appointed look on his face. "But why did Moreland keep still so long?"
"I cannot tell you," replied Calton, "but no doubt, the confession will explain all."
"Then for heaven's sake read it," broke in Dr. Chinston, impatiently. "I'm quite in the dark, and all your talk is Greek to me."
"One moment," said Kilsip, dragging a bundle from under his chair, and untying it. "If you are right, what about this?" and he held up a light coat, very much soiled and weather-worn.
"Whose is that?" asked Calton, startled. "Not Whyte's?"
"Yes, Whyte's," repeated Kilsip, with great satisfaction. "I found it in the Fitzroy Gardens, near the gate that opens to George street, East Melbourne. It was up in a fir-tree."
"Then Mr. Frettlby must have got out at Powlett street, and walked down George street, and then through the Fitzroy Gardens into town," said Calton.
Kilsip took no heed of the remark, but took a small bottle out of the pocket of the coat and held it up.
"I also found this," he said.
"Chloroform," cried every one, guessing at once that it was the missing bottle.
"Exactly," said Kilsip, replacing it. "This was the bottle which contained the poison used by—by—well, call him the murderer. The name of the chemist being on the label, I went to him and found out who bought it. Now, who do you think?" with a look of triumph.
"Frettlby," said Calton, decidedly.
"No, Moreland!" burst out Chinston, greatly excited.
"Neither," retorted the detective, calmly. "The man who purchased this was Oliver Whyte himself."
"Himself?" echoed Brian, now thoroughly surprised, as, indeed, were all the others.
"Yes. I had no trouble in finding out that, thanks to the 'Poisons Act.' As I knew no one would be so foolish as to carry chloroform about in his pocket for any length of time, I mentioned the day of the murder as the probable date it was bought. The chemist turned up his book, and found that Whyte was the purchaser."
