Free The Mystery of a Hansom Cab by Fergus Hume Page A

alaugh when they were safely outside, ‘she’s been taught by the best masters.’
    â€˜How I pity them,’ retorted Brian, grimly, as Julia wailed out “Meet me once again” with an ear-piercing shrillness, ‘I’d much rather listen to our ancestral Banshee, and as to meeting her again, one interview would be more than enough.’
    Madge did not answer, but leaning lightly over the high rail of the verandah looked out into the beautiful moonlight night. There were a number of people passing along the Esplanade, some of which stopped and listened to Julia’s shrill notes, which, being mellowed by distance, must have sounded rather nice. One man in particular seemed to have a taste for music, for he persistently stared over the fence at the house. Brian and Madge talked of all sorts of things, but every time Madge looked up she saw the man watching the house.
    â€˜What does that man want, Brian?’ she asked.
    â€˜What man?’ asked Brian, starting. ‘Oh,’ he went on indifferently as the man moved away from the gate and crossed the road on to the footpath, ‘he’s taken up with the music, I suppose, that’s all.’
    Madge did not say anything, but could not help thinking there was more in it than the music. Presently Julia ceased, and she proposed to go in.
    â€˜Why?’ asked Brian, who was lying back in a comfortable seat, smoking a cigarette, ‘it’s nice enough here.’
    â€˜I must attend to my guests,’ she answered, rising,‘you stop here and finish your cigarette,’ and with a gay laugh she flitted into the house like a shadow.
    Brian sat and smoked, staring out into the moonlight meanwhile. Yes, the man was certainly watching the house, for he sat on one of the seats and kept his eyes fixed on the brilliantly lighted windows. Brian threw away his cigarette and shivered slightly.
    â€˜Could anyone have seen me?’ he muttered, rising uneasily, ‘pshaw, of course not, and the cabman would never recognise me again. Curse Whyte, I wish I’d never set eyes on him.’
    He gave one glance at the dark figure on the seat, and then, with a shiver, passed into the warm, well-lighted room. He did not feel easy in his mind, and he would have felt still less so had he known that the man on the seat was one of the cleverest of the Melbourne detectives.
    Mr Gorby had been watching the Frettlby mansion the whole evening, and was getting rather annoyed. Moreland did not know where Fitzgerald lived, and as the detective wanted to find out, he determined to watch Brian’s movements and trace him home.
    â€˜If he’s that pretty girl’s lover, I’ll wait till he leaves the house,’ argued Mr Gorby to himself, when he first took his seat on the Esplanade, ‘he won’t stay long away from her, and once he leaves the house, I’ll follow him up till I find out where he lives.’
    When Brian made his appearance early in theevening on his way to Mark Frettlby’s mansion, he was in evening dress, with a light coat over it, and also had on a soft hat.
    â€˜Well, I’m dashed!’ ejaculated Mr Gorby, when he saw Fitzgerald disappear. ‘If he isn’t a fool I don’t know who is, to go about in the very clothes he wore when he polished Whyte off, and think he won’t be recognised. Melbourne ain’t Paris or London, that he can afford to be so careless, and when I put the darbies on him he will be astonished. Ah, well,’ he went on, lighting his pipe and taking a seat on the Esplanade, ‘I suppose I’ll have to wait here till he comes out.’
    Mr Gorby’s patience was pretty severely tried for hour after hour passed, and no one appeared. He smoked several pipes, and watched the people strolling along in the soft silver moonlight. A bevy of girls passed by with their arms round one another’s waists, and were giggling to one another. Then a young man