letter was an appointment, and he was going to keep it. What kind of letter was it, he asked? Very dirty, sir, in a square envelope, but the paper was good, and so was the writing. That will do, said Calton. I am much obliged to you. And he hurried down to where Madge awaited him in the cab. You were right, he said to her, when the cab was once more in motion. He got a letter on that night, and went to keep his appointment at the time he met white. I knew it, cried Madge with delight. You see, we will find it in his lodgings. I hope so, answered Calton, but we must not be too sanguine. He may have destroyed it. No, he is not, she replied. I am convinced it is there. Well, answered Calton, looking at her, I don't contradict you, for your feminine instincts have done more to discover the truth than my reasonings, but that is often the case with women. They jump in the dark, where a man would hesitate, and nine cases out of ten land safely. Alas, for the tenth, said Miss Freddleby, she has to be the one exception to prove the rule. She had in a great measure recovered her spirits, and seemed confident that she would save her lover. But Mr. Calton saw that her nerves were strung up to the highest pitch, and that it was only her strong will that kept her from breaking down altogether. By Jove, he muttered, in an admiring tone, as he watched her, she is a plucky girl, and Fitzgerald is a lucky man to have the love of such a woman. They soon arrived at Brian's lodgings, and the door was opened by Mrs. Samson, who looked very disconsolate indeed. The poor cricket had been blaming herself severely for the information she had given to the false insurance agent, and the floods of tears which she had wept had apparently an effect on her physical condition, for she crackled less loudly than usual, though her voice was as shrill as ever. That such a thing could have happened to him, she wailed in her thin high voice, and me that proud of not having any family of my own, except one has died and went up to heaven out of his father, which I hopes is there both angels and friendly, as his nature had not developed in this valley of the shadow to determine his feelings toward his father when he died, being carried off by a chill, caused by the change from ought to cold, the weather being that contrary. They had arrived in Brian's sitting-room by this time, and Madge sank into a chair, while Calton, anxious to begin the search, hinted to Mrs. Samson that she could go. I'm departing, sir, piped the cricket with a sad shake of her head as she opened the door, knowing as I do, as he is innocent as an unborn babe, and to think of me having told that horrid person who had no regard for the truth of all about him, is now in a cold cell, not as what the weather ain't warm, and he won't want a fire as long as they allow him blankets. What did you tell them? asked Calton sharply. Ah, you may well say that! lamented Mrs. Samson, rolling her dingy handkerchief into a ball, and dabbing at her red-rimmed eyes, which presented quite a Bacchanalian appearance, due, be it said injustice to grief, not to liquor. Calton been beguiled by that serping and light clothes, as wanted to know if he always came home before twelve, which I said as he was in the abode to do, and, though, to be sure he did sometimes use his latch-key. The night of the murder, for instance. Oh, don't say that, sir, said Mrs. Samson, with a terrified crackle. Me being weak and ailing, though coming of a strong family, as always lived to a good age, through being in the habit of wearing flannels, which my mother's father thought better, nor a spoil in the inside with chemistry. Never man that detective, murmured Calton to himself. He got out of her by strategy, what he never would have done by force. It's a strong piece of evidence against Fitzgerald, but it does not matter much if he could prove an alibi. You'll likely be called as a witness for the prosecution, he said aloud. Me, sir, squeaked Mrs. Samson, trembling violently, and thereby producing a subdued rustle, as of wind in the trees. As I've never been in the court, except the time his father took me for a tree, to ear a murder, which there's no denying is as good as a play, e'en being young, e'en it is wife over the ed with a poker when she weren't looking, and a berry in her corpse in a back garden, without even a stone to mark the place, let alone a line from the psalms and a remuneration of her virtues. Well, well, said Calton rather impatiently, as he opened the door for her. Leave us for a short time, there's a good soul. Miss Freddleby and I want to rest, and we will ring for you when we are going. Thank you, sir, said the lacrimose landlady, and I hopes they won't hang him, which is such a chokey way a dyin, but in life we are in death," she went on, rather incoherently, as is well known to Emma's diseases and may be corpse at any minute, and as, here, Calton, unable to restrain his impatience any longer, shut the door, and they heard Mrs. Samson's shrill voice and subdued cracklings die away in the distance. Now, then, he said, now that we've got rid of that woman in her tongue, where are we to begin? The desk, replied Madge, going over to it, it's the most likely place. Don't think so, said Calton, shaking his head. If, as you say, Fitzgerald is a careless man, he would not have trouble to put it there. However, perhaps we'd better look. The desk was very untidy. Just like Brian, as Madge remarked, full of paid and unpaid bills, old letters, playbills, ball-programs, and withered flowers. Reminiscences of former flirtations, said Calton, with a laugh, pointing to those. I should not wonder, retorted Miss Freddleby coolly. Brian always was in love with some one or other, but you know what Lytton says, there are many counterfeits but only one eras, so I can afford to forget these things. The letter, however, was not to be found in the desk, nor was it in the sitting-room. They tried the bedroom, but with no better result. Madge was about to give up the search and despair, when suddenly Calton's eye fell on the waste-paper basket, which by some unaccountable reason they had overlooked. The basket was half-full, in fact, more than half, and on looking at it a sudden thought struck the lawyer. He rang the bell, and presently Mrs. Samson made her opinion. How long has that waste-paper basket been standing like that? he asked, pointing to it. It being the only fault I had to find with him, said Mrs. Samson, he being that untidy that he never let me clean it out till he told me personally. He said as how he throwed things into it as he might have to look up again, and I haven't touched it for more than six weeks. Open, you won't think me a bad housekeeper, it being his own wish, being fond of litter and such like. Six weeks, repeated Calton with a look at Madge. Ah, and he got the letter four weeks ago. Depend upon it, we shall find it there. Madge gave a cry, and falling on her knees, emptied the basket out on the floor, and both she and Calton were soon as busy among the fragments of paper as though they were rag- pickers. Open, they earn off their heads, murmured Mrs. Samson as she went to the door, but it looks like it they being—suddenly a cry broke from Madge as she drew out of the mass of paper a half-burnt letter, written on thick and creamy-looking paper. At last, she cried, rising off her knees and smoothing it out. I knew he had not destroyed it. Pretty nearly, however, said Calton, as his eyes glanced rapidly over it, it's almost useless as it is. There's no name to it. He took it over to the window and spread it out upon the table. It was dirty and half-burnt, but still it was a clue. There was not much left of it. There is not much to be gained from that, I'm afraid, said Madge sadly. It shows that he had an appointment, but where? Calton did not answer, but leaning his head on his hands, stared hard at the paper. At last he jumped up with a cry. I have it, he said in an excited tone. Look at that paper. See how creamy and white it is, and above all, look at the printing on the corner—Ot Villa Turac. Then he went down to Turac. In an hour and back again, hardly. Then it was not written from Turac. No, it was written in one of the Melbourne back slums. How do you know? Look at the girl who brought it, said Calton quickly, a disreputable-looking woman, one far more likely to come from the back slums than from Turac. As to the paper, three months ago there was a robbery at Turac, and this is some of the paper that was stolen by the thieves. Madge said nothing, but her sparkling eyes and the nervous trembling of her hands showed her excitement. I will see a detective this evening, said Calton exultingly. Find out where this letter came from and who wrote it. We'll save him yet," he said, placing the precious letter carefully in his pocket-book. You think you will be able to find the woman who wrote that? Hmm! said the lawyer, looking thoughtful. She may be dead, as the letter says she is in a dying condition. However, if I can find the woman who delivered the letter at the club, and waited for Fitzgerald at the corner of Bork and Russell Street, that will be sufficient. All I want to prove is that he was not in the handsome cab with White. And do you think you can do that? Depends upon this letter, said Calton, tapping his pocket-book with his finger. I'll tell you to-morrow. Shortly afterwards they left the house, and when Calton put Madge safely into the St. Kilda train, her heart felt lighter than it had done since Fitzgerald's arrest. CHAPTER XIV of Mystery of a Handsome Cab by Fergus Hume read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Another Richmond in the field. There is an old adage that says, like draws to like. The antithesis of this is probably that unlike repels unlike. But there are times when individualism does not enter into the matter, and fate alone, by throwing two persons together, sets up a state, congenial or uncongenial as the case may be. Fate chose to throw together Mr. Gorby and Mr. Kilsip, and each was something more than uncongenial to the other. Each was equally clever in their common profession, each was a universal favorite, yet each hated the other. They were as fire and water to one another, and when they came together invariably there was trouble. Kilsip was tall and slender, Gorby was short and stout. Kilsip looked clever, Gorby wore a smile of self-satisfaction, which alone was sufficient to prevent his doing so. Yet singularly enough it was this very smile that proved most useful to Gorby in the pursuit of his calling. It enabled him to come at information where his sharp-looking colleague might try in vain. The hearts of all went forth to Gorby's sweet smile in insinuating matter. But when Kilsip appeared people were want to shut up and to retire promptly like alarmed snails within their shells. Gorby gave the lie direct to those who hold that the face is ever the index to the mind. Kilsip, on the other hand, with his hawk-like countenance, his brilliant black eyes, hooked nose, and small, thin-lipped mouth endorsed the theory. His complexion was quite colourless and his hair was jet black. Altogether he could not be called fair to look upon. His craft and cunning were of the snake-like order. So long as he conducted his inquiries in secret he was generally successful, but once let him appear personally on the scene and failure was assured him. Thus, while Kilsip passed as the cleverer, Gorby was invariably the more successful, at all events ostensibly. Then therefore this handsome cab-murder case was put into Gorby's hands, the soul of Kilsip was smitten with envy, and when Fitzgerald was arrested and all the evidence collected by Gorby seemed to point so conclusively to his guilt, Kilsip writhed in secret over the triumph of his enemy. Though he would have only been too glad to say that Gorby had got hold of the wrong man, yet the evidence was so conclusive that such a thought never entered his head until he received a note from Mr. Calton, asking him to call at his office that evening at eight o'clock with reference to the murder. Kilsip knew that Calton was counsel for the prisoner. He guessed that he was wanted to follow up a clue, and he determined to devote himself to whatever Calton might require of him, if only to prove Gorby to be wrong. So pleased was he at the mere possibility of triumphing over his rival that on casually meeting him he stopped and invited him to drink. The primary effect of his sudden and unusual hospitality was to arouse all Gorby's suspicions. But on second thoughts, deeming himself quite a match for Kilsip, both mentally and physically, Gorby accepted the invitation. Ah! said Kilsip in his soft low voice, rubbing his lean white hands together as they sat over their drinks. You're a lucky man to have laid your hands on that handsome cab murderer so quickly. Yes, I flatter myself I did manage it pretty well, said Gorby lighting his pipe. I had no idea that it would be so simple, though mind you it required a lot of thought before I got a proper start. I suppose you're pretty sure he's the man you want? Pursued Kilsip, softly, with a brilliant flash of his black eyes. Pretty sure indeed, retorted Mr. Gorby scornfully. There ain't no pretty sure about it. I'll take my Bible oath he's the man. He and White hated one another. He says to White, I'll kill you if I've got to do it in the open street. He meets White drunk, a fact which he acknowledges himself. He clears out and the cab man swears he comes back. Then he gets into the cab with a living man, and when he comes out leaves a dead one. He drives to East Melbourne and gets into the house at a time which his landlady can prove, just the time that a cab would take to drive from the grammar school on the St. Kilda Road. If you ain't a fool, Kilsip, you'll see as there's no doubt about it. It all looks square enough, said Kilsip, who wondered what evidence Calton could have found to contradict such a plain statement of fact. And what's his defence? Mr. Calton's the only man who knows that, answered Gorby, finishing his drink. If clever and alls he is, he can't put anything in that can go against my evidence. Don't you be too sure of that, sneered Kilsip, whose soul was devoured with envy? Oh, but I am, retorted Gorby, getting as red as a turkey-cock at the sneer. You're jealous you are, because you haven't got a finger in the pie. Ah, but I may have yet. Going hunting for yourself, are you? said Gorby, with an indignant snort. Hunting for what? For a man as is already caught? I don't believe you've got the right man, remarked Kilsip deliberately. Mr. Gorby looked upon him with a smile of pity. No, of course you don't. Just because I've caught him. Perhaps when you see him hanged you'll believe it then. You're a smart man, you are, retorted Kilsip, but you ain't the Pope to be infallible. And what grounds have you for saying he's not the right man? demanded Gorby. Kilsip smiled and stole softly across the room like a cat. You don't think I'm such a fool as to tell you, but you ain't so safe nor as clever as you think. And with another irritating smile he went out. He's a regular snake, said Gorby to himself as the door closed on his brother detective, but he's bragging now. There isn't a link missing in the chain of evidence against Fitzgerald, so I defy him. He can do his worst. At eight o'clock on that night the soft-footed and soft-voice detective presented himself at Calton's office. He found the lawyer impatiently waiting for him. Kilsip closed the door softly, and then, taking a seat opposite to Calton, waited for him to speak. The lawyer, however, first handed him a cigar, then, producing a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from some mysterious recess, he filled one and pushed it towards the detective. Kilsip accepted these little attentions with the utmost gravity, yet they were not without their effect on him, as the keen-eyed lawyer saw. Calton was a great believer in diplomacy, and never lost an opportunity of inculcating it into young men starting in life. Lucy, said Calton to one young, aspirant for legal honors, is the oil we cast on the troubled waters of social, professional, and political life, and if you can, by a little tact, manage mankind, you are pretty certain to get on in this world. Calton was a man who practiced what he preached. He believed Kilsip to have that feline nature which likes to be stroked, to be made much of, and he paid him these little attentions, knowing full well they would bear their fruit. He also knew that Kilsip entertained no friendly feeling for Gorby, that in fact he bore him hatred, and he determined that this feeling which existed between the two men should serve him to the end he had in view. I suppose, he said, leaning back in his chair and watching the wreaths of blue smoke curling from a cigar, I suppose you know the ins and the outs of the handsome cab-murder. I should rather think so, said Kilsip with a curious light in his queer eyes, why Gorby does nothing but brag about it and his smartness in catching the supposed murderer. Aha! said Calton, leaning forward and putting his arms on the table. Supposed murderer! Eh! Does that mean he hasn't been convicted by a jury or that you think that Fitzgerald is innocent? Kilsip stared hard at the lawyer in a vague kind of way, slowly rubbing his hands together. Well, he said at length in a deliberate manner, before I got your note I was convinced that Gorby had got hold of the right man, but when I heard that you wanted to see me and knowing you are defending the prisoner, I guess that you must have found out something in his favour which you wanted me to look after. Right! said Calton, leconically. As Mr. Fitzgerald said he met White at the corner and hailed the cab, went on the detective. How do you know that? interrupted Calton sharply. Gorby told me. How the devil did he find out? cried the lawyer with genuine surprise. Because he is always poking and prying about, said Kilsip, forgetting in his indignation that such poking and prying formed a part of detective business. But at any rate, he went on quickly. If Mr. Fitzgerald did leave Mr. White, the only chance he's got of proving his innocence is that he did not come back as the cabman alleged. Then I suppose you think that Fitzgerald will prove an alibi? said Calton. Well, sir, answered Kilsip modestly. Of course you know more about the case than I do, but that is the only defense I can see he can make. Well, he's not going to put in such a defense. Then he must be guilty, said Kilsip promptly. Not necessarily, returned the barrister dryly. But if he wants to save his neck, he'll have to prove an alibi, persisted the other. That's just where the point is, answered Calton. He doesn't want to save his neck. Kilsip, looking rather bewildered, took a sip of whiskey and waited to hear what Mr. Calton had to say. The fact is, said Calton, lighting a fresh cigar, he has some extraordinary idea in his head. He refuses absolutely to say where he was on that night. I understand, said Kilsip, nodding his head. Woman? No, nothing of the kind, retorted Calton hastily. I thought so at first, but I was wrong. He went to see a dying woman who wished to tell him something. What about? That's just what I can't tell you, answered Calton quickly. It must have been something important, for she sent for him in great haste, and he was by her bedside between the hours of one and two on Friday morning. Then he did not return to the cab? No, he did not. He went to keep his appointment, but for some reason or other later he won't tell where this appointment was. I went to his rooms today and found this half-burnt letter asking him to come. Calton handed the letter to Kilsip, who placed it on the table and examined it carefully. This was written on Thursday, said the detective. Of course you can see that from the date, and White was murdered on Friday the twenty-seventh. It was written that something Villa Turac pursued Kilsip, still examining the paper. Oh! I understand. He went down there. Hardly, retorted Calton in a sarcastic tone. He couldn't very well go down there, have an interview, and be back in East Melbourne in one hour. The cabman Royston can prove that he was at Russell Street at one o'clock, and his landlady that he entered in Zodging in East Melbourne at two. No, he wasn't at Turac. When was this letter delivered? Shortly before twelve o'clock at the Melbourne Club, by a girl who, from what the waiter saw of her, appears to have been a disreputable individual. You will see it says Barer will wait him at Bork Street, and as another street is mentioned, and as Fitzgerald, after leaving White, went down Russell Street to keep his appointment, the most logical conclusion is that the bearer of the letter waited for him at the corner of Bork and Russell Street. Now, went on the lawyer, I want to find out who the girl that brought the letter is. But how? God bless my soul, Kilsip, how stupid you are! cried Calton, his irritation getting the better of him. Can't you understand? That paper came from one of the back slums. Therefore it must have been stolen. A sudden light flashed into Kilsip's eyes. Talbot Villa, Turac, he cried quickly, snatching up the letter again and examining it with great attention, where that burglary took place. Exactly, said Calton, smiling complacently. Now do you understand what I want? You must take me to the crib in the back slums where the articles stolen from the house in Turac were hidden. This paper, pointing to the letter, is part of the swag left behind, and must have been used by someone there. Brian Fitzgerald obeyed the directions given in the letter, and he was there at the time of the murder. I understand, said Kilsip with a gratified purr. There were four men engaged in that burglary, and they hid the swag at Mother Gutter Snipe's crib in a lane off Little Bork Street. But hang it! A swell like Mr. Fitzgerald, an evening dress, couldn't very well have gone down there unless—he had someone with him, well known in the locality—finished Calton rapidly. Exactly! That woman who delivered the letter at the club guided him. Judging from the waiter's description of her appearance, I should think she was pretty well known about the slums. Well, said Kilsip, rising and looking at its watch, it is now nine o'clock, so if you like we will go to the old hag's place at once. Dying woman, he said, as if struck by a sudden thought, there was a woman who died there about four weeks ago. Who was she? asked Calton, who was putting on his overcoat. Some relation of Mother Gutter Snipe's, I fancy, answered Kilsip as they left the office. I don't know exactly what she was. She was called the Queen, and a precious handsome woman she must have been. Came from Sydney about three months ago, and from what it can make out was not long from England. Died of consumption on the Thursday night before the murder. CHAPTER XV of Mystery of a Handsome Cab by Fergus Hume. Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. A woman of the people. Work Street is a more crowded thoroughfare than Collins Street, especially at night. The theatres that it contains are in themselves sufficient for the gathering of a considerable crowd. It is a grimy crowd for the most part. Round the doors of the hotels a number of ragged and shabby-looking individuals collect, waiting till some kind of friend shall invite them to step inside. Further on, a nod of horsey-looking men are to be seen standing under the opera house veranda, giving and taking odds about the Melbourne Cup, or some other meeting. Here and there are ragged street Arabs selling matches and newspapers, and against the veranda post, in the full blaze of the electric light, leans a weary, draggled-looking woman, one arm clasping a baby to her breast, and the other holding a pile of newspapers, while she drones out in a horse-voice, arrowed, third edition, one penny, till the ear-wearies of the constant repetition. Cabs rattle incessantly along the street. There a fast-looking handsome, with a rakeish horse, bearing some gilded youth to his club. There a dingy-looking vehicle, drawn by a lank quadruped, which staggers blindly down the street. Alternating with these, carriages dash by with their well-groomed horses, and within the vision of bright eyes, white dresses, and the sparkle of diamonds. Then, further up, just on the verge of the pavement, three violins and a harp are playing a German waltz to an admiring crowd of attentive spectators. If there is one thing which the Melbourne folk love more than another, it is music. Their fondness for it is only equal by their admiration for horse-racing. Any street band which plays it all decently may be sure of a good audience, and a substantial remuneration for their performance. Some writer has described Melbourne as Glasgow with the sky of Alexandria, and certainly the beautiful climate of Australia, so Italian in its brightness, must have a great effect on the nature of such an adaptable race as the Anglo-Saxon. In spite of the dismal prognostications of Marcus Clark regarding the future Australian, whom he describes as being a tall, coarse, strong, jawed, greedy, pushing, talented man, excelling and swimming in horsemanship, it is more likely that he will be a cultured, indolent individual, with an intense appreciation of the arts and sciences, and a dislike to hard work and utilitarian principles. Climatic influence should be taken into account with regard to the future Australian, and our posterity will no more resemble us than the luxurious Venetians resembled their hearty forefathers, who first started to build on those lonely, sandy islands of the Adriatic. This was the conclusion at which Mr. Calton arrived, as he followed his guide through the crowded streets, and saw, with what deep interest the crowd listened to the rhythmic strains of Strauss and the sparkling melodies of Offenbach. The brilliantly lit street, with the never-ceasing stream of people pouring along, the shrill cries of the street Arabs, the rattle of vehicles, and the fitful strains of music, all made up a scene which fascinated him, and he could have gone on wandering all night, watching the myriad phases of human character constantly passing before his eyes. But his guide, with whom familiarity with the proletarians had, in great measure, bred indifference, hurried him away to Little Bork Street, where the narrowness of the thoroughfare, with the high buildings on each side, the dim light of the sparsely scattered gas lamps, and the few ragged-looking figures slouching along, formed a strong contrast to the brilliant and crowded scene they had just left. Turning off Little Bork Street, the detective led the way down a dark lane. It was as hot as a furnace from the accumulated heat of the day. To look up at the clear starlit sky was to experience a sensation of delicious coolness. Keep close to me, whispered Kilsip, touching the barrister on the arm. We may meet some nasty customers about here. It was not quite dark, for the atmosphere had that luminous kind of haze so observable in Australian twilight, and this weird light was just sufficient to make the darkness visible. Kilsip and the barrister kept for safety in the middle of the alley, so that no one could spring upon them unaware, and they could see, sometimes on the one side, a man cowering back into the black shadow, or on the other, a woman with disordered hair and bare bosom, leaning out of a window trying to get a breath of fresh air. There were also some children playing in the dried-up gutter, and their shrill young voices came echoing strangely through the gloom, mingling with a Bacchanalian sort of song, sung by a man, as he slouched along unsteadily over the rough stones. Now and then a mild-looking string of Chinamen strolled along, clad in their dull, huge blue-bouses, either chattering shrilly, like a lot of parrots, or moving silently down the alley with a stolid oriental apathy on their yellow faces. Here and there came a stream of warm light through an open door, and within the Mongolians were gathered around the gambling tables, playing Phantan, or leaving the seductions of their favourite pastime, to glide soft-footed to the many cookshops, where enticing-looking fowls and turkeys already cooked were awaiting purchasers. Kilsip, turning to the left, led the barrister down another and still narrower lane, the darkness and gloom of which made the lawyer shudder, as he wondered how human beings could live in such murky places. At last, to Calton's relief, for he felt somewhat bewildered by the darkness and narrowness of the lanes through which he had been taken, the detective stopped before a door, which he opened, and stepping inside back into the barrister to follow. Calton did so, and found himself in a low, dark, ill-smelling passage. At the end a faint light glimmered. Kilsip caught his companion by the arm and guided him carefully along the passage. There was much need of this caution, for Calton could feel that the rotten boards were full of holes, into which one or the other of his feet kept slipping from time to time, while he could hear the rats squeaking and scampering away on all sides. Just as they got to the end of this tunnel, for it could be called nothing else, the light suddenly went out and they were left in complete darkness. "'Light that,' cried the detective in a peremptory tone of voice, "'what do you mean by dousing the glim?' Thieves' Argo was evidently well understood here, for there was a shuffle in the dark, a muttered voice, and someone lit a candle. Calton saw that the light was held by an elfish-looking child. Tangled masses of black hair hung over her scowling white face. As she crouched down on the floor against the damp wall, she looked up defiantly, yet fearfully at the detective. "'Where's Mother Gutter's night?' asked Kilsip, touching her with his foot. She seemed to resent the indignity and rose quickly to her feet. "'Upstairs,' she replied, jerking her head in the direction of the right wall. Following her direction, Calton, his eyes now somewhat accustomed to the gloom, could discern a gaping black chasm which he presumed was the stair allude to. "'You won't get much out of her tonight. She's a-going to start her booze, she is.' "'Never mind what she's going or about to do,' said Kilsip sharply. "'Take me to her at once.' The girl looked him sullenly up and down, and then she led the way into the black chasm and up the stairs. They were so shaky as to make Calton fear they might give way. As they toiled slowly up the broken steps he held tightly to his companion's arm. At last they stopped at a door through the cracks of which a faint glimmer of light was to be seen. Here the girl gave a shrill whistle and the door opened. Still preceded by their elfish guide, Calton and the detective stepped through the doorway. A curious scene was before them. A small square room with a low roof, from which the paper, hill-dude and torn, hung in shreds. On the left hand, at the far end, was a kind of low stretcher, upon which a woman, almost naked, lay amid a heap of greasy clothes. She appeared to be ill, for she kept tossing her head from side to side restlessly, and every now and then sang snatches of song in a cracked voice. In the center of her room was a rough deal-table, upon which stood a guttering, tallow candle, which but faintly illuminated the scene, and a half-empty rectangular bottle of schnapps, with a broken cup beside it. In front of these signs a festivity sat an old woman with a pack of cards spread out before her, and from which she had evidently been telling the fortune of a villainous looking young man who had opened the door, and who stood looking at the detective with no very friendly expression of countenance. He wore a greasy brown velvet coat, much patched, and a black wide-away cat pulled down over his eyes. From his expression, so scowling and vindictive was it, the barrister judged his ultimate destiny to lie between Pentridge and the gallows. As they entered the fortune-teller raised her head, and shading her eyes with one skinny hand looked curiously at the newcomers. Calton thought he had never seen such a repulsive-looking old crone, and in truth her ugliness was in its very grotesqueness well worthy of the pencil of a door. Her face was seamed and lined with innumerable wrinkles, clearly defined by the dirt which was in them, bushy gray eyebrows drawn frowningly over two piercing black eyes whose light was undimmed by age, a hooked nose like the beak of a bird of prey, and a thin-lipped mouth devoid of teeth. Her hair was very luxurious and almost white, and was tied up in a great bunch by a greasy bit of black ribbon. As to her chin, Calton, when he saw it wagging to and fro, involuntarily quoted Macbeth's lines, You should be woman, and yet your beards forbid me to interpret that she are so. She was no bad representative of the weird sisters. As they entered, she eyed them viciously, demanding, What the blazes they wanted? Watch your booze! cried the child with an elfish laugh, as she shook back her tangled hair. Get out, you welp! croaked the old hag, shaking one skinny fist at her, or I'll tell your art out. Yes, she can go, said Kilsip, nodding to the girl, and you can clear too. He added sharply, turning to the young man. Who stood, still holding the door open. At first he seemed inclined to dispute the detective's order, but ultimately obeyed him, muttering, as he went out, something about the bloomin' cheek of showing swells cove's cribs. The child followed him out, her exit being accelerated by mother gutter-snipe, who, with a rapidity only attained by long practice, seized the shoe from one of her feet, and flung it at the head of the rapidly retreating girl. Why do I catch you, lizard? She shrieked with a volley of oaths. I'll break your head for you. Lizzer responded with a shrill laugh of disdain, and vanished through the shaky door which she closed after her. When she had disappeared, mother gutter-snipe took a drink from the broken cup, and gathering all her greasy cards together in a business-like way, looked insinuatingly at Calton with a suggestive leer. It's the future you want unveiled, dearie. She croaked, rapidly shuffling the cars. An old mother will tell. No, she won't. Interrupt the detective sharply. I've come on business. The old woman started at this, and looked keenly at him from under her bushy eyebrows. What have the boys been up to now? She asked Tarsley. There ain't no swaggier this time. Just then the sick woman, who had been restlessly tossing on the bed, commenced singing a snatch of the quaint old ballad of Barbara Allen. Oh, mother, mother, make my bed, and make it soft and narrow. Since my true love died for me to-day, I'll die for him to-morrow. Shut up, cashew, yelled Mother Gutter-Snipe viciously, or I'll knock your blue-manet off. And she seized the square bottle as if to carry out her threat. But altering her mind, she poured some of its contents into the cup, and drank it off with avidity. The woman seems ill, said Calton, casting a shuddering glance at the stresher. So she are, growled Mother Gutter-Snipe angrily. She ought to be in your urban. She ought, instead of stopping ear and singing them beastly things, which makes my blood run cold. Steerer, she said viciously, as the sick old woman broke out once more. Oh, little did my mother think, when she first cradled me, I'd die so far away from Hall upon the gallows tree. Yeah, said the old woman hastily, drinking some more gin out of the cup. She's always a-talking I'd die in and gallors as if they were nice things to jar about. Who was that woman who died here three or four weeks ago? Asked Cal-Snipe sharply. How should I know? retorted Mother Gutter-Snipe sullenly. I didn't kill her, did I? It were the brandy she drank. She were always drinking, cusser. Do you remember the night she died? No, I don't, answered the bell-dame, frankly. I were drunk, blind, blooming, blazing drunk, so help me. You're always drunk, said Cal-Snipe. What if I am, snarled the woman, seizing her bottle? You don't pay for it. Yes, I'm drunk. I'm always drunk. I was drunk last night and the night before, and I'm going to get drunk tonight, with an impressive look at the bottle. And tomorrow night, and I'll keep it up till I'm rotting in the grave. Calton shuddered, so full of hatred and suppressed malignity was her voice, but the detective merely shrugged his shoulders. More fool you, he said briefly. Come now. On the night the queen, as you call her, died, there was a gentleman came to see her. So she said, retorted Mother Gutter-Snipe, but Laura, I don't know anything. I were drunk. Who said? The queen? No, my granddaughter, Sal. The queen sent her to fetch the toff to see her cut her lucky. Turned in to look at his work, I suppose, cuss him, and Sal pigged some paper from me box, she shrieked, indignantly, prigged it when I went too drunk to stop her. The detective glanced at Calton, who nodded to him with a gratified expression on his face. They were rightest to the paper having been stolen from the villa at Turok. You did not see the gentleman who came, said Kilsip, turning again to the old hag. Not I, cuss you, she retorted politely. He came about half past one in the morning, and you don't expect we can stop up all night, do you? Half past one o'clock, repeated Calton quickly, the very time. Is this true? Wish I may die if it ain't, said Mother Gutter-Snipe graciously. My granddaughter, Sal, can tell you. Where is she? Asked Kilsip sharply. At this the old woman threw back her head and howled dismay. She zooked it, she wailed, drumming on the ground with her feet. Gone and loved her poor old grand and joined the army, cuss him, a coming around and spoiling business. Here the woman on the bed broke out. Since the flowers of the forest are wet away. Old your jaw! yelled Mother Gutter-Snipe, rising and making a dart at the bed. I'll choke the life out of you, so help me. Do you want me to murder you, singin' him funeral things? Meanwhile the detective was talking rapidly to Mr. Calton. The only person who could prove Mr. Fitzgerald was here between one and two o'clock, he said quickly, is Sal Rollins, as everyone else seems to have been drunk or asleep. As she has joined the Salvation Army, I'll go to the barracks the first thing in the morning and look for her. I hope you'll find her, answered Calton, drawing a long breath. A man's life hangs on her evidence. They turned to go, Calton having first given Mother Gutter-Snipe some loose silver, which she seized on with an avaricious clutch. You'll drink it, I suppose, said the barrister, shrinking back from her. Very likely retorted the hag with a repulsive grin, tying the money up in a piece of her dress, which she tore off for the purpose. I'm fording to the public house I am, it's the only pleasure I have in my life, cuss it. The sight of money had a genial effect on her nature, for she held a candle at the head of the stairs, as they went down, so that they should not break their heads. As they arrived safely, they saw the light vanish, and heard the sick woman singing the last rose of summer. The street door was open, and after groping their way along the dark passage, with its pitfalls, they found themselves in the open street. Thank heaven, said Calton, taking off his hat and drawing a long breath. Thank heaven we are safely out of that den. At all events our journey has not been wasted, said the detective, as they walked along. We found out where Mr. Fitzgerald was on the night of the murder, so he will be safe. That depends on Sal Rollins, answered Calton gravely. But come, let us have a glass of brandy, for I feel quite ill after my experience of low life. End of CHAPTER XV The detective's face, however, looked rather dismal, and Calton was not reassured. Well, he said impatiently, when Kilsip had closed the door and taken a seat. Where is she? That's just what I want to know, answered the detective coolly. I went to the Salvation Army headquarters and made inquiries about her. It appears that she had been in the army as a hallelujah lass, but got tired of it in a week, and went off with a friend of hers to Sydney. She carried on her old life of dissipation, but ultimately her friend got sick of her, and the last thing they heard about her was that she had taken up with a Chinaman in one of the Sydney slums. I telegraphed it once to Sydney, and got a reply that there was no person of the name of Sal Rollins known to the Sydney police, but they said they would make inquiries and let me know the result. Ah! She has no doubt changed her name, said Calton thoughtfully, stroking his chin. I wonder why. Wanted to get rid of the army, I expect, answered Kilsip dryly. The straying lamb did not care about being hunted back to the fold. And when did she join the army? The very day after the murder. Rather sudden conversion? Yes, but she said the death of the woman on Thursday night had so startled her that she went straight off to the army to get her religion properly fixed up. The effects of fright, no doubt, said Calton dryly. I've met a good many examples of these sudden conversions, but they never last long as a rule. It's a case of the devil was sick, the devil a monk would be, more than anything else. Good-looking? So-so, I believe, replied Kilsip, shrugging his shoulders. Every ignorant could neither read nor write. That accounts for her not asking for Fitzgerald when she called at the club. She probably did not know whom she had been sent for. It will resolve itself into a question of identification, I expect. However, if the police can't find her, we will put an advertisement in the paper's offering reward, and send out hand-bills to the same effect. She must be found. That accounts for her not asking for Fitzgerald when she called at the club. She probably did not know whom she had been sent for. It will resolve itself into a question of identification, I expect. However, if the police can't find her, we will put an advertisement in the paper's offering reward, and send out hand-bills to the same effect. She must be found. Brian Fitzgerald's life hangs on a thread, and that thread is Sal Rollins. Yes, assented Kilsip rubbing his hands together. If Mr. Fitzgerald acknowledges that he was at Mother Gutter Snipes on the night in question, she will have to prove that he was there, as no one else saw him. Are you sure of that? Never as anyone can be in such a case. It was a late hour when he came, and everyone seems to have been asleep except the dying woman and Sal. And as one is dead, the other is the only person that can prove he was there at the time when the murder was being committed in the handsome. And Mother Gutter Snipes was drunk, as she acknowledged last night. She thought that if a gentleman did call it must have been the other one. The other one? Repleted Calton in a puzzled voice. What other one? Oliver White. Calton arose from his seat with a blank air of astonishment. Oliver White, he said, as soon as he could find his voice, was he in the habit of going there? Kilsop curled himself up in his seat like a sleek cat, and pushing forward his head till his nose looked like the beak of a bird of prey looked keenly at Calton. Look here, sir, he said in his low, purring voice. There's a good deal in this case which don't seem plain. In fact, the further we go into it the more mixed up it seems to get. I went to see Mother Gutter Snipes this morning, and she told me that White had visited the Queen several times while she lay ill, and that he seemed to be pretty well acquainted with her. But who the deuce is this woman they call the Queen? said Calton irritably. She seems to be at the bottom of the whole affair. Every path we take leads to her. I hardly know anything about her, replied Kilsop, except that she was a good-looking woman, of about forty-nine. She come out from England to Sydney a few months ago, and then on here. How she got to Mother Gutter Snipes I can't find out, though I've tried to pump that old woman, but she's as close as wax, and it's my belief she knows more about this dead woman than she chooses to tell. But what could she have told Fitzgerald to make him act in this silly manner? A stranger who comes from England and dies in a Melbourne slum can't possibly know anything about Miss Freddleby. Not unless Miss Freddleby was secretly married to White, suggested Kilsop, and the Queen knew it. Nonsense! retorted Calton sharply, why she hated him and loves Fitzgerald, besides why on earth should she marry secretly and make a confidant of a woman in the lowest parts of Melbourne? At one time her father wanted her to marry White, but she made such a strong opposition that he eventually gave his consent to her engagement with Fitzgerald. And White? Oh, he had a row with Mr. Freddleby and left the house in a rage. He was murdered the same night, for the sake of some papers he carried. Oh, that's Gorby's idea, said Kilsop scornfully with a vicious snarl. And it's mine, too, answered Calton firmly. White had some valuable papers which he always carried about with him. The woman who died evidently told Fitzgerald that he did so. I gathered as much from an accidental admission he made. Kilsop looked puzzled. I must confess that it is a riddle, he said at length, but if Mr. Fitzgerald would only speak it would clear everything up. Speak about what? The man who murdered White? Well, if he did not go quite so far as that he might at least supply the motive for the crime. Perhaps so, answered Calton, as the detective rose to go, but it's no use. Fitzgerald, for some reason or another, has evidently made up his mind not to speak. So our only hope in saving him lies in finding this girl. If she's anywhere in Australia you may be sure she'll be found, answered Kilsop confidently, as he took his departure. Australia isn't so overcrowded as all that. But if Sal Rollins was in Australia at all she certainly must have been in some very remote part. All efforts to find her proved futile. It was an open question if she was alive or dead. She seemed to have vanished completely. She was last seen in a Sydney den with a Chinaman whom afterwards she appears to have left. Since then nothing whatever was known of her. Notices offering large rewards for her discovery were inserted in all the newspapers, Australian and New Zealand. But nothing came of them. As she was herself unable to read there seemed little chance of her knowing of them, and if, as Calton surmised she had changed her name, no one would be likely to tell her of them. There was only the bare chance that she might hear of them casually, or that she might turn up of her own accord. If she returned to Melbourne she would certainly go to her grandmothers. She had no motive for not doing so. So Kilsop kept a sharp watch on the house, much to Mrs. Rollins' disgust. For, with true English pride, she objected to this system of espionage. Cussum! she croaked over her evening drink to an old crone, as swithered and evil looking as herself. Why can't he stop in his own bloomin' house and leave mine alone? A comin' around here a pokin' and a prion and a perwinting people from earnin' their livin' and a gettin' drunk when they ain't well. What do he want? asked her friend, rubbing her weak old knees. Wants! He wants his throat cut, said Mother Gutter's night, viciously, and so help me, I'll do it for him some night when he's a watchin' round here, as if it were Pintridge. He can get what he want out of that welp as ran away, but I know somethin' he don't know, Cussum. She ended with a senile laugh, and her companion, having taken advantage of the long speech to drink some gin out of the broken cup, Mother Gutter's night seized the unfortunate old creature by the hair, and in spite of her feeble cries, banged her head against the wall. I'll have the police in atcha, whimpered the assaulted one, as she tottered away quickly as her old rheumatics would allow her. See if I don't. Get out! retorted Mother Gutter's night indifferently, as she filled herself a fresh cup. You come afalutin' round here again, priggin' my drinks, cuss you, and I'll cut your throat and ring your wicked old head off. The other gave a howl of dismay at hearing this pleasant proposal, and tottered out as quickly as possible, leaving Mother Gutter's night in undisputed possession of the field. Meanwhile, Calton had seen Brian several times, and used every argument in his power to get him to tell everything, but he either maintained an obstinate silence, or merely answered, it would only break her heart. He admitted to Calton, after a good deal of questioning, that he had been at Mother Gutter's night on the night of the murder. After he had left White by the corner of the Scotch Church, as the cabman, Royston, had stated, he had gone along Russell Street and met Sal Rollins near the Unicorn Hotel. She had taken him to Mother Gutter's night, where he had seen the dying woman, who had told him something he could not reveal. Well, said Mr. Calton, after hearing the admission, you might have saved us all this trouble by admitting this before, and yet kept your secret, whatever it might be. Had you done so, we might have got hold of Sal Rollins before she left Melbourne, but now it's a mere chance whether she turns up or not. Brian did not answer this. In fact, he seemed hardly to be thinking of what the lawyer was saying. But just as Calton was leaving, he asked, how is Maj? How can you expect her to be? said Calton, turning angrily on him. She is very ill, owing to the worry she has had over this affair. My darling, my darling, cried Brian in agony, clasping his hands above his head. I did it only to save you. Calton approached him and laid his hand lightly on his shoulder. My dear fellow, he said gravely, the confidences between lawyer and client are as sacred as those between priest and penitent. You must tell me the secret which concerns Miss Freddleby so deeply. No, said Brian firmly. I will never repeat what that wretched woman told me. When I would not tell you before in order to save my life, it is not likely I am going to do so now, when I have nothing to gain in everything to lose by telling it. I will never ask you again, said Calton rather annoyed as he walked the door, and as to this accusation of murder, if I can find this girl you are safe. When the lawyer left the jail he went to the detective office to see Kilsip and ascertain if there was any news of Sal Rollins, but as usual there was none. It is fighting against fate, he said sadly as he went away. His life hangs on a mere chance. The trial was fixed to come off in September, and of course there was great excitement in Melbourne as the time drew near. Great therefore was the disappointment when it was discovered that the prisoner's council had applied for an adjournment of the trial till October, on the ground that an important witness for the defense could not be found. End of Chapter 16 Read by Cibella Denton. For more free audio books or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org.