"I understand; you
think Moreland was not so drunk as he would make out, and that after
following Whyte outside, he put on his coat, and got into the cab with
him."

"That is my theory."

"It's ingenious enough," said the barrister; "but why should Moreland
murder Whyte? What motive had he?"

"Those papers--"

"Pshaw! another idea of Gorby's," said Calton, angrily. "How do you
know there were any papers?"

The fact is, Calton did not intend Kilsip to know that Whyte really had
papers until he heard what Fitzgerald had to tell him.

"And another thing," said Calton, resuming his walk, "if your theory is
correct, which I don't think it is, what became of Whyte's coat? Has
Moreland got it?"

"No, he has not," answered the detective, decisively.

"You seem very positive about it," said the lawyer, after a moment's
pause. "Did you ask Moreland about it?"

A reproachful look came into Kilsip's white face.

"Not quite so green," he said, forcing a smile. "I thought you'd a
better opinion of me than that, Mr. Calton. Ask him?--no."

"Then how did you find out?"

"The fact is, Moreland is employed as a barman in the Kangaroo Hotel."

"A barman!" echoed Calton; "and he came out here as a gentleman of
independent fortune. Why, hang it, man, that in itself is sufficient to
prove that he had no motive to murder Whyte. Moreland pretty well lived
on Whyte, so what could have induced him to kill his golden goose, and
become a barman--pshaw! the idea is absurd."

"Well, you may be right about the matter," said Kilsip, rather angrily;
"and if Gorby makes mistakes I don't pretend to be infallible. But, at
all events, when I saw Moreland in the bar he wore a silver ring on the
forefinger of his right hand."

"Silver isn't a diamond."

"No; but it shows that was the finger he was accustomed to wear his
ring on. When I saw that, I determined to search his room. I managed to
do so while he was out, and found--"

"A mare's nest?"

Kilsip nodded.

"And so your castle of cards falls to the ground," said Calton,
jestingly. "Your idea is absurd. Moreland no more committed the murder
than I did. Why, he was too drunk on that night to do anything."

"Humph--so he says."

"Well, men don't calumniate themselves for nothing."

"It was a lesser danger to avert a greater one," replied Kilsip,
coolly. "I am sure that Moreland was not drunk on that night. He only
said so to escape awkward questions as to his movements. Depend