Part 45 (1/2)

”Who's there?” asked her father, sharply, from inside.

”Only me, papa,” she answered. ”I thought you were--”

”No! No--I'm all right,” replied her father, quickly. ”Go down stairs, I'll join you shortly.”

Madge went back to the drawing-room only half satisfied with the explanation. She found Brian waiting at the door, with rather an anxious face.

”What's the matter?” he asked, as she paused a moment at the foot of the stairs.

”Papa says nothing,” she replied, ”but I am sure he must have been startled, or he would not have cried out like that.”

She told him what Dr. Chinston had said about the state of her father's heart, a recital which shocked Brian greatly. They did not return to the drawing-room, but went out on the verandah, where, after wrapping a cloak around Madge, Fitzgerald lit a cigarette. They sat down at the far end of the verandah somewhat in the shadow, and could see the hall door wide open, and a warm flood of mellow light pouring therefrom, and beyond the cold, white moons.h.i.+ne. After about a quarter of an hour, Madge's alarm about her father having somewhat subsided, they were chatting on indifferent subjects, when a man came out of the hall door, and paused for a moment on the steps of the verandah. He was dressed in rather a fas.h.i.+onable suit of clothes, but, in spite of the heat of the night, he had a thick white silk scarf round his throat.

”That's rather a cool individual,” said Brian, removing his cigarette from between his lips. ”I wonder what--Good G.o.d!” he cried, rising to his feet as the stranger turned round to look at the house, and took off his hat for a moment--”Roger Moreland.”

The man started, and looked quickly round into the dark shadow of the verandah where they were seated, then, putting on his hat, he ran quickly down the path, and they heard the gate clang after him.

Madge felt a sudden fear at the expression on Brian's face, as revealed by a ray of moonlight streaming full on it.

”Who is Roger Moreland?” she asked, touching his arm--”Ah! I remember,”

with sudden horror, ”Oliver Whyte's friend.”

”Yes,” in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, ”and one of the witnesses at the trial.”

CHAPTER XXIX.

MR. CALTON'S CURIOSITY IS SATISFIED.

There was not much sleep for Brian that night. He left Madge almost immediately, and went home, but he did not go to bed. He felt too anxious and ill at ease to sleep, and pa.s.sed the greater part of the night walking up and down his room, occupied with his own sad thoughts.

He was wondering in his own mind what could be the meaning of Roger Moreland's visit to Mark Frettlby. All the evidence that he had given at the trial was that he had met Whyte, and had been drinking with him during the evening. Whyte then went out, and that was the last Moreland had seen of him. Now, the question was, ”What did he go to see Mark Frettlby for?” He had no acquaintance with him, and yet he called by appointment. It is true he might have been in poverty, and the millionaire being well-known as an extremely generous man, Moreland might have called on him for money. But then the cry which Frettlby had given after the interview had lasted a short time proved that he had been startled. Madge had gone upstairs and found the door locked, her father refusing her admission. Now, why was he so anxious Moreland should not be seen by any one? That he had made some startling revelation was certain, and Fitzgerald felt sure that it was in connection with the hansom cab murder case. He wearied himself with conjectures about the matter, and towards daybreak threw himself, dressed as he was, on the bed, and slept heavily till twelve o'clock the next day. When he arose and looked at himself in the gla.s.s, he was startled at the haggard and worn appearance of his face. The moment he was awake his mind went back to Mark Frettlby and the visit of Roger Moreland.

”The net is closing round him,” he murmured to himself. ”I don't see how he can escape. Oh! Madge! Madge! if only I could spare you the bitterness of knowing what you must know, sooner or later, and that other unhappy girl--the sins of the fathers will be visited on the children--G.o.d help them.”

He took his bath, and, after dressing himself, went into his sitting-room, where he had a cup of tea, which refreshed him considerably. Mrs. Sampson came crackling merrily upstairs with a letter, and gave vent to an exclamation of surprise, on seeing his altered appearance.

”Lor, sir!” she exclaimed, ”what 'ave you bin a-doin'--me knowin' your 'abits know'd as you'd gone to bed, not to say as it's very temptin' in this 'ot weather, but with excuses, sir, you looks as if you 'adn't slept a blessed wink.”

”No, more I have,” said Brian, listlessly holding out his hand for the letter. ”I was walking up and down my room all last night--I must have walked miles.”

”Ah! 'ow that puts me in mind of my pore 'usband,” chirped the cricket; ”bein' a printer, and accustomed like a howl to the darkness, when 'e was 'ome for the night 'e walked up and down till 'e wore out the carpet, bein' an expensive one, as I 'ad on my marriage, an' the only way I could stop 'im was by givin' 'im something soothin', which you, sir, ought to try--whisky 'ot, with lemon and sugar--but I've 'eard tell as chloroform--”

”No, d-- it,” said Brian, hastily, startled out of his politeness, ”I've had enough of that.”

”Achin' teeth, no doubt,” said the landlady, going to the door, ”which I'm often taken that way myself, decayed teeth runnin' in the family, tho', to be sure, mine are stronger than former, a lodger of mine 'avin' bin a dentist, an' doin' them beautiful, instead of payin' rent, not avin' ready cash, his boxes bein' filled with bricks on 'is departure from the 'ouse.”

As Brian did not appear particularly interested in these domestic reminiscences, and seemed as if he wanted to be left alone, Mrs.

Sampson, with a final crackle, went down stairs and talked with a neighbour in the kitchen, as to the desirability of drawing her money out of the Savings Bank, in case the Russians should surprise and capture Melbourne. Brian, left alone, stared out of the window at the dusty road and the black shadows cast by the tall poplars in front of the house.