While he gave Nance one of his slow and apparently indifferent glances, he was really looking into her troubled heart. “You are a happy young married lady now,” he said after a pause. “Yes, yes, I am very happy,” she said, clasping her hands. “You are much attached to your good husband, madam?” “Need you ask?” Her eyes filled slowly with tears. “Then for Heaven’s sake, Mrs. Rowton,” said the detective, speaking in an altogether new voice for him, “give this matter up, let it drop. Nay, hear me out”—he raised his hand to interrupt a flow of words which were rushing to Nancy’s lips—“I am speaking against myself and against my own interests when I so advise you; but I am not without heart, madam, and I have seen in the past how sad your life was and how you suffered. It is my profession to hunt down criminals—to scent crime to its source. In this case let me do what is contrary to my profession—let me leave the curtain unlifted. Mrs. Rowton, may I persuade you to leave justice and revenge in this special case to Heaven?” “I cannot,” said Nance. “I am amazed to hear you speak in that tone—you, of all people. I cannot possibly do it. What do you mean? What can you mean?” “What I say, madam. I will tell you quite frankly why I came here to-day. I came to Rowton Heights for a double purpose. I am, I believe, in possession at last of a valuable clue which may lead to the arrest of the man who took your brother’s life; but I find on looking into matters that there are complications in connection with this search, and because of these, I would earnestly beg of you, from a friendly point of view, to give up the search. Now, Mrs. Rowton, I shall not explain myself. Once again I beg of you to let the matter drop. Do not carry on this search any further.” “I wonder at you,” said Nance, with sparkling eyes; “and you call yourself a professional detective!” “I do, madam, I do; but even a professional detective may have a heart.” “Well, listen to me,” said Nance. “I hate the man who killed my brother. Two passions move me—love for my husband, and hatred for the man who killed my young brother. When I think of that ruffian I have no heart; when I think of my ruined father’s life, of my brother’s shameful death, I have no heart—none. I am under a vow to the dead. I must carry on this search. Do you understand me?” “I do, Mrs. Rowton. Well, I have done my duty in recommending mercy to you. Some day you may regret that you have not listened to me.” “I shall never regret it. Now let us drop this side of the question. You have a clue—tell me all about it.” CHAPTER XVIII. THE TORN LETTER AND THE MARK. Crossley heaved a sigh, took his handkerchief out of his pocket, wiped some drops of moisture from his brow, and then began to speak in a dry, business-like tone.