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Updated: May 24, 2025
Hableton had seen him safely under the ground in the Melbourne Cemetery, she returned home to survey her position, and see how it could be bettered. She gathered together a little money from the wreck of her fortune, and land being cheap, purchased a small "section" at St. Kilda, and built a house on it.
Gorby put on his hat, and went down to Possum Villa, on what he could not help acknowledging to himself was a very slender possibility. Mrs. Hableton opened the door for him, and in silence led the way, not into her own sitting-room, but into a much more luxuriously furnished apartment, which Gorby guessed at once was that of Whyte's.
Mrs. Hableton gave a slight scream, and threw her apron over her face, but the detective sat unmoved, though Moreland's last remark had startled him considerably. "What's the matter?" said Moreland, turning to Mrs. Hableton. "Don't be afraid; I didn't kill him no but I met him last Thursday week, and I left for the country on Friday morning at half-past six."
"Oh, no! he did not commit suicide; what makes you think so?" Mrs. Hableton did not answer, but, rising from her seat, went over to a hard and shiny-looking sideboard, from whence she took a bottle of brandy and a small wine-glass. Half filling the glass, she drank it off, and returned to her seat.
"And who else?" "I don't know." "Then there is nobody else?" "Well, I don't know I'm not sure." The detective was puzzled. "What do you mean?" he asked. "I will tell you all I know," said Mrs. Hableton, "an' if 'e's innocent, God will 'elp 'im." "If who is innocent?" "I'll tell you everythin' from the start," said Mrs. Hableton, "an' you can judge for yourself." Mr.
Hableton, the landlady of the deceased, was then called, and deposed that Oliver Whyte had lodged with her for nearly two months. He seemed a quiet enough young man, but often came home drunk. The only friend she knew he had was a Mr. Moreland, who was often with him. On the 14th July, the prisoner called to see Mr. Whyte, and they had a quarrel.
Hableton stopped short for want of breath, and stood shaking her trowel, and gasping like a fish out of water. "My dear lady," said the man at the fence, mildly, "are you " "No, I ain't," retorted Mrs. Hableton, fiercely, "I ain't neither a member of the 'Ouse, nor a school teacher, to answer your questions.
He is tall, rather fair, talks in a bored sort of manner, and is altogether what one would Gall a heavy swell; but you must have seen him," he went on, turning to Mrs. Hableton, "he was here three or four weeks ago, Whyte told me." "Oh, that was Mr. Fitzgerald, was it?" said Mrs. Hableton, in surprise. "Yes, he is rather like you; the lady they quarrelled over must have been Miss Frettlby."
The stranger waited placidly during the outburst, and Mrs. Hableton, having stopped for want of breath, he interposed, quietly "Can I speak to you for a few moments?" "An' who's a-stoppin' of you?" said Mrs. Hableton, defiantly. "Go on with you, not as I expects the truth from a male, but go on."
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.
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