"I came out from England in the same steamer with him, and used
to visit him constantly here."

Mr. Hableton nodded her head to imply that such was the case.

"In fact," said Mr. Moreland, after a moment's thought, "I believe I
was with him on the night he was murdered."

Mrs. Hableton gave a slight scream, and threw her apron over her face,
but the detective sat unmoved, though Moreland's last remark had
startled him considerably.

"What's the 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."

"And what time did you meet Whyte on Thursday night?" asked Gorby.

"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 an hotel in Russell Street, where we had another. In
fact," said Moreland, coolly, "we had several other drinks."

"Brutes!" muttered Mrs. Hableton, below her breath.

"Yes," said Gorby, placidly. "Go on."

"Well of--it's hardly the thing to confess it," said Moreland, looking