cab in a public street would be very unsafe."

"It is that very fact that makes it safer," replied Mr. Calton,
epigrammatically. "You read De Quincey's account of the Marr murders in
London, and you will see that the more public the place the less risk
there is of detection. There was nothing about the gentleman in the
light coat who murdered Whyte to excite Royston's suspicions. He
entered the cab with Whyte; no noise or anything likely to attract
attention was heard, and then he alighted. Naturally enough, Royston
drove to St. Kilda, and never suspected Whyte was dead till he looked
inside and touched him. As to the man in the light coat, he doesn't
live in Powlett Street--no--nor in East Melbourne either."

"Why not?" asked Frettlby.

"Because he wouldn't have been such a fool as to leave a trail to his
own door; he did what the fox often does--he doubled. My opinion is
that he went either right through East Melbourne to Fitzroy, or he
walked back through the Fitzroy Gardens into town. There was no one
about at that time of the morning, and he could return to his lodgings,
hotel, or wherever he is staying, with impunity. Of course, this is a
theory that may be wrong; but from what insight into human nature my
profession has given me, I think that my idea is a correct one."

All present agreed with Mr. Calton's idea, as it really did seem the
most natural thing that would be done by a man desirous of escaping
detection.

"Tell you what," said Felix to Brian, as they were on their way to the
drawing-room, "if the fellow that committed the crime, is found out, by
gad, he ought to get Calton to defend him."

CHAPTER VIII.

BRIAN TAKES A WALK AND A DRIVE.

When the gentlemen entered the drawing-room a young lady was engaged in
playing one of those detestable pieces of the MORCEAU DE SALON order,
in which an unoffending air is taken, and variations embroidered on it,
till it becomes a perfect agony to distinguish the tune, amid the
perpetual rattle of quavers and demi-semi-quavers. The melody in this
case was "Over the Garden Wall," with variations by Signor Thumpanini,
and the young lady who played it was a pupil of that celebrated Italian
musician. When the male portion of the guests entered, the air was
being played in the bass with a great deal of power (that is, the loud
pedal was down), and with a perpetual rattle of treble notes, trying
with all their shrill might to drown the tune.

"Gad! it's ge