"So you will, I am sure. When I say that I know you are innocent, I found my belief on my short but pleasant acquaintance with you. But I cannot guess, from the evidence at the inquest yesterday and that of to-day--just published in the afternoon papers,--who committed the murder, or what was the motive of it. Have you any clue to the mystery?" "Yes--yes," replied Marcus. "We think we have a clue; but so slight, that it is hardly worth mentioning. My friends here are going to follow it up." "And in order that we may do so without any delay," said the lieutenant, "please give us the name of that sneaking letter writer." Marcus coughed, looked at the lieutenant knowingly, and said, "Oh, _that's_ no consequence. It's a false scent. Depend on it." The old gentleman, as he entered the room, had caught Marcus Wilkeson's words. "He is the son--" and had observed the slight confusion with which Marcus had stopped saying something. He now noticed the glance enjoining silence, which Marcus had directed at the lieutenant of police. Mr. Van Quintem turned pale, as a harrowing suspicion came into his mind. "Mr. Wilkeson," he said, in a trembling voice, "will you answer me one question truly?" "I--I will," replied Marcus. "Then tell me, in Heaven's name, do you know of anything that connects my son with this monstrous crime? I have had a dreadful presentiment, all along, that he had something to do with it. The end of his wrong career will be the gallows. I have dreamt of it for years. O God! that I should have begotten such a profligate and miscreant into the world!" The old man made another pause, and then said, with a calmness that surprised his hearers. "Now I am ready to hear all." "And you shall," said Marcus, "though it pains me, my dear friend, to tell you what we know of your son. I will say, however, that there is no proof directly connecting him with the murder." "He is cunning and covers his tracks," said the wretched parent. "I know him well." Marcus then exhibited the letters. Mr. Van Quintem compared them carefully, but could not detect the least trace of resemblance. But, on examining the envelopes, at the suggestion of Fayette Overtop, he at once recognized the Hogarthian curve as a mark which he had always observed on his son's letters. "I could almost swear to this mark; and yet it is possible that he did not write the letters. Bad as he is, I will wait for further proofs. Please tell me all else that you know, Mr. Wilkeson." "With regard to the letter written to Miss Minford," said Marcus, "there is, unhappily, but little doubt; as this lad, who was well acquainted with the Minford family, can inform you." The boy Bog, very reluctantly, and with many awkward breaks, and swingings of his cap, repeated the history of the first letter, and described the young man's person most minutely, and told how he had followed him in his wild rambles about the town.