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In fact," said Moreland, coolly, "we had several other drinks." "Brutes!" muttered Mrs. Hableton, below her breath. "Yes," said Gorby, placidly. "Go on." "Well of it's hardly the thing to confess it," said Moreland, looking from one to the other with a pleasant smile, "but in a case like this, I feel it my duty to throw all social scruples aside. We both became very drunk." "Ah!
There doesn't seem any sign of them here, so I'll have a look in his bedroom." There was no time to lose, as Mrs. Sampson might return at any moment, so Mr. Gorby walked quickly into the bedroom, which opened off the sitting-room. The first thing that caught the detective's eye was a large photograph, in a plush frame, of Madge Frettlby.
"And what time did you meet Whyte on Thursday night?" asked Gorby. "Let me see," said Moreland, crossing his legs and looking thoughtfully up to the ceiling, "it was about half-past nine o'clock. I was in the Orient Hotel, in Bourke Street. We had a drink together, and then went up the street to an hotel in Russell Street, where we had another.
Nothing that can surprise me, I assure you he was always an erratic individual, and " "He paid reg'ler," interrupted Mrs. Hableton, pursing up her lips. "A most enviable reputation to possess," answered the other with a sneer, "and one I'm afraid I'll never enjoy. But why all this questioning about Whyte? What's the matter with him?" "He's dead!" said Gorby, abruptly.
He believed Kilsip to have that feline nature, which likes to be stroked, to be made much of, and he paid him these little attentions, knowing full well they would bear their fruit. He also knew that Kilsip entertained no friendly feeling for Gorby, that, in fact, he bore him hatred, and he determined that this feeling which existed between the two men, should serve him to the end he had in view.
"Not knowin', can't tell," retorted the landlady, "'e used to be 'ere reg'lar, but I ain't seen 'im for over a week." "Strange! very!" said Gorby, shaking his head. "I should like to see this Mr. Moreland. I suppose it's probable he'll call again?" "'Abit bein' second nature I s'pose he will," answered the woman, "'e might call at any time, mostly 'avin' called at night."
Calton's the only man as knows that," answered Gorby, finishing his drink; "but, clever and all as he is, he can't put anything in, that can go against my evidence." "Don't you be too sure of that," sneered Kilsip, whose soul was devoured with envy. "Oh! but I am," retorted Gorby, getting as red as a turkey-cock at the sneer. "You're jealous, you are, because you haven't got a finger in the pie."
She looked at him with her sharp little eyes, and seeing nothing disreputable about him, led the way upstairs, crackling loudly the whole time. This so astonished Mr. Gorby that he cast about in his own mind for an explanation of the phenomenon. "Wants oiling about the jints," was his conclusion, "but I never heard anything like it, and she looks as if she'd snap in two, she's that brittle." Mrs.
Gorby," she said at length, "I 'ave 'ad a 'ard struggle all my life, which it came along of a bad husband, who was a brute and a drunkard, so, God knows, I ain't got much inducement to think well of the lot of you, but murder," she shivered slightly, though the room was quite warm, "I didn't think of that." "In connection with whom?" "Mr. Whyte, of course," she answered, hurriedly.
"Very likely," said Moreland, rising. "Well, I'm off; here's my address," putting a card in Gorby's, hand. "I'm glad to be of any use to you in this matter, as Whyte was my dearest friend, and I'll do all in my power to help you to find out the murderer." "I don't think that is a very difficult matter," said Mr. Gorby, slowly. "Oh, you have your suspicions?" asked Moreland, looking at him.
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