, guessing at once that it was the missing
bottle.

"Exactly," said Kilsip, replacing it. "This was the bottle which
contained the poison used by--by--well, call him the murderer. The name
of the chemist being on the label, I went to him and found out who
bought it. Now, who do you think?" with a look of triumph.

"Frettlby," said Calton, decidedly.

"No, Moreland," burst out Chinston, greatly excited.

"Neither," retorted the detective, calmly. "The man who purchased this
was Oliver Whyte himself."

"Himself?" echoed Brian, now thoroughly surprised, as, indeed were all
the others.

"Yes. I had no trouble in finding out that, thanks to the 'Poisons
Act.' As I knew no one would be so foolish as to carry chloroform about
in his pocket for any length of time, I mentioned the day of the murder
as the probable date it was bought. The chemist turned up in his book,
and found that Whyte was the purchaser."

"And what did he buy it for?" asked Chinston.

"That's more than I can tell you," said Kilsip, with a shrug of his
shoulders. "It's down in the book as being bought for medicinal uses,
which may mean anything."

"The law requires a witness," observed Calton, cautiously. "Who was the
witness?"

Again Kilsip smiled triumphantly.

"I think I can guess," said Fitzgerald. "Moreland?"

Kilsip nodded.

"And I suppose," remarked Calton, in a slightly sarcastic tone, "that
is another of your proofs against Moreland. He knew that Whyte had
chloroform on him, therefore he followed him that night and murdered
him?"

"Well, I--"

"It's a lot of nonsense," said the barrister, impatiently. "There's
nothing against Moreland to implicate him. If he killed Whyte, what
made him go and see Frettlby?"

"But," said Kilsip, sagely nodding his head, "if, as Moreland Bays, he
had Whyte's coat in his possession before the murder how is it that I
should discover it afterwards up a fir-tree in the Fitzroy Gardens,
with an empty chloroform bottle in the pocket."

"He may have been an accomplice," suggested Calton.

"What's the good of all this conjecturing?" said Chinston, impatiently,
now thoroughly tired of the discussion. "Read the confession, and we
will soon know the truth, without all this talk."

Calton assented, and all having settled themselves to listen, he began
to read what the dead man had written.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE CONFESSION.

"What I am now about to write is set forth by me so that the true
ci