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Updated: June 20, 2025


"But he's dead," said Brian. "I'm speaking of Roger Moreland," retorted Kilsip. "For he and no other murdered Oliver Whyte." "That's a much more likely story," Chinston said. "I tell you no," said Calton, vehemently. "God knows I would like to preserve Mark Frettlby's good name, and it is with this object I have brought you all together.

"It was amusing," replied Chinston, taking a seat, Frettlby doing the same. "That's all I can say about it, though, mind you, I think there are more mad people at large than the world is aware of." "Indeed!" "Yes; do you remember that horrible story of Dickens', in the 'Pickwick Papers, about the man who was mad, and knew it, yet successfully concealed it for years?

'By whom? asked Madame Midas, the memory of her husband coming back to her. 'I can't tell you, answered Kitty, 'I only saw the hand. 'At all events, said Chinston, slowly, 'the poisoner did not know that your nurse was with you, so the poison was meant for Mrs Villiers. Tor me? she echoed, ghastly pale; 'I knew it, my husband is alive, and this is his work.

Chinston, who swore to the death of the deceased by means of chloroform administered in a large quantity, and he was followed by Mr. Gorby, who deposed as to the finding of the glove belonging to the deceased in the pocket of the prisoner's coat. Roger Moreland, an intimate friend of the deceased, was next called. He stated that he had known the deceased in London, and had met him in Melbourne.

"The last of which is what the author called it, a LUSUS NATURAE," observed Chinston. "Don't erect your political schemes on such bubble foundations as are in that novel, for you won't find a Marquis Carabas out here." "Unfortunately, no!" observed Felix, mournfully; "but we may find a Vivian Grey." Every one smothered a smile, the allusion was so patent.

The chemist turned up in his book, and found that Whyte was the purchaser." "And what did he buy it for?" asked Chinston. "That's more than I can tell you," said Kilsip, with a shrug of his shoulders. "It's down in the book as being bought for medicinal uses, which may mean anything." "The law requires a witness," observed Calton, cautiously. "Who was the witness?"

Kilsip shot a glance of disdain out of his bright black eyes, and gave a low laugh of disbelief, but the doctor pushed back his chair furiously, and arose to his feet. "This is monstrous," he cried, in a rage. "I won't sit still and hear this accusation against my dead friend." "Unfortunately, it is too true," said Brian, sadly. "How dare you say so?" said Chinston, turning angrily on him.

Chinston made an examination of Mark Frettlby, and when he had finished, his face was very grave, though he laughed at the millionaire's fears. "You are all right," he said, gaily. "Action of the heart a little weak, that's all only," impressively, "avoid excitement avoid excitement." Just as Frettlby was putting on his coat, a knock came to the door, and Madge entered.

"I am hot, you mean," retorted the imperturbable Rolleston, blowing a wreath of smoke. "That's a foregone conclusion," said Dr. Chinston, who came up at that moment. "Such a charming novel," cried Julia, who had just caught the last remark. "What is?" asked Peterson, rather puzzled. "Howell's book, 'A Foregone Conclusion," said Julia, also looking puzzled. "Weren't you talking about it?"

"Brian is gone," she began. "Oh, I beg your pardon, doctor but is papa ill?" she asked with sudden fear. "No, child, no," said Frettlby, hastily, "I'm all right; I thought my heart was affected, but it isn't." "Not a bit of it," answered Chinston, reassuringly. "All right only avoid excitement."

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