at first, absolutely declined to sanction the latter proposal, but as he threatened to publish the story, and that meant the proclamation to the world of my daughter’s illegitimacy, I at last—­agreed, and he began to pay his addresses to Madge.  She, however, refused to marry him, and told me she was engaged to Fitzgerald, so, after a severe struggle with myself, I told Whyte that I would not allow him to marry Madge, but would give him whatever sum he liked to name.  On the night he was murdered he came to see me, and showed me the certificate of marriage between myself and Rosanna Moore.  He refused to take a sum of money, and said that unless I consented to his marriage with Madge he would publish the whole affair.  I implored him to give me time to think, so he said he would give me two days, but no more, and left the house, taking the marriage certificate with him.  I was in despair, and saw that the only way to save myself was to obtain possession of the marriage certificate and deny everything.  With this idea in my mind I followed him up to town and saw him meet Moreland, and drink with him.  They went into the hotel in Russell Street, and when Whyte came out, at half-past twelve, he was quite intoxicated.  I saw him go along to the Scotch Church, near the Bourke and Wills’ monument, and cling to the lamp-post at the corner.  I thought I would then be able to get the certificate from him, as he was so drunk, when I saw a gentleman in a light coat—­I did not know it was Fitzgerald—­come up to him and hail a cab for him.  I saw there was nothing more to be done at that time, so, in despair, went home and waited for the next day, in fear lest he should carry out his determination.  Nothing, however, turned up, and I was beginning to think that Whyte had abandoned his purpose, when I heard that he had been murdered in the hansom cab.  I was in great fear lest the marriage certificate should be found on him, but nothing was said about it.  This I could not understand at all.  I knew he had it on him, and I could only conclude that the murderer, whoever he was, had taken it from the body, and would sooner or later come to me to extort money, knowing that I dare not denounce him.  Fitzgerald was arrested, and afterwards acquitted, so I began to think that the certificate had been lost, and my troubles were at an end.  However, I was always haunted by a dread that the sword was hanging over my head, and would fall sooner or later.  I was right, for two nights ago Roger Moreland, who was an intimate friend of Whyte’s, called on me, and produced the marriage certificate, which he offered to sell to me for five thousand pounds.  In horror, I accused him of murdering Whyte, which he denied at first, but afterwards acknowledged, stating that I dare not betray him for my own sake.  I was nearly mad with the horror I was placed in, either to denounce my daughter as illegitimate or let a murderer escape the penalty of his crime.  At last I agreed to keep silent, and handed him a cheque for five thousand