“Well, I suppose it must be so,” said Chinston, with a sigh, “but it seems very hard that this slur should be cast upon Miss Frettlby.”

Brian turned a little pale.

“The sins of the father are generally visited upon the children by the world,” he said bitterly.  “But after the first pain is over, in new lands among new faces, she will forget the bitter past.”

“Now that it is settled Moreland is to be arrested,” said Calton, “how is it to be done?  Is he still in Melbourne?”

“Rather,” said Kilsip in a satisfied tone; “I’ve had my eye on him for the last two months, and someone is watching him for me now—­trust me, he can’t move two steps without my knowing it.”

“Ah, indeed!” said Calton, quickly.  “Then do you know if he has been to the bank and cashed that cheque for five thousand, which Frettlby gave him?”

“Well, now,” observed Kilsip, after a pause, “do you know you rather startled me when you told me he had received a cheque for that amount.”

“Why?”

“It’s such a large one,” replied the detective, “and had I known what sum he had paid into his account I should have been suspicious.”

“Then he has been to the bank?”

“To his own bank, yes.  He went there yesterday afternoon at two o’clock—­that is the day after he got it—­so it would be sent round to Mr. Frettlby’s bank, and would not be returned till next day, and as he died in the meanwhile I expect it hasn’t been honoured, so Mr. Moreland won’t have his money yet.”

“I wonder what he’ll do,” said Chinston.

“Go to the manager and kick up a row,” said Kilsip, coolly, “and the manager will no doubt tell him he’d better see the executors.”

“But, my good friend, the manager doesn’t know who the executors are,” broke in Calton, impatiently.  “You forget the will has yet to be read.”

“Then he’ll tell him to go to the late Mr. Frettlby’s solicitors.  I suppose he knows who they are,” retorted Kilsip.

“Thinton and Tarbit,” said Calton, musingly; “but it’s questionable if Moreland would go to them.”

“Why shouldn’t he, sir?” said Kilsip, quickly.  “He does not know anything about this,” laying his hand on the confession, “and as the cheque is genuine enough he won’t let five thousand pounds go without a struggle.”

“I’ll tell you what,” observed Calton, after a few moments of reflection, “I’ll go across the way and telephone to Thinton and Tarbit, and when he calls on them they can send him up to me.”

“A very good idea,” said Kilsip, rubbing his hands, “and then I can arrest him.”

“But the warrant?” interposed Brian, as Calton rose and put on his hat.

“Is here,” said the detective, producing it.

“By Jove, you must have been pretty certain of his guilt,” remarked Chinston, dryly.

“Of course I was,” retorted Kilsip, in a satisfied tone of voice.  “When I told the magistrate where I found the coat, and reminded him of Moreland’s acknowledgment at the trial, that he had it in his possession before the murder, I soon got him to see the necessity of having Moreland arrested.”