forting to the public-'ouse, I am, an' it's the on'y pleasure I
'ave in my life, cuss it."

The sight of money had a genial effect on her nature, for she held the
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've found out where Mr. Fitzgerald was on the
night of the murder, so he will be safe."

"That depends upon Sal Rawlins," answered Calton, gravely; "but come,
let us have a glass of brandy, for I feel quite ill after my experience
of low life."

CHAPTER XVI.

MISSING.

The next day Kilsip called at Calton's office late in the afternoon,
and found the lawyer eagerly expecting him. 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
his 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 enquiries 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
at once to Sydney, and got a reply that there was no person of the name
of Sal Rawlins known to the Sydney police, but they said they would
make enquiries, 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, drily. "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 A