“Ah!” said Mr. Gorby, drawing a long breath, “and then?”

“Then he bangs the door to, which it’s never shut easy since, an’ I ain’t got no money to get it put right, an’ Mr. Whyte walks back to his room, laughing.”

“Did he make any remark to you?”

“No; except he’d been worried by a loonatic.”

“And what was the stranger’s name?”

“That I can’t tell you, as Mr. Whyte never told me.  He was very tall, with a fair moustache, an’ dressed as I told you.”

Mr. Gorby was satisfied.

“That is the man,” he said to himself, “who got into the hansom cab, and murdered Whyte; there’s no doubt of it!  Whyte and he were rivals for the heiress.”

“What d’y think of it?” said Mrs. Hableton curiously.

“I think,” said Mr. Gorby slowly, with his eyes fixed on her, “I think that there is a woman at the bottom of this crime.”

CHAPTER VI.

MR. GORBY MAKES FURTHER DISCOVERIES.

When Mr. Gorby left Possum Villa no doubt remained in his mind as to who had committed the murder.  The gentleman in the light coat had threatened to murder Whyte, even in the open street—­these last words being especially significant—­and there was no doubt that he had carried out his threat.  The committal of the crime was merely the fulfilment of the words uttered in anger.  What the detective had now to do was to find who the gentleman in the light coat was, where he lived, and, that done, to ascertain his doings on the night of the murder.  Mrs. Hableton had described him, but was ignorant of his name, and her very vague description might apply to dozens of young men in Melbourne.  There was only one person who, in Mr. Gorby’s opinion, could tell the name of the gentleman in the light coat, and that was Moreland, the intimate friend of the dead man.  They appeared, from the landlady’s description, to have been so friendly that it was more than likely Whyte would have told Moreland all about his angry visitor.  Besides, Moreland’s knowledge of his dead friend’s life and habits might be able to supply information on two points, namely, who was most likely to gain by Whyte’s death, and who the heiress was that the deceased boasted he would marry.  But the fact that Moreland should be ignorant of his friend’s tragic death, notwithstanding that the papers were full of it, and that the reward gave an excellent description of his personal appearance, greatly puzzled Gorby.

The only way in which to account for Moreland’s extraordinary silence was that he was out of town, and had neither seen the papers nor heard anyone talking about the murder.  If this were the case he might either stay away for an indefinite time or return after a few days.  At all events it was worth while going down to St. Kilda in the evening on the chance that Moreland might have returned to town, and world call to see his friend.  So, after his tea, Mr. Gorby put on his hat, and went down to Possum Villa, on what he could not help acknowledging to himself was a very slender possibility.