"The New York police, not being able to do any thing further here, have gone home," continued James. "If such a villain lurks in New York, he will be found. That scar on the hand is a good point for identifying him--don't you think so, sir?" to Mr. Burton. "Well--yes! unless it was put on for the purpose. It may have been done in red ocher, and washed off afterward. If the fellow was a practiced hand, as the skill and precision of the blow would imply, he will be up to all such tricks. If he had a real scar, he would have worn gloves on such an errand." "You think so?" and James drew a long breath, probably of discouragement at this new statement of the case. "I would like to go down to the depot, and along the docks for an hour," continued Mr. Burton, "if there's nothing else to be done immediately." James politely insisted upon accompanying us. "What the deuce did you bring another of those detectives up here for?" he asked me, _sotto voce_, at the first opportunity. "We've had a surfeit of them--they're regular bores! and this Burroughs or Burton, or whatever his name is, is the most disagreeable of them all. A conceited fellow--one of the kind I dislike, naturally." "You mistake his character. He is intelligent and a gentleman." "I wish you joy of his society," was the sneering reply. Nevertheless, James favored us with his company during our morning's tour. One sole fact the detective ascertained in the course of his two hours' work. A fisherman had lost a small-boat during the storm of Saturday night. He had left it, fastened to its accustomed moorings, and, in the morning, found that the chain, which was old and rusty, had parted one of its links, probably by the extreme violence with which the wind had dashed the boat about. Mr. Burton had asked to see the remnant of the chain. It was still attached to the post around which it had been locked. An examination of the broken link showed that it was partly rusted away; but there were also marks upon it, as if a knife or chisel might have been used. "I see my boy, Billy, a-tinkerin' with it," said the fisherman. "Like as not he's been a-usin' of it to whittle on. That boy breaks more knives'n his neck's wuth. He's goin' on nine, now, and he's had six jack-knives in as many months." Mr. Burton stood, holding the chain in his hand, and looking up and down the river. His face glowed with a light which shone through from some inward fire. I, who had begun to watch his varying expressions with keen interest, saw that he was again becoming excited; but not in the same way as on that first evening of our meeting, when he grew so leonine.