is nobody else?”
“Well, I don’t know—I’m not sure.”
The detective was puzzled.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I will tell you all I know,” said Mrs. Hableton, “an’ if ‘e’s innocent, God will ‘elp ‘im.”
“If who is innocent?”
“I’ll tell you everythin’ from the start,” said Mrs. Hableton, “an’ you can judge for yourself.”
Mr. Gorby assented, and she began:
“It’s only two months ago since I decided to take in lodgers; but charin’s ‘ard work, and sewin’s tryin’ for the eyes, So, bein’ a lone woman, ‘avin’ bin badly treated by a brute, who is now dead, which I was allays a good wife to ‘im, I thought lodgers ‘ud ‘elp me a little, so I put a notice in the paper, an’ Mr. Oliver Whyte took the rooms two months ago.”
“What was he like?”
“Not very tall, dark face, no whiskers nor moustache, an’ quite the gentleman.”
“Anything peculiar about him?”
Mrs. Hableton thought for a moment.
“Well,” she said at length, “he ‘ad a mole on his left temple, but it was covered with ‘is ‘air, an’ few people ‘ud ‘ave seen it.”
“The very man,” said Gorby to himself, “I’m on the right path.”
“Mr. Whyte said ‘e ‘ad just come from England,” went on the woman.
“Which,” thought Mr. Gorby, “accounts for the corpse not being recognised by friends.”
“He took the rooms, an’ said ‘e’d stay with me for six months, an’ paid a week’s rent in advance, an’ ‘e allays paid up reg’ler like a respectable man, tho’ I don’t believe in ‘em myself. He said ‘e’d lots of friends, an’ used to go out every night.”
“Who were his friends?”
“That I can’t tell you, for ‘e were very close, an’ when ‘e went out of doors I never knowd where ‘e went, which is jest like ‘em; for they ses they’re goin’ to work, an’ you finds ‘em in the beershop. Mr. Whyte told me ‘e was a-goin’ to marry a heiress, ‘e was.”
“Ah!” interjected Mr. Gorby, sapiently.
“He ‘ad only one friend as I ever saw—a Mr. 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.
“Not knowin’, can’t tell,” retorted the landlady, “‘e used to be ‘ere reg’lar, but I ain’t seen ‘im for over a week.”
“Strange! very!” said Gorby, shaking his head. “I should like to see this Mr. Moreland. I suppose it’s probable he’ll call again?”
“‘Abit bein’ second nature I s’pose he will,” answered the woman, “‘e might call at any time, mostly ‘avin’ called at night.”
“Ah! then I’ll come down this evening on chance of seeing him,” replied the detective. “Coincidences happen in real life as well as in novels, and the gentleman in question may turn up in the nick of time. Now, what else about Mr. Whyte?”
“About two weeks ago, or three, I’m not cert’in which, a gentleman called to see Mr. Whyte; ‘e was very tall, and wore a light coat.”
“Ah! a morning coat?”
“No! ‘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. I got up and went into the passage in order to ask ‘em not to make such a noise, when Mr. Whyte’s door opens, an’ the gentleman in the light coat comes out, and bangs along to the door. Mr. Whyte ‘e comes to the door of ‘is room, an’ ‘e ‘ollers out. ‘She is mine; you can’t do anything; an’ the other turns with ‘is ‘and on the door an’ says, ‘I can kill you, an’ if you marry ‘er I’ll do it, even in the open street.’”
“Ah!” said Mr. Gorby, drawing a long breath, “and then?”
“Then he bangs the door to, which it’s never shut easy since, an’ I ain’t got no money to get it put right, an’ Mr. Whyte walks back to his room, laughing.”
“Did he make any remark to you?”
“No; except he’d been worried by a loonatic.”
“And what was the stranger’s name?”
“That I can’t tell you, as Mr. Whyte never told me. He was very tall, with a fair moustache, an’ dressed as I told you.”
Mr. Gorby was satisfied.
“That is the man,” he said to himself, “who got into the hansom cab, and murdered Whyte; there’s no doubt of it! 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.”
Chapter VI.
Mr. Gorby Makes Further Discoveries
When Mr. Gorby left Possum Villa no doubt remained in his mind as to who had committed the murder. The gentleman in the light coat had threatened to murder Whyte, even in the open street—these last words being especially significant—and there was no doubt that he had carried out his threat. The committal of the crime was merely the fulfilment of the words uttered in anger. 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. Gorby’s opinion, could
