and waited to hear what Mr. Calton had to say on the subject.
"The fact is," said Calton, lighting a fresh cigar, "he's got some extraordinary idea in his head about keeping where he was that night a secret."
"I understand," said Kilsip, gravely nodding his head. "Women!"
"Nothing of the sort," retorted Calton, hastily. "That's what I thought at first, but I was wrong; he went to see a dying woman who wanted to tell him something."
"What about?"
"That's just what I can't tell you," answered Calton, quickly. "It must have been something important, for she sent for him in great haste—and he was by her bedside between the hours of one and two on Friday morning."
"Then he did not return to the cab?"
"No, he did not; he went to keep his appointment, but, for some reason or another, won't tell where this appointment was. I went to his rooms to-day and found this half-burnt letter, asking him to come."
Calton handed the letter to Kilsip, who placed it on the table and examined it carefully.
"This was written on Thursday," said the detective.
"Of course—you can see that from the date; and Whyte was murdered on Friday, the 27th."
"It was written at something Villa, Toorak," pursued Kilsip, still examining the paper. "Oh! I understand, he went down there."
"Hardly," retorted Calton, in a sarcastic tone. "He couldn't very well go down there, have an interview and be back in East Melbourne in one hour—the cabman Royston can prove that he was at Russell Street at one o'clock, and his landlady that he entered his lodging in East Melbourne at two— no, he wasn't at Toorak."
"When was this letter delivered?"
"Shortly before twelve o'clock, at the Melbourne Club, by a girl, who, from what the waiter saw of her, appears to be a disreputable individual—you will see it says bearer will wait him at Bourke Street, and as another street is mentioned, and as Fitzgerald, after leaving Whyte, went down Russell Street to keep his appointment, the most
