ted," 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.

"I'm real sorry to hear this, sir," said Flett to the bailie. "It
was only yestreen I was speakin' wi' poor Colin at the inn. He'll
be sorely missed in the countryside. But tell me, Mr. Duke, what
for d'ye say that young Ericson has anything to do wi' it?"

"Because," the magistrate replied, "simply bec