“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 are acquainted with his personal appearance, of course?” observed Mr. Gorby.

“Oh, yes, I can describe 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 Gall 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 is rather like you; the lady they quarrelled over must have been Miss Frettlby.”

“Very likely,” said Moreland, rising.  “Well, I’m off; here’s my 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 your suspicions?” asked Moreland, looking at him.

“I have.”

“Then who do you think murdered Whyte?”

Mr. Gorby paused a moment, and then said deliberately:  “I have an idea—­but I am not certain—­when I am certain, I’ll speak.”

“You think Fitzgerald killed my friend,” said Moreland.  “I see it in your face.”

Mr. Gorby smiled.”  Perhaps,” he said, ambiguously.  “Wait till I’m certain.”

CHAPTER VII.

THE WOOL KING.

The old Greek legend of Midas turning everything he touched into gold, is truer than most people imagine.  Mediaeval superstition changed the human being who possessed such a power into the philosopher’s stone—­the stone which so many alchemists sought in the dark ages.  But we of the nineteenth century have given back into human hands this power of transformation.

But we do not ascribe it either to Greek deity, or to superstition; we call it luck.  And he who possesses luck should be happy notwithstanding the proverb which hints the contrary.  Luck means more than riches—­it means happiness in most of those things, which the fortunate possessor of it may choose to touch.  Should he speculate, he is successful; if he marry, his wife will surely prove everything to be desired; should he aspire to a position, social or political, he not only attains it, but does so with comparative ease.  Worldly wealth, domestic happiness, high position, and complete success—­all these things belong to the man who has luck.