By that time I felt I ought to
go home, and so I never tracked him to his lodgings, if he has any. But
it's my belief he travels in the night, and sleeps in the daytime, like
the cats."
"Good, so far," said Marcus. "You have already given us a general
description of this fellow's dress and appearance. Now, tell me whether
his face is pale, his mustache small and curved up in points, his eyes
light gray, and never looking straight at you; his nose small, thin, and
sharp; and, now I think of it, has he not got a small scar on one of
his cheeks?"
"Why, Mr. Wilkeson," exclaimed the boy Bog, "that's the very chap!"
"Who is he?" asked the lieutenant of police, "that I may have him
arrested at once."
"He is the son--"
CHAPTER V.
THE SORROW OF WHITE HAIRS.
At that moment the door opened, and the venerable form of Myndert Van
Quintem appeared before them. Marcus cast a hasty glance, importing
silence, at his companions, and rose to receive his old friend.
Mr. Van Quintem's face expressed the tenderest compassion. He clasped
Marcus's hand, and said:
"My young friend, it deeply grieves me to see you here; for I feel--I
may say I know morally--that you are innocent of any part in
this murder.
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