The soup had just been removed when some one, who was late, entered with apologies and took his seat.  Some one in this case was Mr. Felix Rolleston, one of the best known young men in Melbourne.  He had an income of his own, scribbled a little for the papers, was to be seen at every house of any pretensions in Melbourne, and was always bright, happy, and full of news.  For details of any scandal you were safe in applying to Felix Rolleston.  He knew all that was going on, both at home and abroad.  And his knowledge, if not very accurate, was at least extensive, while his conversation was piquant, and at times witty.  Calton, one of the leading lawyers of the city, remarked that “Rolleston put him in mind of what Beaconsfield said of one of the personages in Lothair, ’He wasn’t an intellectual Croesus, but his pockets were always full of sixpences.’” Be it said in his favour that Felix was free with his sixpences.

The conversation, which had shown signs of languishing before his arrival, now brightened up.

“So awfully sorry, don’t you know,” said Felix, as he slipped into a seat by Madge; “but a fellow like me has got to be careful of his time—­so many calls on it.”

“So many calls in it, you mean,” retorted Madge, with a disbelieving smile.  “Confess, now, you have been paying a round of visits.”

“Well, yes,” assented Mr. Rolleston; “that’s the disadvantage of having a large circle of acquaintances.  They give you weak tea and thin bread and butter, whereas—­”

“You would rather have something else,” finished Brian.

There was a laugh at this, but Mr. Rolleston disdained to notice the interruption.

“The only advantage of five o’clock tea,” he went on, “is, that it brings people together, and one hears what’s going on.”

“Ah, yes, Rolleston,” said Mr. Frettlby, who was looking at him with an amused smile.  “What news have you?”

“Good news, bad news, and such news as you have never heard of,” quoted Rolleston gravely.  “Yes, I have a bit of news—­haven’t you heard it?”

Rolleston felt he held sensation in his hands.  There was nothing he liked better.

“Well, do you know,” he said, gravely fixing in his eyeglass, “they have found out the name of the fellow who was murdered in the hansom cab.”

“Never!” cried every one eagerly.

“Yes,” went on Rolleston, “and what’s more, you all know him.”

“It’s never Whyte?” said Brian, in a horrified tone.

“Hang it, how did you know?” said Rolleston, rather annoyed at being forestalled.  “Why, I just heard it at the St. Kilda station.”

“Oh, easily enough,” said Brian, rather confused.  “I used to meet Whyte constantly, and as I have not seen him for the last two weeks, I thought he might be the victim.”

“How did they find out?” asked Mr. Frettlby, idly toying with his wine-glass.

“Oh, one of those detective fellows, you know,” answered Felix.  “They know everything.”