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Rh risked his neck up to the last moment. Though I make it a rule never to he surprised at anything, I expect what Brian Fitzgerald tells me will startle me considerahly. I've never met with such an extraordinary case, and from all appearances the end isn't reached yet. " [sic]After all," said Calton, thoughtfully, "truth is stranger than fiction."

Here a knock came to the door, and in answer to an invitation to enter, it opened, and Kilsip glided into the room.

"You're not engaged, sir?" he said, in a soft, low voice.

"Oh, dear, no," answered Calton, carelessly; "come in—come in!"

Kilsip closed the door, softly, and gliding along in his usual velvet-footed manner, sat down in a chair near Calton's, and placing his hat on the ground, looked keenly at the harrister.

"Well, Kilsip," said Calton, with a yawn, playing with his watch chain, "any good news to tell me?"

"Well, nothing particularly new," purred the detective, rubbing his hands together.

"Nothing new, and nothing true and no matter," said Calton, quoting Emerson. "And what have you come to see me about?"

"The hansom cab murder," replied the other quietly.

"The devil!" cried Calton, startled out of his professional dignity. "And have you found out who did it?"

"No!" answered Kilsip, rather dismally; "but I've got an idea."

"So had Gorby," retorted Calton, dryly, "an idea that ended in smoke. Have you any practical proofs?"

"Not yet."

"That means you are going to get some?"

"Well, if possible."

"Much virtue in 'if,'" quoted Calton, picking up a pencil, and scribbling idly on his blotting paper. "And to whom does your suspicion point to?"

"Aha!" said Mr. Kilsip, cautiously.

"Don't know him," answered the other, coolly; "family name Humbug, I presume. Bosh! Whom do you suspect?"

Kilsip looked around cautiously, as if to make sure they were alone, and then said in a stage whisper: