He saw Madge go in, and then Brian, the latter turning and staring at him for a minute or so.

‘Ah!’ said Gorby to himself, relighting his pipe, ‘your conscience is a-smiting you, is it? Wait till you’re in gaol.’

Then the guests came out of the house and disappeared one by one, black figures in the moonlight, after kisses and handshaking. Shortly afterwards Brian came down the path with Frettlby by his side, and Madge hanging on to her father’s arm. Frettlby opened the gate, and held out his hand.

‘Goodnight, Fitzgerald,’ he said, in a hearty voice, ‘come down soon again.’

‘Goodnight, Brian, dearest,’ said Madge, kissing him, ‘and don’t forget tomorrow.’

Then father and daughter closed the gate, leaving Brian outside, and walked back to the house.

‘Ah!’ said Mr Gorby to himself, ‘if you only knew what I know, you wouldn’t be so precious kind to him.’

Brian walked along the Esplanade, and then crossing over, passed by Gorby and walked on till he was opposite the Esplanade Hotel. Then he leaned his arms on the fence, and, taking off his hat, enjoyed the calm beauty of the hour.

‘What a good-looking fellow,’ murmured Mr Gorby in a regretful tone. ‘I can hardly believe it of him, but the proofs are too clear.’

Such a still night, not a breath of wind stirring, for the breeze had long since died away, and Brian could see the white waves breaking on the yellow sands, the long narrow pier running out like a black thread into the sheet of gleaming silver, and away in the distance the long line of the Williamstown lights like a fairy illumination. Over all this fantastic scene of land and water was a sky such as Doré loved—great heavy masses of rain clouds heaped one on top of the other like the rocks the Titans piled to reach Olympus. Then a break in the white woof and a bit of dark blue sky could be seen glittering with stars, in the midst of which sailed the serene moon shedding down her cold light on the fantastical cloudland beneath, and giving to every one a silver lining. Such a weird bizarre sort of sky that Brian gazed up at it for several minutes, admiring the wonderful beauty of the broken masses of light and shadow, much to the annoyance of Mr Gorby, who had no eye for the picturesque. At last, with a sigh, Mr Fitzgerald withdrew his eyes from the contemplation of the marvellous, and, lighting a cigarette, walked down the steps on to the pier.

‘Suicide is it,’ muttered Mr Gorby to himself, as he saw the tall black figure striding resolutely on, a long way ahead. ‘Not if I can help it.’ So he lighted his pipe, and strolled down the pier in an apparently aimless manner.

He found Brian leaning over the parapet at the end of the pier and looking at the glittering waters beneath, which kept rising and falling in a dreamy rhythm, that soothed and charmed the ear. ‘Poor girl! poor girl!’ the detective heard him mutter as he came up. ‘If she only knew all! If she—’

At this moment he heard the approaching step, and turned round sharply. The detective saw that his face was ghastly pale in the moonlight, and his brows wrinkled angrily.

‘What the devil do you want?’ he burst out, as Gorby paused. ‘What do you mean by following me all over the place?’

‘Saw me watching the house,’ said Gorby to himself. ‘I’m not following you, sir,’ he said aloud. ‘I suppose the pier ain’t private property. I only came down here for a breath of fresh air.’

Fitzgerald did not answer, but turned sharply on his heel, and walked quickly up the pier, leaving Gorby staring after him.

‘He’s getting frightened,’ soliloquised the detective to himself, as he strolled easily along, keeping the black figure in front well in view. ‘I’ll have to keep a sharp eye on him or he’ll be clearing out of Victoria.’

Brian walked quickly up to the St Kilda station, for on looking at his watch he found that he would just have time to catch the last train. He arrived a few minutes before it started, so, getting into the smoking carriage at the near end of the platform, he lit a cigarette, and, leaning back in his seat, watched latecomers hurrying into the station. Just as the last bell rang he saw a man rush along, who seemed likely to miss the train. It was the same man who had been watching him the whole evening, and Brian felt confident that he was following him. He comforted himself, however, with the thought that his pertinacious follower would lose the train, and, being in the last carriage himself, he kept a lookout along the platform, expecting to see his friend of the Esplanade standing disappointed on it. There was no appearance of him, however, so Brian, sinking back into his seat, cursed his ill-luck in not having shaken off the man who kept him under such strict surveillance.

‘Damn him!’ he muttered softly. ‘I expect he will follow me to East Melbourne, and find out where I live, but he shan’t if I can help it.’

There was no one in the carriage except himself, at which he felt a sense of relief, for he was in that humour which comes on men sometimes of talking aloud to himself.

‘Murdered in a cab,’ he said, lighting a fresh cigarette, and blowing a cloud of smoke. ‘A romance in real life, which beats Miss Braddon hollow. There is one thing certain, he won’t come between Madge and me again. Poor Madge!’ with an impatient sigh. ‘If she only knew all, there would not be much chance of our marriage; but she can never find out, and I don’t suppose anyone else ever will.’

Here a sudden thought struck him, and, rising out of his seat, he walked to the other end of the carriage and threw himself on the cushions, as if desirous to escape from himself.

‘What grounds can that man have for suspecting me?’ he said aloud. ‘No one knows I was with Whyte on that night, and the police can’t possibly bring forward any evidence to show that I was. Pshaw!’ he went on, impatiently buttoning up his coat, ‘I am like a child, afraid of my shadow—the fellow on the pier is only someone out for a breath of fresh air, as he said himself—I am quite safe.’

All the same, he did not feel easy in his mind, and when the train arrived at the Melbourne station, he stepped out on to the platform with a shiver and a quick look round, as if he expected to feel the detective’s hand on his shoulder.