Here a knock came to the door, and in answer to an invitation to enter, it opened, and Kilsip glided into the room.

“You’re not engaged, sir?” he said, in his soft, low voice.

“Oh, dear, no,” answered Calton, carelessly; “come in—­come in!”

Kilsip closed the door softly, and gliding along in his usual velvet-footed manner, sat down in a chair near Calton’s, and placing his hat on the ground, looked keenly at the barrister.

“Well, Kilsip,” said Calton, with a yawn, playing with his, watch chain, “any good news to tell me?”

“Well, nothing particularly new,” purred the detective, rubbing his hands together.

“Nothing new, and nothing true, and no matter,” said Calton, quoting Emerson.  “And what have you come to see me about?”

“The Hansom Cab Murder,” replied the other quietly.

“The deuce!” cried Calton, startled out of his professional dignity.  “And have you found out who did it?”

“No!” answered Kilsip, rather dismally; “but I have, an idea.”

“So had Gorby,” retorted Calton, dryly, “an idea that ended in smoke.  Have you any practical proofs?”

“Not yet.”

“That means you are going to get some?”

“If possible.”

“Much virtue in ‘if,’” quoted Calton, picking up a pencil, and scribbling idly on his blotting paper.  “And to whom does your suspicion point?”

“Aha!” said Mr. Kilsip, cautiously.

“Don’t know him,” answered the other, coolly; “family name Humbug, I presume.  Bosh!  Whom do you suspect?”

Kilsip looked round cautiously, as if to make sure they were alone, and then said, in a stage whisper—­

“Roger Moreland!”

“That was the young man that gave evidence as to how Whyte got drunk?”

Kilsip nodded.

“Well, and how do you connect him with the murder?”

“Do you remember in the evidence given by the cabmen, Royston and Rankin, they both swore that the man who was with Whyte on that night wore a diamond ring on the forefinger of the right hand?”

“What of that?  Nearly every second man in Melbourne wears a diamond ring?”

“But not on the forefinger of the right hand.”

“Oh!  And Moreland wears a ring in that way?”

“Yes!”

“Merely a coincidence.  Is that all your proof?”

“All I can obtain at present.”

“It’s very weak,” said Calton, scornfully.

“The weakest proofs may form a chain to hang a man,” observed Kilsip, sententiously.

“Moreland gave his evidence clearly enough,” said Calton, rising, and pacing the room.  “He met Whyte; they got drunk together.  Whyte went out of the hotel, and shortly afterwards Moreland followed with the coat, which was left behind by Whyte, and then someone snatched it from him.”

“Ah, did they?” interrupted Kilsip, quickly.

“So Moreland says,” said Calton, stopping short.  “I understand; you think Moreland was not so drunk as he would make out, and that after following Whyte outside, he put on his coat, and got into the cab with him.”