h of
Barton, and of his healthy and joyous nature, to be certain that his
theory was no morbid delusion; that he had good grounds for an opinion
which, as he said, he could no longer, prove--which was, indeed, now
incapable of any proof. No one had seen the commission of tbe crime, and
the crime was of such a nature, and so cunningly planned, that it could
not possibly be otherwise brought home to the murderer.

Now Maitland, knowing the _Hit or Miss_, and the private room up-stairs
with the dormer windows, where the deed must have been done, if done at
all, was certain that there could not possibly have been any eye-witness
of the crime.

"What shall you do?" he asked, "or have you done anything in consequence
of your discovery? Have you been to the police?"

"No," said Barton; "where was the use? How can I prove anything now? It
is not as if poison had been used, that could be detected by analysis.
Besides, I reflected that if I was right, the less fuss made, the more
likely was the murderer to show his hand. Supposing he had a secret
motive--and he must have had--he will act on that motive sooner or
later. The quieter everything is kept, the more he feels certain he is
safe, the sooner he will move in some way or other. Then, perhaps, there
may be a chance of detecting him; but it's an outside chance. Do you
know anything of the dead man's past history?"

"Nothing, except that he was from the North, and had lived a wandering
life."

"Well, we must wait and see. But there is his daughter, left under your
care. What do you mean to do about _her?_"

The question brought Maitland back to his old perplexities, which were
now so terribly increased and confused by what he had just been told.

"I was going to tell you, when you broke in with this dreadful business.
Things were bad before; now they are awful," said Maitland. "_His
daughter has disappeared!_ That was what I was coming to: that was the
rest of my story. It was difficult and distressing enough before I knew
what you tell me; now--great Heavens! what am I to do?"

He turned on the sofa, quite overcome. Barton put his hand encouragingly
on his shoulder, and sat so for some minutes.

"Tell me all about it, old boy?" asked Barton, at length.

He was very much interested, and most anxious to aid his unfortunate
friend. His presence, somehow, was full of help and comfort. Maitland no
longer felt alone and friendless, as he had done after his consultation
o