“Not bein’ a blue ribbing all the same,” answered Mrs. Sampson; “and I never saw him the wuss for drink, ’e being allays able to use his latch-key, and take ’is boots off afore going to bed, which is no more than a woman ought to expect from a lodger, she ‘avin’ to do ’er own washin’.”

“And he keeps good hours?”

“Allays in afore the clock strikes twelve,” answered the landlady; “tho’, to be sure, I uses it as a figger of speech, none of the clocks in the ‘ouse strikin’ but one, which is bein’ mended, ‘avin’ broke through overwindin’.”

“Is he always in before twelve?” asked Mr. Gorby, keenly disappointed at this answer.

Mrs. Sampson eyed him waggishly, and a smile crept over her wrinkled little face.

“Young men, not bein’ old men,” she replied, cautiously, “and sinners not bein’ saints, it’s not nattral as latch-keys should be made for ornament instead of use, and Mr. Fitzgerald bein’ one of the ’andsomest men in Melbourne, it ain’t to be expected as ’e should let ’is latch-key git rusty, tho’ ‘avin’ a good moral character, ’e uses it with moderation.”

“But I suppose you are seldom awake when he comes in really late,” said the detective.

“Not as a rule,” assented Mrs. Sampson; “bein’ a ’eavy sleeper, and much disposed for bed, but I ’ave ’eard ’im come in arter twelve, the last time bein’ Thursday week.”

“Ah!” Mr. Gorby drew a long breath, for Thursday week was the night upon which the murder was committed.

“Bein’ troubled with my ‘ead,” said Mrs. Sampson, “thro’ ‘avin’ been out in the sun all day a-washin’, I did not feel so partial to my bed that night as in general, so went down to the kitching with the intent of getting a linseed poultice to put at the back of my ’ead, it being calculated to remove pain, as was told to me, when a nuss, by a doctor in the horspital, ‘e now bein’ in business for hisself, at Geelong, with a large family, ‘avin’ married early.  Just as I was leavin’ the kitching I ‘eard Mr. Fitzgerald a-comin’ in, and, turnin’ round, looked at the clock, that ‘avin’ been my custom when my late ’usband came in, in the early mornin’, I bein’ a-preparin’ ’is meal.”

“And the time was?” asked Mr. Gorby, breathlessly.

“Five minutes to two o’clock,” replied Mrs. Sampson.  Mr. Gorby thought for a moment.

“Cab was hailed at one o’clock—­started for St. Kilda at about ten minutes past—­reached Grammar School, say, at twenty-five minutes past—­Fitzgerald talks five minutes to cabman, making it half-past—­say, he waited ten minutes for other cab to turn up, makes it twenty minutes to two—­it would take another twenty minutes to get to East Melbourne—­and five minutes to walk up here—­that makes it five minutes past two instead of before—­confound it.  ’Was your clock in the kitchen right?’” he asked, aloud.

“Well, I think so,” answered Mrs. Sampson.  “It does get a little slow sometimes, not ‘avin’ been cleaned for some time, which my nevy bein’ a watchmaker I allays ’ands it over to ’im.”