said, bursting into a laugh when they were
safely outside; "she's been taught by the best masters."

"How I pity them," retorted Brian, grimly, as Julia wailed out, "Meet
me once again," with an ear-piercing shrillness.

"I'd much rather listen to our ancestral Banshee, and as to meeting her
again, one interview would be more than enough." Madge did not answer,
but leaning lightly over the high rail of the verandah looked out into
the beautiful moonlit night. There were a number of people passing
along the Esplanade, some of whom stopped and listened to Julia's
shrill notes. One man in particular seemed to have a taste for music,
for he persistently stared over the fence at the house. Brian and Madge
talked of divers subjects, but every time Madge looked up she saw the
man watching the house.

"What does that man want, Brian?" she asked.

"What man?" asked Brian, starting. "Oh," he went on indifferently, as
the watcher moved away from the gate and crossed the road on to the
footpath, "he's taken up with the music, I suppose; that's all."

Madge said nothing, but she could not help thinking there was more in
it than the music. Presently Julia ceased, and she proposed to go in.

"Why?" asked Brian, who was lying back in a comfortable seat, smoking a
cigarette. "It's nice enough here."

"I must attend to my guests," she answered, rising. "You stop here and
finish your cigarette," and with a gay laugh she flitted into the house.

Brian sat and smoked, staring out into the moonlight the while. Yes,
the man was certainly watching the house, for he sat on one of the
seats, and kept his eyes fixed on the brilliantly-lighted windows.
Brian threw away his cigarette and shivered slightly.

"Could anyone have seen me?" he muttered, rising uneasily.

"Pshaw! of course not; and the cabman would never recognise me again.
Curse Whyte, I wish I'd never set eyes upon him."

He gave one glance at the dark figure on the seat, and then, with a
shiver, passed into the warm, well-lighted room. He did not feel easy
in his mind, and he would have felt still less so had he known that the
man on the seat was one of the cleverest of the Melbourne detectives.

Mr. Gorby had been watching the Frettlby mansion the whole evening, and
was getting rather annoyed. Moreland did not know where Fitzgerald
lived, and as that was one of the primary facts the detective wished to
ascertain, he determined to watch Brian's movements, and to trace him