"Let him keep it, of course," answered Calton, shrugging his shoulders.

"It's the only way to secure his silence."

"I expect he cashed it yesterday, and is off by this time," said Brian, after a moment's pause.

"So much the better for us," said Calton, grimly. "But I don't think he's off, or Kilsip would have let me know. We must tell him, or he'll get everything out of Moreland, and the consequences will be that all Melbourne will know the story; whereas, by showing him the confession, we get him to leave Moreland alone, and thus secure silence in both cases."

"I suppose we must see Chinston?"

"Yes, of course. I will telegraph to him and Kilsip to come up to my office this afternoon at three o'clock, and then we will settle the whole matter."

"And Sal Rawlins?"

"Oh! I quite forgot about her," said Calton, in a perplexed voice. "She knows nothing about her parents, and, of course, Mark Frettlby died in the belief that she was dead."

"We must tell Madge," said Brian, gloomily. "There is no help for it.

Sal is by rights the heiress to the money of her dead father."

"That depends upon the will," replied Calton, dryly. "If it specifies that the money is left to 'my daughter, Margaret Frettlby,' Sal Rawlins can have no claim; and if such is the case, it will be no good telling her who she is."

"And what's to be done?"

"Sal Rawlins," went on the barrister, without noticing the interruption, "has evidently never given a thought to her father or mother, as the old hag, no doubt, swore they were dead. So I think it will be best to keep silent--that is, if no money is left to her, and, as her father thought her dead, I don't think there will be any. In that case, it would be best to settle an income on her. You can easily find a pretext, and let the matter rest."

"But suppose, in accordance with the wording of the will, she is ent.i.tled to all the money?"

"In that case," said Calton, gravely, "there is only one course open--she must be told everything, and the dividing of the money left to her generosity. But I don't think you need be alarmed, I'm pretty sure Madge is the heiress."

"It's not the money I think about," said Brian, hastily. "I'd take Madge without a penny."

"My boy," said the barrister, placing his hand kindly on Brian's shoulder, "when you marry Madge Frettlby, you will get what is better than money--a heart of gold."

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

DE MORTUIS NIL NISI BONUM.

"Nothing is certain but the unforeseen;" so says a French proverb, and judging from the unexpected things which daily happen to us, it is without doubt a very true one. If anyone had told Madge Frettlby one day that she would be stretched on a bed of sickness the next, and would be quite oblivious of the world and its doings, she would have laughed the prophet to scorn. Yet it was so, and she was tossing and turning on a bed of pain to which the couch of Procustes was one of roses. Sal sat beside her, ever watchful of her wants, and listened through the bright hours of the day, or the still ones of the night, to the wild and incoherent words which issued from her lips. She incessantly called on her father to save himself, and then would talk about Brian, and sing s.n.a.t.c.hes of song, or would sob broken sentences about her dead mother, until the heart of the listener ached to hear her. No one was allowed into the room except Sal, and when Dr. Chinston heard the things she was saying, although used to such cases, he recoiled.

"There is blood on your hands," cried Madge, sitting up in bed, with her hair all tangled and falling over her shoulders; "red blood, and you cannot wash it off. Oh, Cain! G.o.d save him! Brian, you are not guilty; my father killed him. G.o.d! G.o.d!" and she fell back on her disordered pillows weeping bitterly.

Dr. Chinston did not say anything, but shortly afterwards took his leave, after telling Sal on no account to let anyone see the patient.

"'Tain't likely," said Sal, in a disgusted tone, as she closed the door after him. "I'm not a viper to sting the bosom as fed me," from which it may be gathered she was advancing rapidly in her education.

Meanwhile Dr. Chinston had received Calton's telegram, and was considerably astonished thereat. He was still more so when, on arriving at the office at the time appointed, he found Calton and Fitzgerald were not alone, but a third man whom he had never seen was with them.

The latter Calton introduced to him as Mr. Kilsip, of the detective office, a fact which made the worthy doctor uneasy, as he could in no wise divine the meaning of it. However, he made no remark, but took the seat handed to him by Mr. Calton and prepared to listen. Calton locked the door of the office, and then went back to his desk, having the other three seated before him in a kind of semi-circle.

"In the first place," said Calton to the doctor, "I have to inform you that you are one of the executors under the will of the late Mr.

Frettlby, and that is why I asked you to come here to-day. The other executors are Mr. Fitzgerald and myself."

"Oh, indeed," murmured the doctor, politely.

"And now," said Calton, looking at him, "do you remember the hansom cab murder, which caused such a sensation some months ago?"

"Yes, I do," replied the doctor, rather astonished; "but what has that to do with the will?"

"Nothing to do with the will," answered Calton, gravely; "but the fact is, Mr. Frettlby was implicated in the affair."

Dr. Chinston glanced enquiringly at Brian, but that gentleman shook his head.

"It has nothing to do with my arrest," he said, sadly.

Madge's words, uttered in her delirium, flashed across the doctor's memory.

"What do you mean?" he gasped, pushing back his chair. "How was he implicated?"

"That I cannot tell you," answered Calton, "until I read his confession."

"Ah!" said Kilsip, becoming very attentive.

"Yes," said Calton, turning to Kilsip, "your hunt after Moreland is a wild-goose chase, for the murderer of Oliver Whyte is discovered."

"Discovered!" cried Kilsip and the doctor in one breath.

"Yes, and his name is Mark Frettlby."

Kilsip shot a glance of disdain out of his bright black eyes, and gave a low laugh of disbelief, but the doctor pushed back his chair furiously, and arose to his feet.

"This is monstrous," he cried, in a rage. "I won't sit still and hear this accusation against my dead friend."

"Unfortunately, it is too true," said Brian, sadly.

"How dare you say so?" said Chinston, turning angrily on him. "And you going to marry his daughter!"

"There is only one way to settle the question," said Calton, coldly.

"We must read his confession."

"But why the detective?" asked the doctor, ungraciously, as he took his seat.

"Because I want him to hear for himself that Mr. Frettlby committed the crime, that he may keep silence."

"Not till I've arrested him," said Kilsip, determinedly.

"But he's dead," said Brian.