BRITISH MYSTERIES - Fergus Hume Collection: 21 Thriller Novels in One Volume. Fergus Hume

these eulogistic remarks on the dead man, and purred to himself, in a satisfied sort of way, like a cat who has caught a mouse.

      “You see, sir,” he said, addressing the barrister, “I was right after all.”

      “Yes,” answered Calton, frankly, “I acknowledge my defeat, but now—”

      “I’m going to arrest Moreland right off,” said Kilsip.

      There was a silence for a few moments, and then Calton spoke again.

      “I suppose it must be so—poor girl—poor girl.”

      “I’m very sorry for the young lady myself,” said the detective in his soft, low voice; “but you see I cannot let a dangerous criminal escape for a mere matter of sentiment.”

      “Of course not,” said Fitzgerald, sharply. “Moreland must be arrested right off.”

      “But he will confess everything,” said Calton, angrily, “and then everyone will know about this first marriage.”

      “Let them,” retorted Brian, bitterly. “As soon as she is well enough we will marry at once, and leave Australia for ever.”

      “But—”

      “I know her better than you do,” said the young man, doggedly; “and I know she would like an end made of this whole miserable business at once. Arrest the murderer, and let him suffer for his crime.”

      “Well, I suppose it must be so,” said Chinston, with a sigh, “but it seems very hard that this slur should be cast upon Miss Frettlby.”

      Brian turned a little pale.

      “The sins of the father are generally visited upon the children by the world,” he said bitterly. “But after the first pain is over, in new lands among new faces, she will forget the bitter past.”

      “Now that it is settled Moreland is to be arrested,” said Calton, “how is it to be done? Is he still in Melbourne?”

      “Rather,” said Kilsip in a satisfied tone; “I’ve had my eye on him for the last two months, and someone is watching him for me now—trust me, he can’t move two steps without my knowing it.”

      “Ah, indeed!” said Calton, quickly. “Then do you know if he has been to the bank and cashed that cheque for five thousand, which Frettlby gave him?”

      “Well, now,” observed Kilsip, after a pause, “do you know you rather startled me when you told me he had received a cheque for that amount.”

      “Why?”

      “It’s such a large one,” replied the detective, “and had I known what sum he had paid into his account I should have been suspicious.”

      “Then he has been to the bank?”

      “To his own bank, yes. He went there yesterday afternoon at two o’clock—that is the day after he got it—so it would be sent round to Mr. Frettlby’s bank, and would not be returned till next day, and as he died in the meanwhile I expect it hasn’t been honoured, so Mr. Moreland won’t have his money yet.”

      “I wonder what he’ll do,” said Chinston.

      “Go to the manager and kick up a row,” said Kilsip, coolly, “and the manager will no doubt tell him he’d better see the executors.”

      “But, my good friend, the manager doesn’t know who the executors are,” broke in Calton, impatiently. “You forget the will has yet to be read.”

      “Then he’ll tell him to go to the late Mr. Frettlby’s solicitors. I suppose he knows who they are,” retorted Kilsip.

      “Thinton and Tarbit,” said Calton, musingly; “but it’s questionable if Moreland would go to them.”

      “Why shouldn’t he, sir?” said Kilsip, quickly. “He does not know anything about this,” laying his hand on the confession, “and as the cheque is genuine enough he won’t let five thousand pounds go without a struggle.”

      “I’ll tell you what,” observed Calton, after a few moments of reflection, “I’ll go across the way and telephone to Thinton and Tarbit, and when he calls on them they can send him up to me.”

      “A very good idea,” said Kilsip, rubbing his hands, “and then I can arrest him.”

      “But the warrant?” interposed Brian, as Calton rose and put on his hat.

      “Is here,” said the detective, producing it.

      “By Jove, you must have been pretty certain of his guilt,” remarked Chinston, dryly.

      “Of course I was,” retorted Kilsip, in a satisfied tone of voice. “When I told the magistrate where I found the coat, and reminded him of Moreland’s acknowledgment at the trial, that he had it in his possession before the murder, I soon got him to see the necessity of having Moreland arrested.”

      “Half-past four,” said Calton, pausing for a moment at the door and looking at his watch. “I’m afraid it’s rather late to catch Moreland to-day; however, I’ll see what Thinton and Tarbit know,” and he went out.

      The rest sat waiting his return, and chatted about the curious end of the hansom cab mystery, when, in about ten minutes, Calton rushed in hurriedly and closed the door after him quickly.

      “Fate is playing into our hands,” he said, as soon as he recovered his breath. “Moreland called on Thinton and Tarbit, as Kilsip surmised, and as neither of them was in, he said he would call again before five o’clock. I told the clerk to bring him up to me at once, so he may be here at any moment.”

      “That is, if he’s fool enough to come,” observed Chinston.

      “Oh, he’ll come,” said the detective, confidently, rattling a pair of handcuffs together. “He is so satisfied that he has made things safe that he’ll walk right into the trap.”

      It was getting a little dusk, and the four men were greatly excited, though they concealed it under an assumed nonchalance.

      “What a situation for a drama,” said Brian.

      “Only,” said Chinston, quietly, “it is as realistic as in the old days of the Coliseum, where the actor who played Orpheus was torn to pieces by bears at the end of the play.”

      “His last appearance on any stage, I suppose,” said Calton, a little cruelly, it must be confessed.

      Meanwhile, Kilsip remained seated in his chair, humming an operatic air and chinking the handcuffs together, by way of accompaniment. He felt intensely pleased with himself, the more so, as he saw that by this capture he would be ranked far above Gorby. “And what would Gorby say?—Gorby, who had laughed at all his ideas as foolish, and who had been quite wrong from the first. If only—”

      “Hush!” said Calton, holding up his finger, as steps were heard echoing on the flags outside. “Here he is, I believe.”

      Kilsip arose from his chair, and, stealing softly to the window, looked cautiously out. Then he turned round to those inside and, nodding his head, slipped the handcuffs into his pocket. Just as he did so, there was a knock at the door, and, in response to Calton’s invitation to enter, Thinton and Tarbit’s clerk came in with Roger Moreland. The latter faltered a little on the threshold, when he saw Calton was not alone, and seemed half inclined to retreat. But, evidently, thinking there was no danger of his secret being discovered, he pulled himself together, and advanced into the room in an easy and confident manner.

      “This is the gentleman who wants to know about the cheque, sir,” said Thinton and Tarbit’s clerk to Calton.

      “Oh, indeed,” answered Calton, quietly. “I am glad to see him; you can go.”

      The clerk bowed and went out, closing the door after him. Moreland took