Varrick had walked a considerable distance from the house before his mind settled down to anything like rational thoughts. Suddenly it occurred to him that the quickest way to trace her would be to secure the aid of an experienced detective. It was the merest chance that led him to the office of Henry Byrne, the great detective--the very one whose services his mother had enlisted to recover her valuable bracelet. It took but little conversation for the detective to learn that the young man was desperately in love with the pretty little girl. This gave the experienced man of the world food for thought. He did not tell young Varrick how interested he himself was in learning the whereabouts of that pretty young girl. After an hour or more of earnest conversation, they parted, Byrne agreeing to report what success he met at the hotel at which Hubert Varrick said he intended stopping. Up to midnight, when they again met, Byrne could give him no definite information; he did not even tell him that he thought he had a slight clew which he intended to follow. Thus three days passed, and not even the slightest trace of Jessie Bain could be discovered, and Hubert was beside himself with grief. In the midst of his trouble a strange event happened. As he was passing through the lobby of the hotel one evening, he met Harry Maillard, Gerelda Northrup's cousin. Varrick turned quickly in an opposite direction, to avoid speaking to him, when suddenly Maillard came forward and held out his hand to him. "I am glad to see you, old boy," he said, "and have been wondering where you kept yourself of late." "I have been attending to business pretty closely," returned Varrick. "Take a cigar," said Maillard, extending a weed. "Let's sit down. I have something to tell you." Varrick followed his friend, and soon they were seated together before one of the open windows. "I have such wonderful news for you," said Maillard. "I learned from Captain Frazier's valet, whom I met on the street, that his master had been dead some time, having been killed in a railway accident. "Shortly after your unfortunate experience a great fire occurred in one of the islands in the St. Lawrence, and Captain Frazier was there alone, and had been alone, the man informed me. There was no lady about--of this the valet was positive, and his last message to this man, who was with him to the end, was to search for Gerelda Northrup, and tell her that with his last breath he was murmuring her name, and that he wanted to be buried on the spot where they had first met. "That is proof positive that Gerelda was not with Captain Frazier, and that he, poor fellow, was entirely innocent of her whereabouts." Hubert Varrick was greatly amazed at this intelligence; but before he could make any remark Maillard went on quickly: