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 pocket-book.
"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 do you think you can do that?"
"Depends upon this letter," said Calton, enigmatically, tapping his pocket-book with his finger. "I'll tell you to-morrow."
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 XIV.
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
