Calton was a man who practised what he preached.  He believed Kilsip to have that feline nature, which likes to be stroked, to be made much of, and he paid him these little attentions, knowing full well they would bear their fruit.  He also knew that Kilsip entertained no friendly feeling for Gorby, that, in fact, he bore him hatred, and he determined that this feeling which existed between the two men, should serve him to the end he had in view.

“I suppose,” he said, leaning back in his chair, and watching the wreaths of blue smoke curling from his cigar, “I suppose you know all the ins and the outs of the hansom cab murder?”

“I should rather think so,” said Kilsip, with a curious light in his queer eyes.  “Why, Gorby does nothing but brag about it, and his smartness in catching the supposed murderer!”

“Aha!” said Calton, leaning forward, and putting his arms on the table.  “Supposed murderer.  Eh!  Does that mean that he hasn’t been convicted by a jury, or that you think that Fitzgerald is innocent?”

Kilsip stared hard at the lawyer, in a vague kind of way, slowly rubbing his hands together.

“Well,” he said at length, in a deliberate manner, “before I got your note, I was convinced Gorby had got hold of the right man, but when I heard that you wanted to see me, and knowing you are defending the prisoner, I guessed that you must have found something in his favour which you wanted me to look after.”

“Right!” said Calton, laconically.

“As Mr. Fitzgerald said he met Whyte at the corner and hailed the cab—­” went on the detective.

“How do you know that?” interrupted Calton, sharply.

“Gorby told me.”

“How the devil did he find out?” cried the lawyer, with genuine surprise.

“Because he is always poking and prying about,” said Kilsip, forgetting, in his indignation, that such poking and prying formed part of detective business.  “But, at any rate,” he went on quickly, “if Mr. Fitzgerald did leave Mr. Whyte, the only chance he’s got of proving his innocence is that he did not come back, as the cabman alleged.”

“Then, I suppose, you think that Fitzgerald will prove an alibi,” said Calton.

“Well, sir,” answered Kilsip, modestly, “of course you know more about the case than I do, but that is the only defence I can see he can make.”

“Well, he’s not going to put in such a defence.”

“Then he must be guilty,” said Kilsip, promptly.

“Not necessarily,” returned the barrister, drily.

“But if he wants to save his neck, he’ll have to prove an alibi,” persisted the other.

“That’s just where the point is,” answered Calton.  “He doesn’t want to save his neck.”

Kilsip, looking rather bewildered, took a sip of whisky, and waited to hear what Mr. Calton had to say.

“The fact is,” said Calton, lighting a fresh cigar, “he has some extraordinary idea in his head.  He refuses absolutely to say where he was on that night.”