He was very much interested, and most anxious to aid his unfortunate friend. His presence, somehow, was full of help and comfort. Maitland no longer felt alone and friendless, as he had done after his consultation of Bielby. Thus encouraged, he told, as clearly and fully as possible, the tale of the disappearance of Margaret, and of his entire failure even to come upon her traces or those of her companion. “And you have heard nothing since your illness?” “Nothing to any purpose. What do you advise me to do?” “There is only one thing certain, to my mind,” said Barton. “The seafaring man with whom Shields was drinking on the last night of his life, and the gentleman in the fur travelling-coat who sent the telegram in your name and took away Margaret from Miss Marlett’s, are in the same employment, or, by George, are probably the same person. Now, have you any kind of suspicion who they or he may be? or can you suggest any way of tracking him or them?” “No,” said Maitland; “my mind is a perfect blank on the subject. I never heard of the sailor till the woman at the _Hit or Miss_ mentioned him, the night the body was found. And I never heard of a friend of Shields’, a friend who was a gentleman, till I went down to the school.” “Then all we can do at present is, _not_ to set the police at work--they would only prevent the man from showing--but to find out whether anyone answering to the description is ‘wanted’ or is on their books, at Scotland Yard. Why are we not in Paris, where a man, whatever his social position might be, who was capable of that unusual form of crime, would certainly have his _dossier_? They order these things better in France.” “There is just one thing about him, at least about the man who was drinking with poor Shields on the night of his death. He was almost certainly tattooed with some marks or other. Indeed, I remember Mrs. Gullick--that’s the landlady of the _Hit or Miss_--saying that Shields had been occupied in tattooing him. He did a good deal in that way for sailors.” “By Jove,” said Barton, “if any fellow understands tattooing, and the class of jail-birds who practise it, I do. It is a clew after a fashion; but, after all, many of them that go down to the sea in ships are tattooed, even when they are decent fellows; and besides, we seldom, in our stage of society, get a view of a fellow-creature with nothing on but these early decorative designs.” This was only too obvious, and rather damping to Maitland, who for a moment had been inclined to congratulate himself on his _flair_ as a detective. CHAPTER VIII.--The Jaffa Oranges. “Letting _I dare not_ wait upon _I would_.”