As stated in a preceding chapter, no lights gleamed from the low cabin windows when Vance and the stranger arrived in sight of the home of Tom Pearce. At the moment it struck the detective as rather strange, as he knew it was the fashion of the old boatman to set a light for the night, as sailors do on board their vessels as the sun goes down at sea, and it was not without some misgivings that he advanced alone toward the cottage. The detective had determined to arouse old Pearce, and in collusion with the old boatman send Renie out to interview the man in the rubber coat. As also intimated our hero had reached certain conclusions regarding the stranger, and in his own mind he felt assured that the man was urged by some ulterior motive. It was in a cautious manner that Vance pushed open the cabin door; all was darkness within; no light had been set, and the detective stood but a second, when a cold chill struck to his very vitals that caused him to recoil. An ejaculation of amazement fell from his lips as he quickly drew his ever-ready, masked lantern; one moment he stood irresolute, and then advanced again to the cabin door. He thrust forward his lantern; the sharp ray of light penetrated and dispersed the pervading darkness, and, as stated, a sight met his gaze that for the moment froze the blood in his veins. No light had been set, but a light had been extinguished, put out forever--the light of life in the body of Tom Pearce. We say a light had been put out; it had not burned out, as the first object that met the gaze of the detective was the body of Tom Pearce. There was not a question as to the fact that crime had been done. The method of the deep damnation of the old boatman's taking off was plainly apparent. "Can they both have been murdered" were words which fell in a hoarse whisper from the pallid lips of the detective. Vance at the first glance concluded that Pearce was the victim of the vengeance of the smugglers, and if they would kill the old man they would not spare the girl. It was the latter thought that caused the detective's heart to stand still, and when he did partially recover his nerve, his starting eyes moved round in search of the body of the girl. He stepped into the room, and with tottering steps moved over to the door of the adjoining room, the chamber of Renie. The door was closed, and the detective could not muster the nerve to open it, and a moan of anguish burst from him. There he stood, an iron-nerved man, trembling and nerveless in expectancy of a revelation of horror; at length he uttered: "This will not do; I am Vance." He pushed open the door, thrust forward his lantern and glanced in. The room was vacant. A sigh of relief fell from his lips. He glanced around and became more and more reassured. No ghastly sight of murdered beauty met his gaze, and an ejaculation of thankfulness struggled front between his lips.