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Updated: May 24, 2025
In fact," said Moreland, coolly, "we had several other drinks." "Brutes!" muttered Mrs. Hableton, below her breath. "Yes," said Gorby, placidly. "Go on." "Well of it's hardly the thing to confess it," said Moreland, looking from one to the other with a pleasant smile, "but in a case like this, I feel it my duty to throw all social scruples aside. We both became very drunk." "Ah!
"That was the cause," he said. It was the portrait of a charmingly pretty girl, dressed in white, with a sailor hat on her fair hair, and holding a lawn tennis racquet. She was bending half forward, with a winning smile, and in the background bloomed a mass of tropical plants. Mrs. Hableton uttered a cry of surprise at seeing this. "Why, it's Miss Frettlby," she said. "How did he know her?"
"You knew him very well, sir?" said the detective, in a sympathetic tone. "We were like brothers," replied Moreland, mournfully. "I came out from England in the same steamer with him, and used to visit him constantly here." Mr. Hableton nodded her head to imply that such was the case. "In fact," said Mr. Moreland, after a moment's thought, "I believe I was with him on the night he was murdered."
At any rate," said Mr. Gorby, putting on his hat, "as I'm fond of sea breezes, I think I'll go down, and call at Possum Villa, Grey Street, St. Kilda." Mrs. Hableton was a lady with a grievance, as anybody who happened to become acquainted with her, soon found out.
Whyte paid well, tho' 'e was rather pertickler about 'is food, which I'm only a plain cook, an' can't make them French things which spile the stomach." The globes of the gas lamps were of a pale pink colour, and Mrs. Hableton having lit the gas in expectation of Mr. Gorby's arrival, there was a soft roseate hue through the room. Mr.
It is Beaconsfield who says, in one of his novels, that no one is so interesting as when he is talking about himself; and, judging Mrs. Hableton by this statement, she was an extremely fascinating individual, as she never by any chance talked upon any other subject.
Here a knock came at the front door, loud and decisive. On hearing it Mrs. Hableton sprang hastily to her feet. "That may be Mr. Moreland," she said, as the detective quickly replaced "Zola" in the bookcase. "I never 'ave visitors in the evenin', bein' a lone widder, and if it is 'im I'll bring 'im in 'ere."
"Well, really," said the other, looking up at the cloudless blue sky, and wiping his face with a gaudy red silk pocket-handkerchief, "it is rather hot, you know, and " Mrs. Hableton did not give him time to finish, but walking to the gate, opened it with a jerk.
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