the heart of the dusty town for a walk to strolling through the Fitzroy Gardens, which were on your way home! It won't do; you had an appointment to meet some one."
"Well—er—yes."
"I thought as much. Man or woman?"
"I cannot tell you."
"Then I must find out for myself."
"You can't."
"Indeed! Why not?"
"You don't know where to look for her."
"Her," cried Calton, delighted at the success of his craftily-put question. "I knew it was a woman."
Brian did not answer, but sat biting his lips with vexation.
"Now, who is the woman?"
No answer.
"Come now, Fitzgerald, I know that young men will be young men, and of course you don't like these things talked about; but in this case your character must be sacrificed to save your neck. What is her name?"
"I can't tell you."
"Oh! you know it, then?"
"Well, yes."
"And you won't tell me?"
"No!"
Calton, however, had found out two things that pleased him, first, that Fitzgerald had an appointment, and, second, it was with a woman. He went on another line.
"When did you last see Whyte?"
Brian answered with great reluctance, "I saw him drunk by the Scotch Church."
"What! you were the man that hailed the hansom?"
"Yes," assented the other, hesitating slightly, "I was!"
The thought flashed through Calton's brain as to whether the young man before him was guilty or not, and he was obliged to confess things looked very black against him.
"Then what the newspapers said was correct?"
"Partly."
"Ah!" Calton drew a long breath—here was a ray of hope.
"You did not know it was Whyte when you found him lying drunk near the Scotch Church?"
