Kilsip was tall and slender; Gorby was short and stout.  Kilsip looked clever; Gorby wore a smile of self-satisfaction; which alone was sufficient to prevent his doing so.  Yet, singularly enough, it was this very smile that proved most useful to Gorby in the pursuit of his calling.  It enabled him to come at information where his sharp-looking colleague might try in vain.  The hearts of all went forth to Gorby’s sweet smile and insinuating manner.  But when Kilsip appeared people were wont to shut up, and to retire promptly, like alarmed snails, within their shells.  Gorby gave the lie direct to those who hold that the face is ever the index to the mind.  Kilsip, on the other hand, with his hawk-like countenance, his brilliant black eyes, hooked nose, and small thin-lipped mouth, endorsed the theory.  His complexion was quite colourless, and his hair was jet black.  Altogether, he could not be called fair to look upon.  His craft and cunning were of the snake-like order.  So long as he conducted his enquiries in secret he was generally successful; but once let him appear personally on the scene, and failure was assured to him.  Thus, while Kilsip passed as the cleverer, Gorby was invariably the more successful—­at all events, ostensibly.

When, therefore, this hansom cab murder case was put into Gorby’s hands, the soul of Kilsip was smitten with envy, and when Fitzgerald was arrested, and all the evidence collected by Gorby seemed to point so conclusively to his guilt, Kilsip writhed in secret over the triumph of his enemy.  Though he would only have been too glad to say that Gorby had got hold of the wrong man, yet the evidence was so conclusive that such a thought never entered his head until he received a note from Mr. Calton, asking him to call at his office that evening at eight o’clock, with reference to the murder.

Kilsip knew that Calton was counsel for the prisoner.  He guessed that he was wanted to follow up a clue.  And he determined to devote himself to whatever Calton might require of him, if only to prove Gorby to be wrong.  So pleased was he at the mere possibility of triumphing over his rival, that on casually meeting him, he stopped and invited him to drink.

The primary effect of his sudden and unusual hospitality was to arouse all Gorby’s suspicions; but on second thoughts, deeming himself quite a match for Kilsip, both mentally and physically, Gorby accepted the invitation.

“Ah!” said Kilsip, in his soft, low voice, rubbing his lean white hands together, as they sat over their drinks, “you’re a lucky man to have laid your hands on that hansom cab murderer so quickly.”

“Yes; I flatter myself I did manage it pretty well,” said Gorby, lighting his pipe.  “I had no idea that it would be so simple—­though, mind you, it required a lot of thought before I got a proper start.”

“I suppose you’re pretty sure he’s the man you want?” pursued Kilsip, softly, with a brilliant flash of his black eyes.