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Updated: May 24, 2025
Moreland who comed 'ere with 'm, an' was allays with 'im brother-like." "What is this Mr. Moreland like?" "Good-lookin' enough," said Mrs. Hableton sourly, "but 'is 'abits weren't as good as 'is face 'andsom is as 'andsom does, is what I ses." "I wonder if he knows anything about this affair," thought Gorby to himself "Where is Mr. Moreland to be found?" he asked.
The room was well furnished, the furniture being covered with dark-red velvet, while the curtains on the windows and the carpet were all of the same somewhat sombre hue. "I did the thing properly," observed Mrs. Hableton, with a satisfactory smile on her hard face. "When you wants young men to stop with you, the rooms must be well furnished, an' Mr.
Oliver Whyte does not return to Possum Villa, Grey Street, St. Kilda, before the end of the week, his rooms will be let again. Rubina Hableton." "Oliver Whyte," repeated Mr. Gorby slowly, "and the initials on the pocket-handkerchief which was proved to have belonged to the deceased were 'O.W. So his name is Oliver Whyte, is it? Now, I wonder if Rubina Hableton knows anything about this matter.
Hableton pushed towards him; he could not help thinking it had been stuffed with stones, it felt so cold and hard. The lady herself sat opposite to him in another hard chair, and having taken the handkerchief off her head, folded it carefully, laid it on her lap, and then looked straight at her unexpected visitor.
I'm a woman as pays my rates an' taxes, and don't gossip nor read yer rubbishin' newspapers, nor care for the Russings, no how, so git out." "Don't read the papers?" repeated the man, in a satisfied tone, "ah! that accounts for it." Mrs. Hableton stared suspiciously at the intruder.
The late Mr. Hableton for he had long since departed this life had been addicted to alcohol, and at those times when he should have been earning, he was usually to be found in a drinking shanty spending his wife's earnings in "shouting" for himself and his friends. The constant drinking, and the hot Victorian climate, soon carried him off, and when Mrs.
"I don't want no apples to-day, an' I don't care how cheap you sells 'em." Mrs. Hableton evidently laboured under the delusion that the man was a hawker, but seeing no hand-cart with him, she changed her mind. "You're takin' a plan of the 'ouse to rob it, are you?" she said.
She supported herself by going out charing, taking in sewing, and acting as a sick nurse, So, among this multiplicity of occupations, she managed to exist fairly well. And in truth it was somewhat hard upon Mrs. Hableton. For at the time when she should have been resting and reaping the fruit of her early industry, she was obliged to toil more assiduously than ever.
What the detective had now to do was to find who the gentleman in the light coat was, where he lived, and, that done, to ascertain his doings on the night of the murder. Mrs. Hableton had described him, but was ignorant of his name, and her very vague description might apply to dozens of young men in Melbourne. There was only one person who, in Mr.
Whyte and he were rivals for the heiress." "What d'y think of it?" said Mrs. Hableton curiously. "I think," said Mr. Gorby slowly, with his eyes fixed on her, "I think that there is a woman at the bottom of this crime." When Mr. Gorby left Possum Villa no doubt remained in his mind as to who had committed the murder.
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