“When one is in Rome, one musn’t speak ill of the Pope,” answered Calton, with a grimace.  “Do you think your landlady could supply me with brandy and soda?”

“I think so,” answered Fitzgerald, rising, and ringing the bell; “but isn’t it rather early for that sort of thing?”

“There’s a proverb about glass houses,” said Calton, severely, “which applies to you in this particular instance.”

Whereupon Fitzgerald laughed, and Calton having been supplied with what he required, prepared to talk business.

“I need hardly tell you how anxious I am to hear what you’ve got to say,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “but I may as well tell you that I am satisfied that I know half your secret already.”

“Indeed!” Fitzgerald looked astonished.  “In that case, I heed not—­”

“Yes, you need,” retorted Calton.  “I told you I only know half.”

“Which half?”

“Hum—­rather difficult to answer—­however, I’ll tell you what I know, and you can supply all deficiencies.  I am quite ready—­go on—­stop—­” he arose and closed the door carefully.

“Well,” resuming his seat, “Mother Guttersnipe died the other night.”

“Is she dead?”

“As a door nail,” answered Calton calmly.  “And a horrible death-bed it was—­her screams ring in my ears yet—­but before she died she sent for me, and said—­”

“What?”

“That she was the mother of Rosanna Moore.”

“Yes!”

“And that Sal Rawlins was Rosanna’s child.”

“And the father?” said Brian, in a low voice.

“Was Mark Frettlby.”

“Ah!”

“And now what have you to tell me?”

“Nothing!”

“Nothing,” echoed Calton, surprised, “then this is what Rosanna Moore told you when she died?”

“Yes!”

“Then why have you made such a mystery about it?”

“You ask that?” said Fitzgerald, looking up, in surprise.  “If I had told it, don’t you see what difference it would have made to Madge?”

“I’m sure I don’t,” retorted the barrister, completely mystified.  “I suppose you mean Frettlby’s connection with Rosanna Moore; well, of course, it was not a very creditable thing for her to have been Frettlby’s mistress, but still—­”

“His mistress?” said Fitzgerald, looking up sharply “then you don’t know all.”

“What do you mean—­was she not his mistress?”

“No—­his wife!” Calton sprang to his feet, and gave a cry of surprise.

“His wife!”

Fitzgerald nodded.

“Why, Mother Guttersnipe did not know this—­she thought Rosanna was his mistress.”

“He kept his marriage secret,” answered Brian, “and as his wife ran away with someone else shortly afterwards, he never revealed it.”

“I understand now,” said the barrister, slowly.  “For if Mark Frettlby was lawfully married to Rosanna Moore—­Madge is illegitimate.”