Part 21 (1/2)

”And the letter was for Mr. Fitzgerald?”

”Yes, sir; and a precious dirty letter it was, too.”

”You gave it to him, of course?”

”I did, sir. He was playing cards, and he put it in his pocket, after having looked at the outside of it, and went on with his game.”

”Didn't he open it?”

”Not then, sir; but he did later on, about a quarter to one o'clock. I was in the room, and he opens it and reads it. Then he says to himself, 'What d--d impertinence,' and puts it into his pocket.”

”Was he disturbed!”

”Well, sir, he looked angry like, and put his coat and hat on, and walked out about five minutes to one.”

”Ah! and he met Whyte at one,” muttered Calton. ”There's no doubt about it. The letter was an appointment, and he was going to keep it. What kind of a letter was it?” he asked.

”Very dirty, sir, in a square envelope; but the paper was good, and so was the writing.”

”That will do,” said Calton; ”I am much obliged to you,” and he hurried down to where Madge awaited him in the cab.

”You were right,” he said to her, when the cab was once more in motion.

”He got a letter on that night, and went to keep his appointment at the time he met Whyte.”

”I knew it,” cried Madge with delight. ”You see, we will find it in his lodgings.”

”I hope so,” answered Calton; ”but we must not be too sanguine; he may have destroyed it.”

”No, he has not,” she replied. ”I am convinced it is there.”

”Well,” answered Calton, looking at her, ”I don't contradict you, for your feminine instincts have done more to discover the truth than my reasonings; but that is often the case with women--they jump in the dark where a man would hesitate, and in nine cases out of ten land safely.”

”Alas for the tenth!” said Miss Frettlby. ”She has to be the one exception to prove the rule.”

She had in a great measure recovered her spirits, and seemed confident that she would save her lover. But Mr. Calton saw that her nerves were strung up to the highest pitch, and that it was only her strong will that kept her from breaking down altogether.

”By Jove,” he muttered, in an admiring tone, as he watched her. ”She's a plucky girl, and Fitzgerald is a lucky man to have the love of such a woman.”

They soon arrived at Brian's lodgings, and the door was opened by Mrs.

Sampson, who looked very disconsolate indeed. The poor cricket had been blaming herself severely for the information she had given to the false insurance agent, and the floods of tears which she had wept had apparently had an effect on her physical condition, for she crackled less loudly than usual, though her voice was as shrill as ever.

”That sich a thing should 'ave 'appened to 'im,” she wailed, in her thin, high voice. ”An' me that proud of 'im, not 'avin' any family of my own, except one as died and went up to 'eaving arter 'is father, which I 'opes as they both are now angels, an' friendly, as 'is nature 'ad not developed in this valley of the shadder to determine 'is feelin's towards is father when 'e died, bein' carried off by a chill, caused by the change from 'ot to cold, the weather bein' that contrary.”

They had arrived in Brian's sitting-room by this time, and Madge sank into a chair, while Calton, anxious to begin the search, hinted to Mrs.

Sampson that she could go.

”I'm departin', sir,” piped the cricket, with a sad shake of her head, as she opened the door; ”knowin', as I do, as 'e's as innocent as an unborn babe, an' to think of me 'avin' told that 'orrid pusson who 'ad no regard for the truth all about 'im as is now in a cold cell, not as what the weather ain't warm, an' 'e won't want a fire as long as they allows 'im blankets.”

”What did you tell him?” asked Calton, sharply.