"I hope," said Mr. Moreland, nonchalantly, "I hope you will know me again, my friend, but I didn't know Whyte had started a lunatic asylum during my absence. Who are you?"
Mr. Gorby came forward and stood under the gas light.
"My name is Gorby, sir, and I am a detective," he said quietly.
"Ah! indeed," said Moreland, coolly looking him up and down. "What has Whyte been doing; running away with someone's wife, eh? I know he has little weaknesses of that sort."
Gorby shook his head.
"Do you know where Mr. Whyte is to be found?" he asked, cautiously.
Moreland laughed.
"Not I, my friend," said he, lightly. "I presume he is somewhere about here, as these are his head-quarters. What has he been doing? Nothing that can surprise me, I assure you—he was always an erratic individual, and—"
"He paid reg'ler," interrupted Mrs. Hableton, pursing up her lips.
"A most enviable reputation to possess," answered the other with a sneer, "and one I'm afraid I'll never enjoy. But why all this questioning about Whyte? What's the matter with him?"