Kilsip's face lengthened considerably.
"What were the papers?"
"The marriage certificate of Mark Frettlby and Rosanna Moore, the woman who died in the back slum."
Kilsip was not often astonished; but he was so now. And Dr. Chinston fell back in his chair, staring at the barrister in blank amazement.
"And what's more," went on Calton, triumphantly, "do you know that Moreland went to Frettlby two nights ago and obtained a certain sum for hush-money?"
"What!" cried Kilsip.
"Yes, Moreland, in coming out of the hotel, evidently saw Frettlby, and threatened to expose him unless he paid for his silence."
"Very strange," murmured Kilsip, to himself, with a disappointed look on his face. "But why did Moreland keep still so long?"
"I cannot tell you," replied Calton, "but, no doubt, the confession will explain all."
"Then for Heaven's sake read it," broke in Dr. Chinston, impatiently. "I'm quite in the dark, and all your talk is Greek to me."