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Updated: May 29, 2025
I was right, for two nights ago Roger Moreland, who was an intimate friend of Whyte's, called on me, and produced the marriage certificate, which he offered to sell to me for five thousand pounds. In horror, I accused him of murdering Whyte, which he denied at first, but afterwards acknowledged, stating that I dare not betray him for my own sake.
He had passed out of the life of both the lovers, and they, glad that he troubled them no more, never suspected for a moment that the body of the unknown man found in Royston's cab was that of Oliver Whyte. About two weeks after Whyte's disappearance Mr. Frettlby gave a dinner party in honour of his daughter's birthday.
'e was in evenin' dress, and wore a light coat over it, an' a soft 'at." "The very man," said the detective below his breath; "go on." "He went into Mr. Whyte's room, an' shut the door. I don't know how long they were talkin' together; but I was sittin' in this very room and heard their voices git angry, and they were a-swearin' at one another, which is the way with men, the brutes.
"Was in love with someone else," finished Moreland. "Exactly! Yes, she loved a Mr. Brian Fitzgerald, to whom she is now engaged. He was mad on her; and Whyte and he used to quarrel desperately over the young lady." "Indeed!" said Mr. Gorby. "And do you know this Mr. Fitzgerald?" "Oh, dear, no!" answered the other, coolly. "Whyte's friends were not mine.
It never occurred to Horace Barker, when one morning about ten o'clock, some six weeks later, he called at the kindergarten with his precious trio, that there was any impropriety in breaking in upon Miss Whyte's occupations an hour after school had begun.
I upset the stool, tilted the ink-bottle over the invoice-book, sent the poker almost through the back of the fireplace, and smashed Tom Whyte's best whip on the back of the `noo 'oss, as I galloped him over the plains for the last time all for joy, because I'm going with you, Charley, my darling!" Here Harry suddenly threw his arms round his friend's neck, meditating an embrace.
A trouble which would pass lightly over a man, leaves an indelible mark on a woman, both physically and mentally, and the terrible episode of Whyte's murder had changed Madge from a bright and merry girl into a grave and beautiful woman. Sorrow is a potent enchantress. Once she touches the heart, life can never be quite the same again.
It stood on the dressing-table, and was similar to that one which he had already seen in Whyte's album. He took it up with a laugh. "You're a pretty girl," he said, apostrophising the picture, "but you give your photograph to two young men, both in love with you, and both hot-tempered. The result is that one is dead, and the other won't survive him long. That's what you've done."
But he kept this remark to himself, and, screwing his eye-glass into his left organ of vision, merely ejaculated, "Lucky piano." Miss Featherweight, not being able to think of any answer to this, looked down and blushed, while the ingenuous Felix looked up and sighed. Madge and Brian were in a corner of the room talking over Whyte's death.
He was not rich, not particularly good-looking, had no position, and a bad temper. How do I know all these traits of Mr. Whyte's character, morally and socially? Easily enough; my omniscient friend found them all out. Mr. Oliver Whyte was the son of a London tailor, and his father being well off, retired into a private life, and ultimately went the way of all flesh.
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