her; and Whyte and he used to quarrel desperately over the young lady."

"Indeed!" said Mr. Gorby. "And do you know this Mr. Fitzgerald?"

"Oh, dear, no!" answered the other, coolly. "Whyte's friends were not
mine. He was a rich young man who had good introductions. I am only a
poor devil on the outskirts of society, trying to push my way in the
world."

"You are acquainted with his personal appearance, of course?" observed
Mr. Gorby.

"Oh, yes, I can describe that," said Moreland. "In fact, he's not at
all unlike me, which I take to be rather a compliment, as he is said to
be good-looking. He is tall, rather fair, talks in a bored sort of
manner, and is altogether what one would Gall a heavy swell; but you
must have seen him," he went on, turning to Mrs. Hableton, "he was here
three or four weeks ago, Whyte told me."

"Oh, that was Mr. Fitzgerald, was it?" said Mrs. Hableton, in surprise.
"Yes, he is rather like you; the lady they quarrelled over must have
been Miss Frettlby."

"Very likely," said Moreland, rising. "Well, I'm off; here's my
address," putting a card in Gorby's, hand. "I'm glad to be of any use
to you in this matter, as Whyte was my dearest friend, and I'll
do all in my power to help you to find out the murderer."

"I don't think that is a very difficult matter," said Mr. Gorby,
slowly.