know sufficient to lead to the detection of the
murderer. If you tell me, so much the better, both for your own sense
of justice and for your peace of mind; if you do not--well, I shall
find out without you. I have taken, and still take, a great interest in
this strange case, and I have sworn to bring the murderer to justice;
so I make this last appeal to you to tell me what you know. If you
refuse, I will set to work to find out all about Rosanna Moore prior to
her departure from Australia in 1858, and I am certain sooner or later
to discover the secret which led to Whyte's murder. If there is any
strong reason why it should be kept silent, I perhaps, will come round
to your view, and let the matter drop; but if I have to find it out
myself, the murderer of Oliver Whyte need expect no mercy at my hands
So think over what I have said; if I do not hear from you within the
next week, I shall regard your decision as final, and pursue the search
myself. I am sure, my dear Fitzgerald, you will find this letter too
long, in spite of the interesting story it contains, so I will have
pity on you, and draw to a close. Remember me to Miss Frettlby and to
her father. With kind regards to yourself, I remain, yours very truly,

"DUNCAN CALTON."

When Fitzgerald had finished the last of the closely-written sheets, he
let the letter fall from his hands, and, leaning back in his chair,
stared blankly into the dawning light outside. He arose after a few
moments, and, pouring himself out a glass of brandy, drank it quickly.
Then mechanically lighting a cigar, he stepped out of the door into the
fresh beauty of the dawn. There was a soft crimson glow in the east,
which announced the approach of the sun, and he could hear the chirping
of the awakening birds in the trees. But Brian did not see the
marvellous breaking of the dawn. He stood staring at the red light
flaring in the east, and thinking of Calton's letter.

"I can do no more," he said bitterly, leaning his head against the wall
of the house. "There is only one way of stopping Calton, and that is by
telling him all. My poor Madge! My poor Madge!"

A soft wind arose, and rustled among the trees, and there appeared
great shafts of crimson light in the east; then, with a sudden blaze,
the sun peered over the brim of the wide plain. The warm yellow rays
touched lightly the comely head of the weary man, and, turning round,
he held up his arms to the great luminary, as though he we