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 glass, 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—­God 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.

“I must leave this place,” he said to himself; “every chance remark seems to bear on the murder, and I’m not anxious to have it constantly by my Bide like the skeleton at the feast.”