"Well, you may be right about the matter," said Kilsip, rather angrily; "and if Gorby makes mistakes I don't pretend to be infallible. But, at all events, when I saw Moreland in the bar he wore a silver ring on the forefinger of his right hand." "Silver isn't a diamond." "No; but it shows that was the finger he was accustomed to wear his ring on. When I saw that, I determined to search his room. I managed to do so while he was out, and found--" "A mare's nest?" Kilsip nodded. "And so your castle of cards falls to the ground," said Calton, jestingly. "Your idea is absurd. Moreland no more committed the murder than I did. Why, he was too drunk on that night to do anything." "Humph--so he says." "Well, men don't calumniate themselves for nothing." "It was a lesser danger to avert a greater one," replied Kilsip, coolly. "I am sure that Moreland was not drunk on that night. He only said so to escape awkward questions as to his movements. Depend upon it he knows more than he lets out." "Well, and how do you intend to set about the matter?" "I shall start looking for the coat first." "Ah! you think he has hidden it?" "I am sure of it. My theory is this. When Moreland got out of the cab at Powlett Street--" "But he didn't," interrupted Calton, angrily. "Let us suppose, for the sake of argument, that he did," said Kilsip, quietly. "I say when he left the cab he walked up Powlett Street, turned to the left down George Street, and walked back to town through the Fitzroy Gardens, then, knowing that the coat was noticeable, he threw it away, or rather, hid it, and walked out of the Gardens through the town--" "In evening dress--more noticeable than the coat." "He wasn't in evening dress," said Kilsip, quietly. "No, neither was he," observed Calton, eagerly, recalling the evidence at the trial. "Another blow to your theory. The murderer was in evening dress--the cabman said so." "Yes; because he had seen Mr. Fitzgerald in evening dress a few minutes before, and thought that he was the same man who got into the cab with Whyte." "Well, what of that?" "If you remember, the second man had his coat buttoned up. Moreland wore dark trousers--at least, I suppose so--and, with the coat buttoned up, it was easy for the cabman to make the mistake, believing, as he did, that it was Mr. Fitzgerald." "That sounds better," said Calton, thoughtfully. "And what are you going to do?" "Look for the coat in the Fitzroy Gardens." "Pshaw! a wild goose chase." "Possibly," said Kilsip, as he arose to go. "And when shall I see you again?" said Calton. "Oh, to-night," said Kilsip, pausing at, the door. "I had nearly forgotten, Mother Guttersnipe wants to see you." "Why? What's up?" "She's dying, and wants to tell you some secret." "Rosanna Moore, by Jove!" said Calton. "She'll tell me something about her. I'll get to the bottom of this yet. All right, I'll be here at eight o'clock." "Very well, sir!" and the detective glided out.