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Updated: July 3, 2025
"The marriage certificate of Mark Frettlby and Rosanna Moore, the woman who died in the back slum." Kilsip was not often astonished; but he was so now. And Dr. Chinston fell back in his chair, staring at the barrister in blank amazement. "And what's more," went on Calton, triumphantly, "do you know that Moreland went to Frettlby two nights ago and obtained a certain sum for hush-money?"
I will telegraph to him and Kilsip to come up to my office this afternoon at three o'clock, and then we will settle the whole matter." "And Sal Rawlins?" "Oh! I quite forgot about her," said Calton, in a perplexed voice. "She knows nothing about her parents, and, of course, Mark Frettlby died in the belief that she was dead." "We must tell Madge," said Brian, gloomily. "There is no help for it.
"My dear Madge," said Frettlby, stopping in front of her with a displeased look, "you are incorrect Whyte and myself did not quarrel. He asked me if it were true that Fitzgerald was engaged to you, and I answered 'Yes. That was all, and then he left the house." "Yes, and Brian didn't go until two hours after," said Madge, triumphantly. "He never saw Mr. Whyte the whole night."
"No better than they deserve," replied Rolleston, gallantly. "But you have never gone in for politics, Mr. Frettlby?" "Who? I no," said the host, rousing himself out of the brown study into which he had fallen. "I'm afraid I'm not sufficiently patriotic, and my business did not permit me." "And now?" "Now," echoed Mr. Frettlby, glancing at his daughter, "I intend to travel."
"Nonsense, child," said Frettlby, roughly, "you are fanciful;" and turning on his heel, he walked rapidly towards the house, leaving Madge staring after him in astonishment, as well she might, for her father had never spoken to her so roughly before. Wondering at the cause of his sudden anger, she stood spell-bound, until there came a step behind her, and a soft, low whistle.
"I'm sorry to hear it," said Frettlby, referring to the fact that Whyte was murdered. "He had a letter of introduction to me, and seemed a clever, pushing young fellow." "A confounded cad," muttered Felix, under his breath; and Brian, who overheard him, seemed inclined to assent. For the rest of the meal nothing was talked about but the murder, and the mystery in which it was shrouded.
"So he says," replied Mr. Frettlby, significantly. "I believe Brian before any one else in the world," said his daughter, hotly, with flushed cheeks and flashing eyes. "Ah! but will a jury?" queried her father. "You have turned against him, too," answered Madge, her eyes filling with tears. "You believe him guilty." "I am not prepared either to deny or confirm his guilt," said Mr.
This, however, was not to be, and he was thunderstruck when Whyte arrived from England with the information that his first wife still lived, and that the daughter of his second was illegitimate. Sooner than risk exposure, Frettlby agreed to anything; but Whyte's demands became too exorbitant, and he refused to comply with them.
"And now," said Frettlby, in a brisk tone, as he sat down; "the important question of dinner being settled, what is it you want to see me about? Your station?" "No," answered Brian, leaning against the verandah post, while Madge slipped her hand through his arm. "I have sold it." "Sold it!" echoed Frettlby, aghast. "What for?" "I felt restless, and wanted a change."
The name of the chemist being on the label, I went to him and found out who bought it. Now, who do you think?" with a look of triumph. "Frettlby," said Calton, decidedly. "No, Moreland," burst out Chinston, greatly excited. "Neither," retorted the detective, calmly. "The man who purchased this was Oliver Whyte himself."
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