Vance at the first glance concluded that Pearce was the victim of the vengeance of the smugglers, and if they would kill the old man they would not spare the girl.

It was the latter thought that caused the detective’s heart to stand still, and when he did partially recover his nerve, his starting eyes moved round in search of the body of the girl.  He stepped into the room, and with tottering steps moved over to the door of the adjoining room, the chamber of Renie.

The door was closed, and the detective could not muster the nerve to open it, and a moan of anguish burst from him.

There he stood, an iron-nerved man, trembling and nerveless in expectancy of a revelation of horror; at length he uttered: 

“This will not do; I am Vance.”

He pushed open the door, thrust forward his lantern and glanced in.  The room was vacant.  A sigh of relief fell from his lips.  He glanced around and became more and more reassured.  No ghastly sight of murdered beauty met his gaze, and an ejaculation of thankfulness struggled front between his lips.

The detective began a careful and thorough examination of the room.  There were no signs of a struggle, and another significant fact was revealed; the girl’s bed had not been occupied; the tragedy had occurred in the day-time or early in the evening, before the old boatman and his family had retired to bed.

The detective returned to the main room and examined the body of the old man.  He also made a note of all the surroundings and took possession of several articles that lay scattered about the room.  He did more; he sought for evidence as to the identity of the assassin, and found several little articles which he felt certain would aid him in trailing down the guilty man.

Vance returned to the girl’s chamber and renewed his search, and succeeded in making several discoveries cries which, he hoped, would serve as valuable clews in the future.  He was still searching, and deeply intent upon the duty, when he was disturbed by hearing a voice.

“Great mercy! what has happened here?”

The detective was cool again.  He had recovered all his accustomed nerve, and he stepped to the outer room.

A man stood in the door-way.  It was the stranger, and he, too, held in his hand a masked lantern.

The man’s eyes were fixed upon the face of the corpse.

“What has happened here?” he demanded.

“Come in,” said the detective.

“Whose body is that?”

“It is the body of old Tom Pearce.”

“He was murdered,” said the man.

“Come in,” again commanded the detective.

“Did you know this body was here when you left me a few moments ago?”

“I did not.”

In a hoarse voice the stranger asked;

“Has the girl been murdered?”

“I trust not.”

“Have you searched for her?”