“I’m sorry to hear it,” said Frettlby, referring to the fact that Whyte was murdered.  “He had a letter of introduction to me, and seemed a clever, pushing young fellow.”

“A confounded cad,” muttered Felix, under his breath; and Brian, who overheard him, seemed inclined to assent.  For the rest of the meal nothing was talked about but the murder, and the mystery in which it was shrouded.  When the ladies retired they chatted about it in the drawingroom, but finally dropped it for more agreeable subjects.  The men, however, when the cloth Was removed, filled their glasses, and continued the discussion with unabated vigour.  Brian alone did not take part in the conversation.  He sat moodily staring at his untasted wine, wrapped in a brown study.

“What I can’t make out,” observed Rolleston, who was amusing himself with cracking nuts, “is why they did not find out who he was before.”

“That is not hard to answer,” said Frettlby, filling his—­glass.  “He was comparatively little known here, as he had been out from England such a short time, and I fancy that this was the only house at which he visited.”

“And look here, Rolleston,” said Calton, who was sitting near him, “if you were to find a man dead in a hansom cab, dressed in evening clothes—­which nine men out of ten are in the habit of wearing in the evening—­no cards in his pockets, and no name on his linen, I rather think you would find it hard to discover who he was.  I consider it reflects great credit on the police for finding out so quickly.”

“Puts one in mind of ‘The Leavenworth Case,’ and all that sort of thing,” said Felix, whose reading was of the lightest description.  “Awfully exciting, like putting a Chinese puzzle together.  Gad, I wouldn’t mind being a detective myself.”

“I’m afraid if that were the case,” said Mr. Frettlby, with an amused smile, “criminals would be pretty safe.”

“Oh, I don’t know so much about that,” answered Felix, shrewdly; “some fellows are like trifle at a party, froth on top, but something better underneath.”

“What a greedy simile,” said Calton, sipping his wine; “but I’m afraid the police will have a more difficult task in discovering the man who committed the crime.  In my opinion he’s a deuced clever fellow.”

“Then you don’t think he will be discovered?” asked Brian, rousing himself out of his brown study.

“Well, I don’t go as far as that,” rejoined Calton; “but he has certainly left no trace behind him, and even the Red Indian, in whom instinct for tracking is so highly developed, needs some sort of a trail to enable him to find out his enemies.  Depend upon it,” went on Calton, warming to his subject, “the man who murdered Whyte is no ordinary criminal; the place he chose for the committal of the crime was such a safe one.”

“Do you think so?” said Rolleston.  “Why, I should think that a hansom cab in a public street would be very unsafe.”