The criticisms on the burlesque were, as a rule, good, and though some of the papers picked out faults, yet it was generally agreed that the piece had been a wonderful success; but the sensation of a successful colonial production having taken place was merged in the greater sensation of the discovery of the Russell Street murderer. Keith Stewart, protesting his innocence of the charge, had immediately been taken off to gaol, and Eugénie was unable to see him until she got the permission of the proper authorities; but feeling certain that he had not committed the crime, she called on Ezra at _The Penny Whistle_ early on Monday morning. On sending up her card, she was shown into Ezra's room, and there found that Naball was present. The detective, who was fully convinced of Keith's guilt, had called in order to find out for certain from Ezra all about the prisoner's movements on the night in question. When Eugénie entered the room, Ezra, who looked pale and careworn, arose and greeted her warmly. He then introduced her to Naball, who looked keenly at the sad face of the woman who was engaged to the man he had hunted down. "Mr. Naball," said Ezra, indicating the detective, "has called upon me to find out about Stewart's movements on the night my father was murdered." "Yes; that's so," replied Naball, with a shrewd glance at the Jew. "Well," said Eugénie impatiently, "surely you can explain them, for Keith told me you were with him all the time." Ezra looked dismal. "No, I wasn't with him all the time; I only met him at the Bon-Bon, and I left before he did." "Yes," interposed the detective smoothly; "and, according to Mr. Mortimer, Stewart left there about half-past twelve o'clock." "And then, I presume," said Eugénie, with fine disdain, "you think he went and murdered Lazarus right off?" "Well," observed Naball, deliberately smoothing his gloves, "according to the doctor's evidence, the crime was committed about twelve o'clock, or a little later. Now Stewart can't say where he was between the time he left the theatre and the time he met Villiers." "He was wandering about the streets," explained Eugénie. Naball smiled cynically. "Yes; so he says." "And so every one else says who knows Keith Stewart," retorted the girl. "He is incapable of such an act." Naball shrugged his shoulders as much as to say that he had nothing to urge against such an eminently feminine argument. Eugénie looked angrily at the detective, and then turned in despair to the Jew. "You don't believe him guilty?" she asked. "No, on my soul, I do not," he replied fervently; "still appearances look black against him." Miss Rainsford thought for a few moments, and at last bluntly asked Naball the same question. "Do you believe him guilty?" "As far as my experience goes," said the detective coolly, "I do." "Why?" Naball produced a little pocket-knife, and began to trim his nails.