Meanwhile Dr. Chinston had received Calton’s telegram, and was considerably astonished thereat.  He was still more so when, on arriving at the office at the time appointed, he found Calton and Fitzgerald were not alone, but a third man whom he had never seen was with them.  The latter Calton introduced to him as Mr. Kilsip, of the detective office, a fact which made the worthy doctor uneasy, as he could in no wise divine the meaning of it.  However, he made no remark, but took the seat handed to him by Mr. Calton and prepared to listen.  Calton locked the door of the office, and then went back to his desk, having the other three seated before him in a kind of semi-circle.

“In the first place,” said Calton to the doctor, “I have to inform you that you are one of the executors under the will of the late Mr. Frettlby, and that is why I asked you to come here to-day.  The other executors are Mr. Fitzgerald and myself.”

“Oh, indeed,” murmured the doctor, politely.

“And now,” said Calton, looking at him, “do you remember the hansom cab murder, which caused such a sensation some months ago?”

“Yes, I do,” replied the doctor, rather astonished; “but what has that to do with the will?”

“Nothing to do with the will,” answered Calton, gravely; “but the fact is, Mr. Frettlby was implicated in the affair.”

Dr. Chinston glanced enquiringly at Brian, but that gentleman shook his head.

“It has nothing to do with my arrest,” he said, sadly.

Madge’s words, uttered in her delirium, flashed across the doctor’s memory.

“What do you mean?” he gasped, pushing back his chair.  “How was he implicated?”

“That I cannot tell you,” answered Calton, “until I read his confession.”

“Ah!” said Kilsip, becoming very attentive.

“Yes,” said Calton, turning to Kilsip, “your hunt after Moreland is a wild-goose chase, for the murderer of Oliver Whyte is discovered.”

“Discovered!” cried Kilsip and the doctor in one breath.

“Yes, and his name is Mark Frettlby.”

Kilsip shot a glance of disdain out of his bright black eyes, and gave a low laugh of disbelief, but the doctor pushed back his chair furiously, and arose to his feet.

“This is monstrous,” he cried, in a rage.  “I won’t sit still and hear this accusation against my dead friend.”

“Unfortunately, it is too true,” said Brian, sadly.

“How dare you say so?” said Chinston, turning angrily on him.  “And you going to marry his daughter!”

“There is only one way to settle the question,” said Calton, coldly.  “We must read his confession.”

“But why the detective?” asked the doctor, ungraciously, as he took his seat.

“Because I want him to hear for himself that Mr. Frettlby committed the crime, that he may keep silence.”

“Not till I’ve arrested him,” said Kilsip, determinedly.