As intimated, a weird suspicion had crossed the detective's
mind, and he was acting with a purpose.
The man, after indulging in a few moments' silent thought as
described, said:
"Do you think it possible to communicate with the girl alone?"
"Yes."
"You say you are an honest man?"
"I am."
"You can make a large sum of money honestly if you choose."
"Row much?"
"Twenty-five dollars."
"What must I do for the money?"
"Can I trust you?"
"You can trust me when I pass my word."
"I would like to talk to the girl alone for a few moments."
"And you want me to bring her here?"
"Yes."
"And you will give me twenty-five dollars?"
"Yes."
"Will you tell me what you want with the girl?"
"No."
"See here, stranger, I know something about that girl."
"What do you know about her?"
"She is not the daughter of Tom Pearce."
"Is that so?"
"That is the fact."
"Whose daughter is she my friend?"
"She may be your daughter," came the abrupt answer.
"My daughter!" ejaculated the man.
"Yes."
"Why do you say that, my good friend?"
"Why do you wish to see her alone?"
"I wish to ask her sonic questions."
"Ah, I see; you wish to ask her about the box."
The man leaped to his feet and showed signs of great
agitation.
"What do you mean?" he demanded, in a trembling tone of voice.
"I mean just what I say."
"You said something about a box."
"Yes."
"Well, what about the box?"
"You wish to ask the girl about it?"
"Yes."
"About the box?"
"Yes."
"Young man, you're crazy. I reckon I do not know anything
about any box."
"Oh, yes, you do."
"Which box is it?"
"The box filled with jewels and other rare gems and
valuables."
The man approached close to the detective, and whispered.
"Has my daughter got such a box?"
"Your daughter!" exclaimed the detective.
"My friend, I have a strange story to tell. I suspect that
the girl is my long-lost daughter."
"You're a fraud," was the idea that ran through the
detective's mind. He had observed that the man did not claim
Renie as his daughter until an allusion was made to the box of
jewels.
"If she is your daughter you ought to know all about the box."
"So I do."
"You know all about it, eh?"
"Yes."
"You know where it is?"
"No. It was left with the child."
"Ah, you know that much!"
"If it is my child we are talking about, I know, all about it.
But tell me; is the box in the girl's possession?"
"I reckon we might find it."
"Go and bring the girl to me, and you shall have a hundred
dollars."
"I don't know about that; I am afraid you are not an honest
man."
"What do you mean?"
"My words are plain enough. Tell me your story."
"I will tell it to the girl."
"In my presence?"
"Why should I tell it in your presence? It's none of your
business."
"Oh, yes, it is."
"How?"
"I'm looking after the girl's interests."
"Who are you'?"
"I am her friend."
"Her friend only?"
"That's all."
"Do you wish to earn the hundred dollars"
"I do not care anything about the money; but I wish to see
justice done the girl."
"She may look for justice at the hands of her father?"
"Not the father who has deserted her for thirteen or fourteen
years."
"That can all be explained."
"Give me a satisfactory explanation, and I will go and bring
the girl to you."
"I will explain to her."
"Explain to me."
"No, sir!"
"Very well; clear out, then."
"I think you are a meddlesome young scamp."
"You first addressed me."
"I only asked you a simple question."
"And I've answered you in the most simple manner."
"Take me to the girl's reputed father."
"That is fair; I will do that."
"You are a foolish young, man."
"How so?"
"You might make a large sum of money."
"By bringing the girl to you?"
"Yes."
"I will not do it."
"You will lead me to the fisherman's cabin!"
"Yes."
"All right."
The two men started across the sands, and, after half an
hour's walking, came in sight of the cabin of the old
fisherman.
"That is the cabin."
"Over there?"
"Yes."
"There are no lights in the cabin."
"They have all retired, probably."
"I promised you five dollars."
"For what?"
"For leading me to the cabin."
"Never mind the money."
"Yes, you must take it."
"I will not."
"I go to the cabin alone."
"I go with you."
"Not one step."
"Who will stop me?"
"I will."
"Not to-night."
"Go and bring the girl to me."
"You have changed your mind?"
"Yes."
"Can I be present during your interview with the girl?"
"Yes."
"All right, I will go and see if I can arouse her without
disturbing her father."
"I will wait here?"
"Yes."
"You will return at once?"
"Yes."
"Go."
The detective walked toward the cabin, and as he approached a
chill passed over his frame. He recognized certain indices
that aroused the gravest apprehensions, and a moment later
when he entered the cabin a most terrible and ghastly
spectacle met his gaze.
As stated in a preceding chapter, no lights gleamed from the
low cabin windows when Vance and the stranger arrived in sight
of the home of Tom Pearce.
At the moment it struck the detective as rather strange, as he
knew it was the fashion of the old boatman to set a light for
the night, as sailors do on board their vessels as the sun
goes down at sea, and it was not without some misgivings that
he advanced alone toward the cottage.
The detective had determined to arouse old Pearce, and in
collusion with the old boatman send Renie out to interview the
man in the rubber coat.
As also intimated our hero had reached certain conclusions
regarding the stranger, and in his own mind he felt assured
that the man was urged by some ulterior motive.
It was in a cautious manner that Vance pushed open the cabin
door; all was darkness within; no light had been set, and the
detective stood but a second, when a cold chill struck to his
very vitals that caused him to recoil.
An ejaculation of amazement fell from his lips as he quickly
drew his ever-ready, masked lantern; one moment he stood
irresolute, and then advanced again to the cabin door. He
thrust forward his lantern; the sharp ray of light penetrated
and dispersed the pervading darkness, and, as stated, a sight
met his gaze that for the moment froze the blood in his veins.
No light had been set, but a light had been extinguished, put
out forever--the light of life in the body of Tom Pearce.
We say a light had been put out; it had not burned out, as the
first object that met the gaze of the detective was the body
of Tom Pearce.
There was not a question as to the fact that crime had been
done. The method of the deep damnation of the old boatman's
taking off was plainly apparent.
"Can they both have been murdered" were words which fell in a
hoarse whisper from the pallid lips of the detective.
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?"
"I have."
"And cannot find her?"
"No."
"What do you know about this tragedy?"
"As much as you do."
"No doubt at all."
"Do you suspect the assassin?"
"I do! but come in."
"I can stand here."
"Come in, you may attract attention of someone passing."
"What harm if I do?"
"No, harm, but it may prove inconvenient, and may interfere
with our efforts to learn the fate of the girl."
"One moment; do you know anything concerning this tragedy?"
"All I know is that I came to that door as you did, and my
eyes fell upon the ghastly sight."
"Then you came here did you expect to find the old man alive?"
"I did."
"And the girl?"
"Yes."
"Then this is a surprise to you?"
"It is."
The stranger entered the room, and in a stern voice he
demanded.
"Young man, who are you?"