"That they are your friends, and are quite safe, is nothing to me," said Moreland, insolently. "I wish to speak with you in private."
"Don't you think you would like to know my friends?" said Calton, coolly, taking no notice of his remark.
"D— your friends, sir!" cried Moreland, furiously, rising from his seat.
Calton laughed, and introduced Mr. Moreland to the others.
"Dr. Chinston, Mr. Kilsip, and—Mr. Fitzgerald."
"Fitzgerald!" gasped Moreland, growing pale. "I—I—what's that?" he shrieked, as he saw Whyte's coat, all weather-stained, lying on a chair near him, and which he immediately recognized.
"That is the rope that's going to hang you," said Kilsip, quietly, coming behind him, "for the murder of Oliver Whyte."
"Trapped, by G—!" said the wretched man, wheeling round so as to face Kilsip. He sprang at the detective's throat, and they both rolled together on the floor, but the latter was too strong for him, and, after a sharp struggle, he succeeded in getting the handcuffs on Moreland's wrists. The others stood around perfectly quiet, knowing that Kilsip required no assistance. Now that there was no possibility of escape, Moreland seemed to become resigned, and rose sullenly off the floor.
"By G—! I'll make you pay for this," he hissed between his teeth, with a white, despairing face. "You can't prove anything."
"Can't we?" said Calton, touching the confession. "You are wrong. This is the confession of Mark Frettlby, made before he died."
"It's a d—d lie."
"A jury will decide that," said the barrister, dryly. "Meanwhile you will pass the night in the Melbourne gaol."
"Ah! perhaps they'll give me the same cell as you occupied," said Moreland, with a hard laugh, turning to Fitzgerald. "I should like it for its old associations."
Brian did not answer him, but, picking up his hat and gloves, prepared to go.
"Stop!" cried Moreland, fiercely. "I see that it is all up with me, so I'm not going to lie like a coward. I've
