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Updated: June 29, 2025
Half an hour later, when the under-housekeeper was summoned to receive Miss Trotter's orders, she found that lady quietly writing at the table. Among the orders she received was the notification that Mr. Calton's rooms would be vacated the next day.
Calton's voice faltered a little when he read those last sad words, and he laid the manuscript down on the table, amid a dead silence, which was first broken by Brian. "Thank God," he said, reverently, "thank God that he was innocent of the crime!" "No," said Calton, a little cynically, "the riddle which has perplexed us so long is read, and the Sphinx is silent for evermore."
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.
Calton's departure became known the next day, some lady guests regretted the loss of this most eligible young bachelor. Miss Trotter agreed with them, with the consoling suggestion that he might return for a day or two. He did return for a day; it was thought that the change to San Francisco had greatly benefited him, though some believed he would be an invalid all his life.
Punctual to his appointment, Kilsip called at Calton's office at eight o'clock, in order to guide him through the squalid labyrinths of the slums. He found the barrister waiting impatiently for him. The fact is, Calton had got it into his head that Rosanna Moore was at the bottom of the whole mystery, and every new piece of evidence he discovered went to confirm this belief.
As soon as Brian received the telegram which announced the death of Mark Frettlby, he put on his hat, stepped into Calton's trap, and drove along to the St. Kilda station in Flinders Street with that gentleman. There Calton dismissed his trap, sending a note to his clerk with the groom, and went down to St. Kilda with Fitzgerald.
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."
"He's a regular snake," said Gorby to himself, as the door closed on his brother detective; "but he's bragging now. There isn't a link missing in the chain of evidence against Fitzgerald, so I defy him. He can do his worst." At eight o'clock on that night the soft-footed and soft-voiced detective presented himself at Calton's office. He found the lawyer impatiently waiting for him.
Fitzgerald was on the night of the murder, so he will be safe." "That depends upon Sal Rawlins," answered Calton, gravely; "but come, let us have a glass of brandy, for I feel quite ill after my experience of low life." The next day Kilsip called at Calton's office late in the afternoon, and found the lawyer eagerly expecting him.
At last, to Calton's relief, for he felt somewhat bewildered by the darkness and narrowness of the lanes through which he had been taken, the detective stopped before a door, which he opened, and stepping inside, beckoned to the barrister to follow. Calton did so, and found himself in a low, dark, ill-smelling passage. At the end a faint light glimmered.
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