The Mystery of a Hansom Cab (12 page)

‘Well! well!' said Calton, rather impatiently, as he opened the door for her. ‘Leave us for a short time, there's a good soul, Miss Frettlby and I want to have
a rest, and we will ring for you when we are going.'

‘Thank you, sir,' said the lachrymose landlady, ‘an' I 'opes they won't 'ang 'im, which is sich a choky way of dyin', but in life we are in death,' she went on, rather incoherently. ‘As is well known to them as 'as diseases, and may be corpsed at any minute, and as—'

Here, Calton, unable to restrain his impatience any longer, shut the door, and they heard Mrs Sampson's shrill voice and subdued cracklings die away in the distance.

‘Now then,' he said, ‘now that we have got rid of that woman and her tongue, where are we to begin?'

‘The desk,' replied Madge, going over to it. ‘It's the most likely place.'

‘Don't think so,' said Calton, shaking his head. ‘If, as you say, Fitzgerald is a careless man, he would not have troubled to put it there. However, perhaps we'd better look.'

The desk was very untidy—‘Just like Brian,' as Madge remarked—full of paid and unpaid bills, old letters, playbills, ball programmes, and several withered flowers. ‘Reminiscences of former flirtations,' said Calton, with a laugh, pointing to these.

‘I should not wonder,' retorted Miss Frettlby, coolly. ‘Brian always was in love with someone or another. But you know what Lytton says, “There are many counterfeits, but only one Eros,” so I can afford
to forget these things.'

The letter, however, was not to be found in the desk, nor was it in the sitting-room; they tried the bedroom, but with no better result; so Madge was nearly giving up the search in despair, when suddenly Calton's eye fell on the wastepaper basket, which, by some unaccountable reason, they had overlooked in their search. The basket was half full, in fact more than half, and, on looking at it, a sudden thought struck the lawyer. He rang the bell, and, presently, Mrs Sampson made her appearance.

‘How long has that wastepaper basket been standing like that?' he asked, pointing to it.

‘It bein' the only fault I 'ad to find with 'im,' said Mrs Sampson, ‘'e bein' that untidy that 'e never let me clean it out until 'e told me pussonlly. 'E said as 'ow 'e throwed things into it as 'e might 'ave to look up again; an' I 'aven't touched it for more nor six weeks, 'opin' you won't think me a bad 'ousekeeper, it bein' 'is own wish, bein' fond of litter an' sich like.'

‘Six weeks,' repeated Calton, with a look at Madge. ‘Ah, and he got the letter four weeks ago, depend upon it, we shall find it there.'

Madge gave a cry, and, falling on her knees, emptied the basket out on the floor, and both she and Calton were soon as busy among the fragments of paper, as though they were rag pickers.

‘'Opin' they ain't orf their 'eads,' murmured Mrs Sampson, as she went to the door, ‘but it looks like it,
they bein'—'

Suddenly a cry broke from Madge, as she drew out of the mass of paper a half-burnt letter, written on thick and creamy-looking paper.

‘At last,' she cried, rising off her knees, and smoothing it out, ‘I knew he had not destroyed it.'

‘Pretty nearly, however,' said Calton, as his eye glanced rapidly over it, ‘it's almost useless as it is, seeing there's no name to it.'

He took it over to the window and spread it out on the table. It was dirty, and half burnt, but still it was a clue.

The following is a
facsimile
of the letter:—

‘There is not much to be gained from that I'm afraid,' said Madge, sadly. ‘It shows that he had an appointment—but where?'

Calton did not answer, but, leaning his head on his hands, stared hard at the paper. At last, he jumped up with a cry—

‘I have it,' he said, in an excited tone. ‘Look at that paper, see how creamy and white it is, and, above all, look at the printing in the corner, “—OT VILLA, TOORAK.”'

‘Then he went down to Toorak?'

‘In an hour, and back again—hardly.'

‘Then it was not written from Toorak?'

‘No, it was written in one of the Melbourne back slums.'

‘How do you know?'

‘Look at the girl who brought it,' said Calton, quickly. ‘A disreputable woman, one far more likely to come from the back slums than Toorak. As to the paper, three months ago there was a robbery at Toorak, and this is some of the paper that was stolen by the thieves.'

Madge said nothing, but her sparkling eyes and nervous trembling of the hands showed her excitement.

‘I will see a detective this evening,' said Calton, exultingly, ‘find out where this letter came from, and go and see who wrote it. We'll save him yet,' he said, placing the precious letter carefully in his pocketbook.

‘You think that you will be able to find the woman who wrote that?'

‘Hum,' said the lawyer, looking thoughtful, ‘she may be dead, as the letter says she is in a dying condition. However, if I can find the woman who delivered the letter at the club, and who waited for Fitzgerald at the corner of Bourke and Russell streets, that will be sufficient. All I want to prove is that he was not in the hansom cab with Whyte.'

‘And you think you can do that?'

‘Depends upon this letter,' said Calton, enigmatically tapping his pocketbook with his finger. ‘I'll tell you tomorrow.'

Shortly afterwards they left the house, and when Calton put Madge safely into the St Kilda train, her heart felt lighter than it had done since Fitzgerald's arrest.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ANOTHER RICHMOND IN THE FIELD

There is an old adage that ‘like draws to like,' and the antithesis of this would probably be that unlike keeps as far away from unlike as it possibly can. Sometimes, however, Fate, who seems to take a malignant pleasure in worrying humanity, throws them together, and the result is an eternal conflict between the uncongenial elements.

Mr Gorby was a very clever detective, and got on well with everyone with the exception of Kilsip; the latter on the other hand was equally as clever in his own way, and was a favourite with everyone but Gorby. One was fire and the other water, so when they came together there was sure to be trouble. Kilsip, in his
outward appearance, was quite different from Gorby, being tall and slender, whereas the other was short and stout. Kilsip was dark and clever-looking, Gorby was not, his face wearing a complacent and satisfied smile, which one would not expect to find on the features of a man who was looked upon as such a clever detective. But it was this very smile that was Mr Gorby's greatest aid in getting information, as people were more ready to tell a kindly and apparently simple man like him all they knew, than a sharp-looking fellow like Kilsip, whose ears and eyes seemed always on the alert. The hearts of all went forth to Gorby's sweet smile and insinuating manner, but when Kilsip appeared everyone shut up like an oyster, and each retired promptly into his or her shell like an alarmed snail.

The face is not always the index of the mind, in spite of the saying to that effect, and the student of Lavater is not invariably right in his readings of character by means of the features. The only thing sharp about Mr Gorby's appearance was his keen little grey eyes, which he knew how to use so well, and a glance from which startled any unsuspecting person, who had been beguiled by the complacent smile and sweet manner. Kilsip, on the contrary, had one of those hawk-like faces, which always seem seeking for prey, with brilliant black eyes, hooked nose, and small thin-lipped mouth. His complexion was quite colourless, and his hair jet black, so that with his tall, slender figure, and snake-like movements, he was hardly a pleasant object
to look upon. He also possessed in a great measure, the craft and cunning of the snake, and as long as he conducted his movements in secret, was successful, but once he appeared personally on the scene his strange looks seemed to warn people that they might be too communicative.

So taking things all round, although Kilsip was the cleverer of the two, yet Gorby, owing to his physical advantages, was the more successful. They each had their followers and admirers, but both men cordially detested one another, seldom meeting without a quarrel. When Gorby, therefore, had the hansom cab murder case put into his 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 have said Gorby had got a hold of the wrong man, yet the evidence was so conclusive that such a thought had 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 hansom cab murder. Kilsip knew that Calton was counsel for the prisoner, and instantly guessed that a clue had been discovered, which he was wanted to follow up, and which might prove the prisoner's innocence. Full of this idea he had determined to devote himself, heart and soul, to whatever Calton wanted
him to do, and if he only could prove Gorby wrong, what a triumph it would be. He was so pleased with the possibility of such a thing that accidentally meeting his rival, he asked him to have a glass. As such a thing had not occurred before, Gorby was somewhat suspicious of such sudden hospitality, but as he flattered himself that he was more than a match for Kilsip, both mentally and physically, he accepted the invitation.

‘Ah!' said Kilsip, in his soft low voice, rubbing his lean, white hands together, as they sat over their drinks, ‘you are 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.

‘Pretty sure, indeed!' retorted Mr Gorby scornfully, ‘there ain't no pretty sure about it. I'd take my Bible oath he's the man. He and Whyte hated one another. He says to Whyte, “I'll kill you if I've got to do it in the open street.” He meets Whyte drunk, a fact which he acknowledges himself; he clears out, and the cabman swears he comes back, then he gets into the cab with a living man, and when he comes out leaves a dead one; he drives to East Melbourne and gets into the house at a time which his landlady can prove—just the time that
a cab would take to drive from the grammar school on the St Kilda Road. If you ain't a fool, Kilsip, you'll see as there's no doubt about it.'

‘It looks all square enough,' said Kilsip, who wondered what evidence Calton could have found to contradict such a plain statement. ‘And what's his defence?'

‘Mr Calton's the only man as knows that,' answered Gorby, finishing his drink, ‘but clever and all as he is, he can't put anything in, that can go against my evidence.'

‘Don't you be too sure of that,' sneered Kilsip, whose soul was devoured with envy.

‘Oh! but I am,' retorted Gorby, getting red as a turkey cock at the sneer. ‘You're jealous you are, because you haven't got a finger in the pie!'

‘Ah! but I may have yet.'

‘Going a-hunting yourself, are you?' said Gorby, with an indignant snort. ‘A-hunting for what—for a man as is already caught?'

‘I don't believe you've got the right man,' remarked Kilsip, deliberately.

Mr Gorby looked upon him with a smile of pity.

‘No, of course you don't, just because I've caught him; perhaps, when you see him hanged, you'll believe it then?'

‘You're a smart man, you are,' retorted Kilsip, ‘but you ain't the Pope to be infallible.'

‘And what ground have you for saying he's not the right man?' demanded Gorby.

Kilsip smiled, and stole softly across the room like a cat.

‘I'm not going to tell you all I know, but you ain't so safe nor clever as you think,' and, with another irritating smile, he went out.

Mr Gorby stared after him in indignant surprise. The fact is, Kilsip had believed firmly that Fitzgerald was the right man, but a doubt having been put into his mind by Calton, he thought he would irritate Gorby by these insinuations, though he himself knew nothing that could justify them.

‘He's a cat and a snake,' said Gorby, to himself, when the door had closed on his brother detective, ‘but it's only brag; there isn't a link missing in the chain of evidence against Fitzgerald, so I defy him to do his worst.'

At eight o'clock on that night the soft-footed and soft-voiced detective presented himself at Calton's office, and found the lawyer impatiently waiting for him. Kilsip closed the door softly, and then taking a seat opposite to Calton, waited for him to speak. The lawyer, however, first handed him a cigar, and then producing a bottle of whisky and two glasses from some mysterious recess, he filled one and pushed it towards the detective.

Kilsip accepted these little attentions with the utmost gravity, yet they were not without their effect
on him, as the keen-eyed lawyer saw. Calton was a great believer in diplomacy, and never lost an opportunity of inculcating it into young men starting in life. ‘Diplomacy,' said Calton, to one young aspirant for legal honours, ‘is the oil we cast on the troubled waters of social, professional, and political life; and if you can, by a little tact, manage mankind, you are pretty certain to get on in this world.' Of course, he practised what he preached, and knowing that Kilsip had that feline nature which likes to be stroked and made much of, he paid him these little attentions, which he well knew would make the detective willing to do everything in his power to help him. Calton also knew the dislike that Kilsip entertained for Gorby, and so, by dexterous management, he calculated upon twisting him, clever as he was, round his finger, and, as subsequent events showed, he had not reckoned wrongly. Having thus got him into a sympathetic frame of mind, and in a humour to bend his best energies to the work he wanted him to do, Calton started the conversation.

‘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 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 do 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 a 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 out something in his favour which you want 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, dryly.

‘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 on the subject.

‘The fact is,' said Calton, lighting a fresh cigar, ‘he's got some extraordinary idea in his head about keeping where he was on that night secret.'

‘I understand,' said Kilsip, gravely nodding his head. ‘Women?'

‘Nothing of the sort,' retorted Calton, hastily. ‘That's what I thought at first, but I was wrong; he went to see a dying woman who wanted to tell him something.'

‘What about?'

‘That's just what I can't tell you,' answered Calton quickly. ‘It must have been something important, for she sent for him in great haste—and he was by her bedside between the hours of one and two on Friday morning.'

‘Then he did not return to the cab?'

‘No, he did not, he went to keep his appointment, but for some reason or another, won't tell where this appointment was. I went to his rooms today and found this half-burnt letter, asking him to come.'

Calton handed the letter to Kilsip, who placed it on the table, and examined it carefully.

‘This was written on Thursday,' said the detective.

‘Of course—you can see that from the date, and Whyte was murdered on Friday the 27th.'

‘It was written at something Villa Toorak,' pursued Kilsip, still examining the paper. ‘Oh! I understand, he went down there.'

‘Hardly,' retorted Calton in a sarcastic tone. ‘He couldn't very well go down there, have an interview, and be back in East Melbourne in one hour—the cabman Royston can prove that he was at Russell Street at one o'clock, and his landlady, that he entered his lodging in East Melbourne at two—no, he wasn't at Toorak.'

‘When was this letter delivered?'

‘Shortly before twelve o'clock, at the Melbourne Club, by a girl, who, from what the waiter saw of her, appears to be a disreputable individual—you will see it says bearer will await him at Bourke Street, and as another street is mentioned, and as Fitzgerald, after leaving Whyte, went down Russell Street to keep his appointment, the most logical conclusion is, that
the bearer of the letter waited for him at the corner of Bourke and Russell streets. Now,' went on the lawyer, ‘I want to find out who the girl that brought the letter is!'

‘But how?'

‘God bless my soul, Kilsip! How stupid you are,' cried Calton, his irritation getting the better of diplomacy. ‘Can't you understand—that paper came from one of the back slums—therefore, it must have been stolen.'

A sudden light flashed into Kilsip's eyes.

‘Talbot Villa, Toorak,' he cried quickly, snatching up the letter again, and examining it with great attention, ‘where that burglary took place.'

‘Exactly,' said Calton smiling complacently. ‘Now do you understand what I want—you must take me to the crib in the back slums where the articles stolen from the house in Toorak were hidden. This paper'—pointing to the letter—‘is part of the swag left behind, and must have been used by someone there. Brian Fitzgerald obeyed the directions given in the letter, and he was there at the time of the murder.'