Mr. Calton sat in his office reading a letter he had just received from Fitzgerald, and judging from the complacent¹ smile upon his face it seemed to give him the greatest satisfaction.

“I know,” wrote Brian, “that now you have taken up the affair, you will not stop until you find out everything, so, as I want the matter to rest as at present, I will anticipate you, and reveal all. You were right in your conjecture² that I knew something likely to lead to the detection of Whyte’s murderer; but when I tell you my reasons for keeping such a thing secret, I am sure you will not blame me. Mind you, I do not say that I know who committed the murder; but I have suspicions — very strong suspicions — and I wish to God Rosanna Moore had died before she told me what she did. However, I will tell you all, and leave you to judge as to whether I was justified³ in concealing⁴ what I was told. I will call at your office some time next week, and then you will learn everything that Rosanna Moore told me; but once that you are possessed⁵ of the knowledge you will pity me.”

“Most extraordinary,” mused⁶ Calton, leaning back in his chair, as he laid down the letter. “I wonder if he’s about to tell me that he killed Whyte after all, and that Sal Rawlins perjured⁷ herself to save him! No, that’s nonsense, or she’d have turned up in better time, and wouldn’t have risked his neck up to the last moment. Though I make it a rule never to be surprised at anything, I expect what Brian Fitzgerald has to tell me will startle me considerably⁸. I’ve never met with such an extraordinary case, and from all appearances the end isn’t reached yet. After all,” said Mr. Calton, thoughtfully, “truth is stranger than fiction.”

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