of furniture.

"Haven't you seen him lately?" asked the detective quickly. Mr.
Moreland stared in an insolent manner at his questioner for a few
moments, as if he were debating the advisability of answering or not.
At last he apparently decided that he would, for slowly pulling off one
glove he leaned back in his chair.

"No, I have not," he said with a yawn. "I have been up the
country for a few days, and arrived back only this evening, so I have
not seen him for over a week. Why do you ask?"

The detective did not answer, but stood looking at the young man before
him in a thoughtful manner.

"I hope," said Mr. Moreland, nonchalantly, "I hope you will know me
again, my friend, but I didn't know Whyte had started a lunatic asylum
during my absence. Who are you?"

Mr. Gorby came forward and stood under the gas light.

"My name is Gorby, sir, and I am a detective," he said quietly.

"Ah! indeed," said Moreland, coolly looking him up and down. "What has
Whyte been doing; running away with someone's wife, eh? I know he has
little weaknesses of that sort."

Gorby shook his head.

"Do you know where Mr. Whyte is to be found?" he asked, cautiously.