“Very well, then, I start for Liverpool at once. I have given orders for the girl’s funeral, and arranged that Miss Warden’s walking dress and diamonds shall be sent back to her parents. I have only kept this, Hill,” and Frank took from his pocket-book a small bow of lace and ribbon. “You see, I remember her wearing it, and if it’s missed, you’ll know I have it,” and he replaced it reverently in his breast-pocket. “And now, before we part, Mr. Hill,” continued Frank, “I want you honestly and candidly to give me your own private opinion on this matter. How, and in what way, do you consider Lucy Williams to be concerned in Miss Warden’s disappearance?” “Well, sir, it’s a difficult question to answer,” replied Mr. Hill, looking sideways at Frank. “I only feel sure of one thing in this affair, and that is that Miss Warden is alive and well somewhere. All else must be conjecture. My own impression is that she left her home voluntarily, and that she is staying away voluntarily. In such cases the maid generally possesses, to some extent, the confidence of her mistress, and acts according to some pre-arranged plan. Even the diamonds for instance—” “Stop,” shouted Frank, in a voice that made the detective start, “I can’t stand this. Say another word, and I shall knock you down! No power in Heaven or earth shall make me believe such a story as that. No, no, it implies too much! Could a girl with her mouth and eyes have deliberately set herself to deceive her parents and friends? Could she—no, no, I will not hear it. Tell me anything but such a black story as that, Hill.” “Well, sir, I have no wish to give offence. You asked for my opinion, but it is extremely difficult in such a case as this to have one.” This with a respectful glance at Frank’s Herculean arm and well-developed muscles. Two hours after this Frank was well on his way to Liverpool. Anxious, worried, disappointed as he was at the unforeseen ending to his journey, he could not help feeling at heart more hopeful than he had hitherto been. “Alive and well somewhere,” he kept repeating to himself over and over again, not as an incentive to his work, for he needed none, but for the ring of comfort the words brought. “Nothing can ever shake my faith in that girl, nothing can ever make me doubt her truth and purity,” he said, as he entered one or two facts in his note-book for future experience and guidance. “But how the mystery deepens and thickens, supposing her to be alive and well somewhere!” CHAPTER VI. SHORTLY after his arrival at Liverpool, Frank received two letters from Harleyford. The first from his mother, ran thus— “MY DEAREST BOY,—