"Knew her father—letters of introduction, and all that sort of thing," said Mr. Moreland, glibly.
"Ah! indeed," said Mr. Gorby, slowly. "So Mr. Whyte knew Mark Frettlby, the millionaire; but how did he obtain a photograph of the daughter?"
"She gave it to him," said Moreland. "The fact is, Whyte was very much in love with Miss Frettlby."
"And she——"
"Was in love with some one else," finished Moreland.
"Exactly! Yes, she loved a Mr. Brian Fitzgerald, to whom she is now engaged. He was mad on her, and Whyte and he used to quarrel over the young lady desperately."
"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 know his personal appearance, of course?" observed Mr. Gorby.
"Oh, yes, I can tell you 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 call 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 was rather like you; and so the lady they quarrelled over must have been Miss Frettlby."
"Very likely," said Moreland, rising. "Well, I'm off. Here's by 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.
"Oh, you have suspicions?" said Moreland, looking at him.
"I have."
"Then who do you think murdered Whyte? "
Mr. Gorby paused a moment, and then said deliberately:
