trap-door
in the roof of the hansom, "'ow long's this 'ere game agoin' to larst?
My 'oss is knocked up, 'e is, and 'is blessed old legs is agivin' way
under 'im!"

"Go on! go on!" answered the detective, impatiently; "I'll pay you
well."

The cabman's spirits were raised by this, and by dint of coaxing and a
liberal use of the whip, he managed to get his jaded horse up to a
pretty good pace. They were in Fitzroy by this time, and both cabs
turned out of Gertrude Street into Nicholson Street; thence passed on
to Evelyn Street and along Spring Street, until Brian's cab stopped at
the corner of Collins Street, and Gorby saw him alight and dismiss his
cab-man. He then walked down the street and disappeared into the
Treasury Gardens.

"Confound it," said the detective, as he got out and paid his fare,
which was by no means a light one, but over which he had no time to
argue, "we've come in a circle, and I do believe he lives in Powlett
Street after all."

He went into the gardens, and saw Brian some distance ahead of him,
walking rapidly. It was bright moonlight, and he could easily
distinguish Fitzgerald by his light coat.

As he went along that noble avenue with its elms in their winter dress,
the moon shining through their branches wrought a fantastic tracery, on
the smooth asphalte. And on either side Gorby could see the dim white
forms of the old Greek gods and goddesses--Venus Victrix, with the
apple in her hand (which Mr. Gorby, in his happy ignorance of heathen
mythology, took for Eve offering Adam the forbidden fruit); Diana, with
the hound at her feet, and Bacchus and Ariadne (which the detective
imagined were the Babes in the Wood). He knew that each of the statues
had queer names, but thought they were merely allegorical. Passing over
the bridge, with the water rippling quietly underneath, Brian went up
the smooth yellow path to where the statue of Hebe, holding the cup,
seems instinct with life; and turning down the path to the right, he
left the gardens by the end gate, near which stands the statue of the
Dancing Faun, with the great bush of scarlet geranium burning like an
altar before it. Then he went along the Wellington Parade, and turned
up Powlett Street, where he stopped at a house near Cairns' Memorial
Church, much to Mr. Gorby's relief, who, being like Hamlet, "fat and
scant of breath," found himself rather exhausted. He kept well in the
shadow, however, and saw Fitzgerald give one final look ro