"I will go to Henry Dunbar," she said to herself, "since the law will not help me; I will go to my father's murderer. Surely he will tremble when he knows that his victim left a daughter who will rest neither night nor day until she sees justice done." Sir Arden had mentioned the hotel at which Henry Dunbar was staying; so Margaret asked the first passer-by to direct her to the George. She found a waiter lounging in the doorway of the hotel. "I want to see Mr. Dunbar," she said. The man looked at her with considerable surprise. "I don't think it's likely Mr. Dunbar will see you, miss," he said; "but I'll take your name up if you wish it." "I shall be much obliged if you will do so." "Certainly, miss. If you'll please to sit down in the hall I'll go to Mr. Dunbar immediately. Your name is——" "My name is Margaret Wilmot." The waiter started as if he had been shot. "Wilmot!" he exclaimed; "any relation to——" "I am the daughter of Joseph Wilmot," answered Margaret, quietly. "You can tell Mr. Dunbar so if you please." "Yes, miss; I will, miss. Bless my soul! you really might knock me down with a feather, miss. Mr. Dunbar can't possibly refuse to see _you_, I should think, miss." The waiter went up-stairs, looking back at Margaret as he went. He seemed to think that the daughter of the murdered man ought to be, in some way or other, different from other young women. CHAPTER XV. BAFFLED. Mr. Dunbar was sitting in a luxurious easy-chair, with a newspaper lying across his knee. Mr. Balderby had returned to London upon the previous evening, but Arthur Lovell still remained with the Anglo-Indian. Henry Dunbar was a good deal the worse for the close confinement which he had suffered since his arrival in the cathedral city. Everybody who looked at him saw the change which the last ten days had made in his appearance. He was very pale; there were dark purple rings about his eyes; the eyes themselves were unnaturally bright: and the mouth—that tell-tale feature, over whose expression no man has perfect control—betrayed that the banker had suffered. Arthur Lovell had been indefatigable in the service of his client: not from any love towards the man, but always influenced more or less by the reflection that Henry Dunbar was Laura's father; and that to serve Henry Dunbar was in some manner to serve the woman he loved. Mr. Dunbar had only been discharged from custody upon the previous evening, after a long and wearisome examination and cross-examination of the witnesses who had given evidence at the coroner's inquest, and that additional testimony upon which the magistrate had issued his warrant. He had slept till late, and had only just finished breakfast, when the waiter entered with Margaret's message. "A young person wishes to see you, sir," he said, respectfully. "A young person!" exclaimed Mr. Dunbar, impatiently; "I can't see any one. What should any young person want with me?"