This was no flattery.
Silas Keene was not a secondary man. He was first in everything pertaining to matters criminal. He had traced down more crime perhaps than any man of his age in Gotham, and he was verging on forty.
It was opportune indeed, the great detective coming at this time.
Ransom Vane had known the man for years, and the twain had been bosom friends.
"I cannot remain with you, Ransom," said Bordine, "but I will come again soon. If you require any help from me, you know, you have only to call on me."
"Certainly."
A minute later the man in hunter's costume had disappeared.
Sile Keene went in to look at the dead girl, then he examined the ground closely, the porch, the letters, and finally investigated the extent and shape of the death-wound.
It proved to be narrow but deep, evidently made with a dirk or blade with two edges.
Then, after the house was searched and it was discovered that a bureau had been rifled of several hundred dollars left there by Ransom, the young cottager placed the torn, blood-stained letter he had found in Bordines' possession, in the hand of the detective.