ment. "Oliver Whyte!" he said as soon as he could find his voice. "Was he in the habit of going there?"
Kilsip curled himself up in his seat like a sleek cat, and pushing forward his head till his nose looked like the beak of a bird of prey, looked keenly at Calton.
"Look here, sir," he said, in his low, purring voice, "there's a good deal in this case which don't seem plain—in fact, the further we go into it, the more mixed up it seems to get. I went to see Mother Guttersnipe this morning, and she told me that Whyte had visited the 'Queen' several times while she lay ill, and seemed to be pretty well acquainted with her."
"But who the devil is this woman they call the 'Queen?'" said Calton, irritably. "She seems to be at the bottom of the whole affair—every path we take leads to her."
"I know hardly anything about her," replied Kilsip, "except that she was a good-looking woman of about forty-nine—she came out from England to Sydney a few months ago, then onto here—how she got to Mother Guttersnipe's I can't find out, though I've tried to pump that old woman, but she's as close as wax, and it's my belief she knows more about this dead woman than she chooses to tell."
"But what could she have told Fitzgerald to make him act in this silly manner. A stranger who comes from England and dies in a Melbourne slum, can't possibly know anything about Miss Frettlby."
"Not unless Miss Frettlby was secretly married to Whyte," suggested Kilsip, "and the 'Queen' knew it."
"Nonsense," retorted Calton, sharply. "Why, she hated him and loves Fitzgerald; besides, why on earth should she marry secretly, and make a confidant of a woman in one of the lowest parts of Melbourne? At one time her father wanted her to marry Whyte, but she made such strong opposition, that he eventually gave his consent to her engagement with Fitzgerald."
"And Whyte?"
"Oh, he had a row with Mr. Frettlby, and left the house in a rage. He was murdered the same night, for the sake of some papers he carried."
"Oh, that's Gorby's idea," said Kilsip scornfully, with a vicious snarl.
"And it's mine, too," answered Calton, firmly. "Whyte
