"My gracious! I hope they have done nothing wrong." "Well, they have. We are bound to find out about it, too." "Can you tell me what this all means?" "Of course we can. But we are going to arrest this man." "Come into the parlor so the neighbors won't hear you." They dragged the darky into the parlor. The crayon picture of a man hanging on the wall met Harry's glance, and pointing excitedly at it, he cried: "See, Old King Brady! There's a photograph of the murdered man we saw in the box this coon was handling!" Old King Brady was startled. He noticed that Harry had made no error about it. Lizzie Dalton quickly glanced at the picture. "Why," she exclaimed, "that's my father's likeness!" The Bradys glanced at each other in amazement. "Then Oliver Dalton was the murdered man!" Harry muttered. CHAPTER VI. TRACING SOME CLEWS. When Old King Brady heard what Harry said, he felt convinced that the boy made no error. He plainly saw that the crayon portrait was an excellent picture of the man whose body vanished in the swamp. Lizzie Dalton overheard Young King Brady's remark. Her face turned as pale as death, and she sank into a chair, gasping: "Was my father murdered?" "Such is our suspicion," replied the old detective, gently. "But you are not positive of it?" "No," answered Old King Brady, shaking his head. "In that case, you may be mistaken." "Yes. There's some doubt about it." "Will you kindly tell me what made you believe he was dead?" "Certainly. Listen. Here's what happened in the past few days." And he recited all that transpired from the time they first heard that cry for help in Thirty-sixth street, up to the present moment. The girl listened intently and when he finished, she said, in tones of relief: "Then you have reason to believe that the man was alive when you heard his voice coming from that old hut in the swamp?" "Just so," assented Old King Brady, admiring her fortitude and cool judgment. "And you believe my cousin Ronald and this negro were at the bottom of the whole thing?" continued the girl. "We do. It's our opinion that Mason sent your father a decoy telegram to the Union Club, and lured him to the empty house in Thirty-sixth street. We believe he and Sim Johnson arranged to attack and drug him there. We think, when they either killed or drugged him, they packed him in the box and shipped it by rail to Georgia. The fact that some unknown party on the cars chloroformed us leads us to suppose it was Mason, who may have been on the cars disguised. We also think they had accomplices at Swamp Angel to stop the train so they could steal the box and hide the body of the man it contained in the swamp. The fact of Mason and the negro being there at the time, confirms this suspicion of them being at the bottom of the job." "Your suspicions seem to be well founded, sir, but it may be only a theory on your part, after all," said the girl. "Miss Dalton, you can weaken or strengthen our suspicions."