"_I think that this girl and these two men, her father, Thomas Milsom, and Dennis Wayman, the landlord of the 'Jolly Tar', are in the secret--are, between them, the murderers of your brother. I think that when he broke his promise to me, and came back to this end of London, before the fifth, he came lured by that girl's beauty. It is to the girl we must look for a key to the secret of his death. I do not expect to extort anything from the fears of the men. They are both hardened villains; and if, as I believe, they are guilty of this crime, it is not likely to be the first in which they have been engaged. The police are on the watch, and I have promised a liberal reward for any discoveries they may make; but it is very slow work_." This, and much more, Joyce Harker wrote to George Jernam. The letter was written immediately after the inquest; and on the night succeeding that inquiry, Joyce went to the 'Jolly Tar', in the hope of seeing Jenny Milsom. But he was doomed to disappointment; for in the concert-room at Dennis Wayman's tavern he found a new singer--a fat, middle-aged woman, with red hair. "What has become of the pretty girl who used to sing here?" he asked the landlord. "Milsom's daughter?" said Wayman. "Oh, we've lost her She was a regular she-devil, it seems. Her father and she had a row, and the girl ran away. She can get her living anywhere with that voice of hers; and I don't suppose Milsom treated her over well. He's a rough fellow, but an honest one." "Yes," answered Joyce, with a sneer; "he seems uncommonly honest. There's a good deal of that sort of honesty about this neighbourhood, I think, mate. I suppose you've heard about my captain?" "Not a syllable. Is there anything wrong with him?" "Ah! news seems to travel slowly down here. There was an inquest held this morning, not so many miles from this house." The landlord shrugged his shoulders. "I've been busy in-doors all day, and I haven't heard anything," he said. Joyce told the story of his captain's fate, to which Dennis Wayman listened with every appearance of sympathy. "And you've no idea what has become of the girl?" Harker asked, after having concluded his story. "No more than the dead. She's cut and run, that's all I know." "Has her father gone after her?" "Not a bit of it. He's not that sort of man. She has chosen to take herself off, and her father will let her go her own way." "And her grandfather, the old blind man?" "He has gone with her." There was no more to be said about the girl after this. "I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Wayman," said Joyce, "I'm likely to be a good bit down in this neighbourhood, while I'm waiting for directions about my poor captain's ship from his brother Captain George, and as your house suits me as well as any other, I may as well take up my quarters here. I know you've got plenty of room, and you'll find me a quiet lodger." "So be it," answered the landlord, promptly. "I'm agreeable."