his heel, and walked
quickly up the pier, leaving Gorby staring after him.

"He's getting frightened," soliloquised the detective to himself, as he
strolled easily along, keeping the black figure in front well in view.
"I'll have to keep a sharp eye on him or he'll be clearing out of
Victoria."

Brian walked rapidly up to the St. Kilda station, for on looking at his
watch he found that he would just have time to catch the last train. He
arrived a few minutes before it started, so, getting into the smoking
carriage at the near end of the platform, he lit a cigarette, and,
leaning back in his seat, watched the late comers hurrying into the
station. Just as the last bell rang he saw a man rush along, to catch
the train. It was the same man who had been watching him the whole
evening, and Brian felt confident that he was being followed. He
comforted himself, however, with the thought that this pertinacious
follower might lose the train, and, being in the last carriage himself,
he kept a look out along the platform, expecting to see his friend of
the Esplanade standing disappointed on it. There was no appearance of
him, so Brian, sinking back into his seat, lamented his ill-luck in not
shaking off this man who kept him under such strict surveillance.

"Confound him!" he muttered softly. "I expect he will follow me to East
Melbourne, and find out where I live, but he shan't if I can help it."

There was no one but himself in the carriage, and he felt relieved at
this because he was in no humour to hear chatter.

"Murdered in a cab," he said, lighting a fresh cigarette, and blowing a
cloud of smoke. "A romance in real life, which beats Miss Braddon
hollow. There is one thing certain, he won't come between Madge and me
again. Poor Madge!" with an impatient sigh. "If she only knew all,
there would not be much chance of our marriage; but she can never find
out, and I don't suppose anyone else will."

Here a thought suddenly struck him, and rising out of his seat, he
walked to the other end of the carriage, and threw himself on the
cushions, as if desirous to escape from himself.

"What grounds can that man have for suspecting me?" he said aloud. "No
one knows I was with Whyte on that night, and the police can't possibly
bring forward any evidence to show that I was. Pshaw!" he went on,
impatiently buttoning up his coat. "I am like a child, afraid of my
shadow--the fellow on the pier is only some one out for a breath of
fr