te was, as we know, drunk when he got into the cab--and you--?"

"I was not quite so bad as Whyte," answered the other. "I had my senses
about me. I fancy he left the hotel some minutes before one o'clock on
Friday morning."

"And what did you do?"

"I remained in the hotel. He left his overcoat behind him, and I picked
it up and followed him shortly afterwards, to return it. I was too
drunk to see in which direction he had gone, and stood leaning against
the hotel door in Bourke Street with the coat in my hand. Then some one
came up, and, snatching the coat from me, made off with it, and the
last thing I remember was shouting out: 'Stop, thief!' Then I must have
fallen down, for next morning I was in bed with all my clothes on, and
they were very muddy. I got up and left town for the country by the
six-thirty train, so I knew nothing about the matter until I came back
to Melbourne tonight. That's all I know."

"And you had no impression that Whyte was watched that night?"

"No, I had not," answered Moreland, frankly. "He was in pretty good
spirits, though he was put out at first."

"What was the cause of his being put out?"

Moreland arose, and going to a side table, brought Whyte's album, which
he laid on the table and opened in silence. The contents were very much
the same as the photographs in the room, burlesque actresses and ladies
of the ballet predominating; but Mr. Moreland turned over the pages
till nearly the end, when he stopped at a large cabinet photograph, and
pushed the album towards Mr. Gorby.

"That was the cause," he said.

It was the portrait of a charmingly pretty girl, dressed in white, with
a sailor hat on her fair hair, and holding a lawn tennis racquet. She
was bending half forward, with a winning smile, and in the background
bloomed a mass of tropical plants. Mrs. Hableton uttered a cry of
surprise at seeing this.

"Why, it's Miss Frettlby," she said. "How did he know her?"

"Knew her father--letter of introduction, and all that sort of thing,"
said Mr. Moreland, glibly.

"Ah! indeed," said Mr. Gorby, slowly. "So Mr. Whyte knew Mark Frettlby,
the millionaire; but how did he obtain a photograph of the daughter?"

"She gave it to him," said Moreland. "The fact is, Whyte was very much
in love with Miss Frettlby."

"And she--"

"Was in love with someone else," finished Moreland. "Exactly! Yes, she
loved a Mr. Brian Fitzgerald, to whom she is now engaged. He was mad on
her; and Wh