"I tell you no," said Calton, vehemently. "God knows I would like to
preserve Mark Frettlby's good name, and it is with this object I have
brought you all together. I will read the confession, and when you know
the truth, I want you all to keep silent about it, as Mark Frettlby is
dead, and the publication of his crime can do no good to anyone."
"I know," resumed Calton, addressing the detective, "that you are fully
convinced in your own mind that you are right and I am wrong, but what
if I tell you that Mark Frettlby died holding those very papers for the
sake of which the crime was committed?"
Kilsip's face lengthened considerably.
"What were the papers?"
"The marriage certificate of Mark Frettlby and Rosanna Moore, the woman
who died in the back slum."
Kilsip was not often astonished; but he was so now. And Dr. Chinston
fell back in his chair, staring at the barrister in blank amazement.
"And what's more," went on Calton, triumphantly, "do you know that
Moreland went to Frettlby two nights ago and obtained a certain sum for
hush-money?"
"What!" cried Kilsip.
"Yes, Moreland, in coming out of the hotel, evidently saw Frettlby, and
threatened to expose him unless he paid for his silence."
"Very strange," murmured Kilsip, to himself, with a disappointed look
on his face. "But why did Moreland keep still so long?"
"I cannot tell you," replied Calton, "but, no doubt, the confession
will explain all.
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