The Mystery of a Hansom Cab by Fergus Hume

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.’
    â€˜And what time did you meet Whyte on Thursday night?’ asked Gorby.
    â€˜Let me see,’ said Moreland, crossing his legs and looking thoughtfully up to the ceiling, ‘it was about half past nine o’clock. I was in the Orient Hotel, in Bourke Street. We had a drink together, and then went up the street to a hotel in Russell Street, where we had another. In fact,’ said Moreland, coolly, ‘we had several other drinks.’
    â€˜Brutes!’ muttered Mrs Hableton, below her breath.
    â€˜Yes,’ said Gorby, placidly. ‘Go on.’
    â€˜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 got very drunk.’
    â€˜Ah! Whyte was, as we know, drunk when he got into the cab—and you—?’
    â€˜Was not quite so bad as Whyte,’ answered the other. ‘I had my senses about me. I fancy he left the hotel some minutes before one o’clock on Friday morning.’
    â€˜And what did you do?’
    â€˜I remained in the hotel. He left his overcoat behindhim, and I picked it up and followed him shortly afterwards, to return it. I was too drunk to see which direction he had gone in, and stood leaning against the hotel door in Bourke Street with the coat in my hand. Then someone came up, and, snatching the coat out of my hand, made off with it, and the last thing I remember was shouting out: “Stop thief!” Then I must have fallen down, for next morning I was in bed with all my clothes on, and they were very muddy. I got up and left town for the country by the six-thirty train, so I knew nothing about the matter until I came back to Melbourne tonight. That’s all I know.’
    â€˜And you had no impression that Whyte was watched that night.’
    â€˜No, I had not,’ answered Moreland frankly. ‘He was in pretty good spirits, though he was put out at first.’
    â€˜What was the cause of his being put out?’
    Moreland arose, and going to a side table, brought Whyte’s album, which he laid on the table and opened in silence. The contents were very much the same as the photographs in the room, burlesque actresses and ladies of the ballet predominating, but Mr Moreland turned over the pages till nearly the end, when he stopped at a large cabinet photograph, and pushed the album towards Mr Gorby.
    â€˜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 was a mass of some tropical plants. Mrs Hableton gave a cry of surprise at seeing this.
    â€˜Why, it’s Miss Frettlby,’ she said. ‘How did he know her?’
    â€˜Knew her father—letter of introduction, and all that sort of thing,’ said Mr Moreland, glibly.
    â€˜Ah! indeed,’ said Mr Gorby slowly. ‘So Mr Whyte knew Mark Frettlby, the millionaire; but how did he obtain a photograph of the daughter?’
    â€˜She gave it to him,’ said Moreland. ‘The fact is, Whyte was very much in love with Miss Frettlby.’
    â€˜And she—’
    â€˜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 over the young lady desperately.’
    â€˜Indeed!’ said Mr Gorby. ‘And do you know this Mr Fitzgerald?’
    â€˜Oh, dear, no!’ answered the other coolly. ‘Whyte’s friends were not mine. He was a rich young