Then Mr. Gorby saw Madge and Brian come out on to the verandah, and heard in the stillness of the night, a sound weird and unearthly.  It was Miss Featherweight singing.  He saw Madge go in, shortly followed by Brian.  The latter turned and stared at him for a moment.

“Ah,” said Gorby to himself as he re-lit his pipe; “your conscience is a-smiting you, is it?  Wait a bit, my boy, till I have you in gaol.”

Then the guests came out of the house, and their black figures disappeared one by one from the moonlight as they shook hands and said good-night.

Shortly after Brian came down the path with Frettlby at his side, and Madge hanging on her father’s arm.  Frettlby opened the gate and held out his hand.

“Good-night, Fitzgerald,” he said, in a hearty voice; “come soon again.”

“Good-night, Brian, dearest,” said Madge, kissing him, “and don’t forget to-morrow.”

Then father and daughter closed the gate, leaving Brian outside, and walked back to the house.

“Ah!” said Mr. Gorby to himself, “if you only knew what I know, you wouldn’t be so precious kind to him.”

Brian strolled along the Esplanade, and crossing over, passed by Gorby and walked on till he was opposite the Esplanade Hotel.  Then he leaned his arms on the fence, and, taking off his hat, enjoyed the calm beauty of the hour.

“What a good-looking fellow,” murmured Mr. Gorby, in a regretful tone.  “I can hardly believe it of him, but the proofs are too clear.”

The night was perfectly still.  Not a breath of wind stirred, for what breeze there had been had long since died away.  But

Brian could see the white wavelets breaking lightly on the sands.  The long narrow pier ran out like a black thread into the sheet of gleaming silver, and away in the distance the line of the Williamstown lights sparkled like some fairy illumination.

Over all this placid scene of land and water was a sky such as Dore loved—­a great heavy mass of rain-clouds heaped one on top of the other, as the rocks the Titans piled to reach Olympus.  Then a break in the woof, and a bit of dark blue sky could be seen glittering with stars, in the midst of which sailed the serene moon, shedding down her light on the cloudland beneath, giving to it all, one silver lining.

Somewhat to the annoyance of Mr. Gorby, who had no eye for the picturesque, Brian gazed at the sky for several minutes, admiring the wonderful beauty of its broken masses of light and shade.  At length he lit a cigarette and walked down the steps on to the pier.

“Oh, suicide, is it?” muttered Mr. Gorby.  “Not if I can help it.”  And he lit his pipe and followed him.

He found Brian leaning over the parapet at the end of the pier, looking at the glittering waters beneath, which kept rising and falling in a dreamy rhythm, that soothed and charmed the ear.  “Poor girl! poor girl!” the detective heard him mutter as he came up.  “If she only knew all!  If she—­”