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Calton rose up in his astonishment, and even Kilsip's inscrutable countenance displayed some surprise. "Aye, 'e were a swell in them days," pursued Mother Guttersnipe, "and 'e comes a-philanderin' round my gal, cuss 'im, an' ruins 'er, and leaves 'er an' the child to starve, like a black-'earted villain as 'e were." "The child! Her name?"
"You seem very positive about it," said the lawyer, after a moment's pause. "Did you ask Moreland about it?" A reproachful look came into Kilsip's white face. "Not quite so green," he said, forcing a smile. "I thought you'd a better opinion of me than that, Mr. Calton. Ask him? no." "Then how did you find out?" "The fact is, Moreland is employed as a barman in the Kangaroo Hotel."
"I know," resumed Calton, addressing the detective, "that you are fully convinced in your own mind that you are right and I am wrong, but what if I tell you that Mark Frettlby died holding those very papers for the sake of which the crime was committed?" Kilsip's face lengthened considerably. "What were the papers?"
Now," went on the lawyer, "I want to find out who the girl that brought the letter is!" "But how?" "God bless my soul, Kilsip! How stupid you are," cried Calton, his irritation getting the better of him. "Can't you understand that paper came from one of the back slums therefore it must have been stolen." A sudden light flashed into Kilsip's eyes.
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