Madge stepped into the cab, and Calton paused a moment to tell the cabman to drive to the railway station Suddenly she stopped him.

“Tell him to drive to Brian’s lodgings in Powlett Street,” she said, laying her hand on Calton’s arm.

“What for?” asked the lawyer, in astonishment.

“And also to go past the Melbourne Club, as I want to stop there.”

“What the deuce does she mean?” muttered Calton, as he gave the necessary orders, and stepped into the cab.

“And now,” he asked, looking at his companion, who had let down her veil, while the cab rattled quickly down the street, “what do you intend to do?”

She threw back her veil, and he was astonished to see the sudden change which had come over her. There were no tears now, and her eyes were hard and glittering, while her mouth was firmly closed. She looked like a woman who had determined to do a certain thing, and would carry out her intention at whatever cost.

“I intend to save Brian in spite of himself,” she said, very distinctly.

“But how?”

“Ah, you think that, being a woman, I can do nothing,” she said, bitterly. “Well, you shall see.”

“I beg your pardon,” retorted Calton, with a grim smile, “my opinion of your sex has always been an excellent one — every lawyer’s is; stands to reason that it should be so, seeing that a woman is at the bottom of nine cases out of ten.”

“The old cry.”

“Nevertheless a true one,” answered Calton. “Ever since the time of Father Adam it has been acknowledged that women influence the world either for good or evil more than men. But this is not to the point,” he went on, rather impatiently.

“What do you propose to do?”

“Simply this,” she answered. “In the first place, I may tell you that I do not understand Brian’s statement that he keeps silence for my sake, as there are no secrets in my life that can justify his saying so. The facts of the case are simply these: Brian, on the night in question, left our house at St. Kilda, at eleven o’clock. He told me that he would call at the Club to see if there were any letters for him, and then go straight home.”

“But he might have said that merely as a blind.”

Madge shook her head.

“No, I don’t think so. I did not ask him where he was going. He told me quite spontaneously. I know Brian’s character, and he would not tell a deliberate lie, especially when there was no necessity for it. I am quite certain that he intended to do as he said, and go straight home. When he got to the Club, he found a letter there, which caused him to alter his mind.”

“From whom was the letter?”

“Can’t you guess,” she said impatiently. “From the person, man or woman, who wanted to see him and reveal this secret about me, whatever it is. He got the letter at his Club, and went down Collins Street to meet the writer. At the corner of the Scotch Church he found Mr. Whyte, and on recognising him, left in disgust, and walked down Russell Street to keep his appointment.”

“Then you don’t think he came back.”

“I am certain he did not, for, as Brian told you, there are plenty of young men who wear the same kind of coat and hat as he does. Who the second man who got into the cab was I do not know, but I will swear that it was not Brian.”

“And you are going to look for that letter?”

“Yes, in Brian’s lodgings.”

“He might have burnt it.”

“He might have done a thousand things, but he did not,” she answered. “Brian is the most careless man in the world; he would put the letter into his pocket, or throw it into the waste-paper basket, and never think of it again.”

“In this case he did, however.”

“Yes, he thought of the conversation he had with the writer, but not of the letter itself. Depend upon it, we shall find it in his desk, or in one of the pockets of the clothes he wore that night.”

“Then there’s another thing,” said Calton, thoughtfully. “The letter might, have been delivered to him between the Elizabeth Street Railway Station and the Club.”

“We can soon find out about that,” answered Madge; “for Mr. Rolleston was with him at the time.”

“So he was,” answered Calton; “and here is Rolleston coming down the street. We’ll ask him now.”

The cab was just passing the Burke and Wills’ monument, and Calton’s quick eye had caught a glimpse of Rolleston walking down the left-hand side. What first attracted Calton’s attention was the glittering appearance of Felix. His well-brushed top hat glittered, his varnished boots glittered, and his rings and scarf-pin glittered; in fact, so resplendent was his appearance that he looked like an animated diamond coming along in the blazing sunshine.

The cab drove up to the kerb, and Rolleston stopped short, as Calton sprang out directly in front of him. Madge lay back in the cab and pulled down her veil, not wishing to be recognised by Felix, as she knew that if he did it would soon be all over the town.

“Hallo! old chap,” said Rolleston, in considerable astonishment. “Where did you spring from?”

“From the cab, of course,” answered Calton, with a laugh.

“A kind of DEUS EX MACHINA,” replied Rolleston, attempting a bad pun.

“Exactly,” said Calton. “Look here, Rolleston, do you remember the night of Whyte’s murder — you met Fitzgerald at the Railway Station.”

“In the train,” corrected Felix.

“Well, well, no matter, you came up with him to the Club.”

“Yes, and left him there.”

“Did you notice if he received any message while he was with you?”

“Any message?” repeated Felix. “No, he did not; we were talking together the whole time, and he spoke to no one but me.”

“Was he in good spirits?”

“Excellent, made me laugh awfully — but why all this thusness?”

“Oh, nothing,” answered Calton, getting back into the cab. “I wanted a little information from you; I’ll explain next time I see you — Good-bye!”

“But I say,” began Felix, but the cab had already rattled away, so Mr. Rolleston turned angrily away.

“I never saw anything like these lawyers,” he said to himself.

“Calton’s a perfect whirlwind, by Jove.”

Meanwhile Calton was talking to Madge.

“You were right,” he said, “there must have been a message for him at the Club, for he got none from the time he left your place.”

“And what shall we do now?” asked Madge, who, having heard all the conversation, did not trouble to question the lawyer about it.

“Find out at the Club if any letter was waiting for him on that night,” said Calton, as the cab stopped at the door of the Melbourne Club. “Here we are,” and with a hasty word to Madge, he ran up the steps.

He went to the office of the Club to find out if any letters had been waiting for Fitzgerald, and found there a waiter with whom he was pretty well acquainted.

“Look here, Brown,” said the lawyer, “do you remember on that Thursday night when the hansom cab murder took place if any letters were waiting here for Mr. Fitzgerald?”

“Well, really, sir,” hesitated Brown, “it’s so long ago that I almost forget.”

Calton gave him a sovereign.

“Oh! it’s not that, Mr. Calton,” said the waiter, pocketing the coin, nevertheless. “But I really do forget.”

“Try and remember,” said Calton, shortly.

Brown made a tremendous effort of memory, and at last gave a satisfactory answer.

“No, sir, there were none!”

“Are you sure?” said Calton, feeling a thrill of disappointment.

“Quite sure, sir,” replied the other, confidently, “I went to the letter rack several times that night, and I am sure there were none for Mr. Fitzgerald.”

“Ah! I thought as much,” said Calton, heaving a sigh.

“Stop!” said Brown, as though struck with a sudden idea. “Though there was no letter came by post, sir, there was one brought to him on that night.”

“Ah!” said Calton, turning sharply. “At what time?”

“Just before twelve o’clock, sir.”

“Who brought it?”

“A young woman, sir,” said Brown, in a tone of disgust. “A bold thing, beggin’ your pardon, sir; and no better than she should be. She bounced in at the door as bold as brass, and sings out, ‘Is he in?’ ‘Get out,’ I says, ‘or I’ll call the perlice.’ ‘Oh no, you won’t,’ says she. ‘You’ll give him that,’ and she shoves a letter into my hands. ‘Who’s him?’ I asks. ‘I dunno,’ she answers. ‘It’s written there, and I can’t read; give it him at once.’ And then she clears out before I could stop her.”

“And the letter was for Mr. Fitzgerald?”

“Yes, sir; and a precious dirty letter it was, too.”

“You gave it to him, of course?”

“I did, sir. He was playing cards, and he put it in his pocket, after having looked at the outside of it, and went on with his game.”

“Didn’t he open it?”

“Not then, sir; but he did later on, about a quarter to one o’clock. I was in the room, and he opens it and reads it. Then he says to himself, ‘What d — d impertinence,’ and puts it into his pocket.”

“Was he disturbed!”

“Well, sir, he looked angry like, and put his coat and hat on, and walked out about five minutes to one.”

“Ah! and he met Whyte at one,” muttered Calton. “There’s no doubt about it. The letter was an appointment, and he was going to keep it. What kind of a letter was it?” he asked.

“Very dirty, sir, in a square envelope; but the paper was good, and so was the writing.”

“That will do,” said Calton; “I am much obliged to you,” and he hurried down to where Madge awaited him in the cab.

“You were right,” he said to her, when the cab was once more in motion “He got a letter on that night, and went to keep his appointment a............