On the afternoon following that of the beginning of the snowstorm, Captain Flett waited for me on the schooner, for he wanted to set sail again. Every now and then he went up the companion ladder to look out for me towards the snow-covered town. While thus engaged he heard the boatswain's whistle sounded on board the revenue cutter, then lying in the outer bay, and he was admiring the alertness of the blue jackets as they got the cutter ready for sailing, when a small boat that he had not noticed came alongside of the Falcon, and Bailie Duke accosted him. "Captain Flett," said the bailie excitedly, "I want the lad Ericson; where is he?" "'Deed I can't tell you that, your honour," replied Flett. "I have been waiting for him here mysel' all the day." "Just as I expected," said the bailie, with evident annoyance; "the young rascal has escaped. When did you last see him, captain?" "I saw him yestreen, sir. But was it anything of importance you're wanting the lad for?" "Anything of importance! Ay, is it of importance! For, know you this, Captain Flett, the lad's nothing but a murderer, a murderer in cold blood!" "Impossible!" ejaculated the skipper. "When heard you of the lad harming body or beast? But who is it that's murdered, bailie?" "Colin Lothian, the gaberlunzie," replied the magistrate. "Man, you astonish me," exclaimed Flett. "Poor auld Lothian! And when did the thing happen?" Bailie Duke then told how during that morning a party of men had been sent up from the town to the moor to search for the lost Thora Kinlay. They did not find the girl. But Jack Paterson and another fisherman, while crossing a very lonely part of the moor, had discovered a poor dog, whose pitiful whining had drawn them to the spot. The animal was at once recognized as the dog that had always been seen at the heels of the wandering beggar, and it stood shivering in the cold snow that had gathered there in a deep wreath. The dog refused to move from the spot, and the men cleared away some of the snow, when they came upon the stiff and lifeless body of Colin Lothian. At first they thought the man was merely asleep, for his woollen plaid was spread over him like a blanket. But on raising the garment they saw marks of blood that had trickled upon the snow and sunk down into the underlying heather. Paterson at once despatched his companion to Stromness for Dr. Linklater, whilst he himself went up to a small cottage which stood about two hundred yards away. Nobody was in the cottage, but there were signs of some one having been there very recently, for the peats were yet smouldering on the hearthstone, and on a little table lay a towel stained with blood. Dr. Linklater arrived sooner than Paterson expected him, and after a careful examination of the body he stated that Lothian had been dead several hours, and that his death was the result of foul play. The man had, in fact, been murdered.