"Nothing new, and nothing true, and no matter," said Calton, quoting
Emerson. "And what have you come to see me about?"
"The Hansom Cab Murder," replied the other quietly.
"The deuce!" cried Calton, startled out of his professional dignity.
"And have you found out who did it?"
"No!" answered Kilsip, rather dismally; "but I have, an idea."
"So had Gorby," retorted Calton, dryly, "an idea that ended in smoke.
Have you any practical proofs?"
"Not yet."
"That means you are going to get some?"
"If possible."
"Much virtue in 'if,'" quoted Calton, picking up a pencil, and
scribbling idly on his blotting paper. "And to whom does your suspicion
point?"
"Aha!" said Mr. Kilsip, cautiously.
"Don't know him," answered the other, coolly; "family name Humbug, I
presume. Bosh! Whom do you suspect?"
Kilsip looked round cautiously, as if to make sure they were alone, and
then said, in a stage whisper--
"Roger Moreland!"
"That was the young man that gave evidence as to how Whyte got drunk?"
Kilsip nodded.
"Well, and how do you connect him with the murder?"
"Do you remember in the evidence given by the cabmen, Royston and
Rankin, they both swore that the man who was with Whyte on that night
wore a diamond ring on the forefinger of the right hand?"
"What of that? Nearly every second man in Melbourne wears a diamond
ring?"
"But not on the forefinger of the right hand.
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