CHAPTER XV A Baffled Villain In the meantime, Harper Elliston, true to his word for once at least, left the train at the Woodburg Depot on the same morning that his young detective friend arrived in Burlington. Repairing to his room at the hotel, the New Yorker remained until the dinner hour. After this he turned his steps in the direction of the Darrell Cottage. I suppose Nell Darrell will be delighted to see me, chuckled Elliston, as he walked up the steps and rang the bell. Aunt Jewel opened the door. Marcia Dyke ain't home. But Miss Nell is, I suppose. Yes, indeed, sir, she's got company and can't see no one for to present, cried the grinning negrous quickly. Company? A lot of chattering girls, I suppose. No, a young German—a gentleman. The frown that blackened the brows of Harper Elliston was not pleasant to see. He was not pleased that Nell should receive other male company than himself. I will enter. I think she will see me when she knows who has come, said he, pushing past the negrous and entering the front room. He seated himself in an arm-chair and proceeded to coolly await the coming of the mistress of the house. Soon Nell Darrell came in. Her face was suffused with smiles, which evidence that she had heard good news. Elliston, however, flattered himself that it was his coming that caused the pleased look on the face of the detective's sister. A pleasant day, Mr. Elliston. Rather, he rose and held out his hand. She did not accept it much to his chagrin. Aren't you glad to see me, Nell? he queried. I've been absent almost a week, and I thought that you would be longing for my company by this time. A smile of self-assurance crossed his dark face. I have no reason to regard you with any more consideration than on your former visit, she said. Have you seen my brother? Yes. Where is he now? In Iowa, I presume. He is well. He was, when I parted with him, a short time since. You haven't heard from him? Yes. He was then in a small town in the south or west, I believe. Thus they chatted for some time. During the past few days a desperate resolve had taken possession of Elliston's brain. He admired the pretty Nell now more than ever, and he was determined to make one more effort to win her regard before going to extremes. That morning he had braced his nerves with several drafts of brandy, and the fumes yet affected him, thus rendering him extremely impudent, to say the least. Nell, Jewel tells me you had company when I came. Who was it? A gentleman. I, but his name. The man's eyes glittered and seemed to pierce with their keenness to the soul of the girl who sat in front of him.  She was anxious for him to depart. He is not one of your acquaintances, replied Nell evasively. But one of yours, it seems, sneered the man in a tone that was the least bit disrespectful. Mr. Elliston, did you come here to insult me? Certainly not, he answered in a gentler tone. Forgive me, Nellie. I can't abide having another win the affections of one I so much covet. If you only knew, Nell, Mr. Elliston, don't. Both came to their feet. He advanced and seized her hands once more. Nay, he suddenly flung one arm about her slender waist and drew her closely at the same time in printing a kiss on her cheek. I love you, Nell, and will not give you up. Fly with me, darling, where no odious friends may come between us. Fillin, release me! Nell struggled with desperate energy, but she was as a child in the hands of the tall scoundrel. No, no, little girl, I will not permit you to escape. I mean to make it impossible for you to wed another, great of the man, in a meaning voice that sent a shudder of horror to the heart of pure Nell Darrell. Lucky it was for the girl that her visitor had not yet left the house. Nell screamed aloud, and then the hand of Elliston was pressed over her pretty mouth. Had the man been in his sober senses he would never have attempted such bold work, but when in liquor Harper Elliston was far from prudent. No nonsense now, he sneered. And then a door opened, a slender form crossed the floor, and as Elliston turned to confront the newcomer he received a straight left-hander in the chest that sent him back reeling. Gasping and very red Nell started aside and held out her hand with a low cry of alarm.     Instead, however, of making the attempt, the man drew a small derringer from his pocket, and lifting the hammer leveled it at the head of his youthful assaulter. Gentlemen, please, please, desist, pleaded Nell in a shaky voice. This is no place for a quarrel. This isn't, I admit, return to the boy, but this sneak brought it about, and now the odds are so much against him he has recourse to a deadly weapon. There is just that difference between us, Harper Elliston. The New Yorker started as the youth pronounced his name. He imagined that he was not known to the boy. You see, I know you, preceded the boy, noticing the man's start. I have had the villain, Elliston, pretty well described to me, and know that your act just now justifies me in calling you by that name. Shoot, coward, if you dare! There was a cool defiance in the blue eyes of the boy that won the admiration of Elliston in spite of his anger. No, the game is too small, retorted Elliston, lowering his weapon. I cannot afford to tarnish an honourable reputation by shedding the blood of a child. I shall nevertheless remember you, young man, and on the proper occasion give you the thrashing you so richly deserve. A look from Nell Darrell cut short the words that trembled on the lips of the youth. I bid you good afternoon, Miss Darrell, and Elliston bowed and walked to the door. I will see you again and explain matters. The door opened and closed, and the smooth villain was gone. Thank heaven, murmured Nell. It might have been worse, said the boy. I did not miss my guess when I called him Elliston. No. I thought not. You can see now that Harry Bernard had good reason for warning you to beware of Harper Elliston. I can see it plainly enough, returned the girl. When will Harry come to Woodburg? I understand how anxious you are, said the boy with a smile. Harry is assisting Dyke to ferret out the railroad express-prime, and it may be some weeks before he comes to this part of the state. I think he will be satisfied to know that you are true to him. It was his knowledge of Elliston's villainy that induced him to send me to see you with a note of warning. I am thankful for his kindness, Mr. Ender. Everybody calls me Paul, Miss Daryl. And everybody, that is, my friends, I'll call me Nell, returned the girl with a pleasant little laugh. Let it be Nell and Paul, then, and the boy joined her in her laugh, thus aiding in banishing the shadows of the day. Harry Bernard's youthful messenger soon after departed, promising to call again on the following day when he might have another message from young Bernard, who was still supposed to be in St. Louis. In the meantime the angry and disconfident Elliston repaired to the hotel and made hasty preparations for departure. He left on the first train for Chicago. It was late in the evening that Mrs. Scarlett, in her den on Clark Street, was roused from a nap she was indulging in, with her head against the wall, by a sharp wrap at the door. Rousing up, she went to see who had come. She admitted a man with a plug hat and red whiskers. Professor Darlington ruggles. Aren't you glad to see me, madam? He held out a white set of digits. No, why should I be glad? She accepted the proffer of friendship, however, and shoved a rickety old chair for her visitors' use. I'll tell you why, because I am the best friend you've got in Chicago. That wouldn't be saying much, said Mrs. Scarlett harshly. Wouldn't it? Didn't I say so? He comes to see me now, since poor nephew Martin was taken from me. I feel about ready to die, but for one thing. And that? Revenge! Her eyes snapped in their hollow sockets, and the withered bosom heaved with inward emotion. Mr. Ruggles admitted a laugh. He was evidently pleased at the condition of the woman's feelings. I am glad to find you in this condition, madam, he said, after a brief pause. I am here to tell you how you can be revenged, if I mistake not the object on whom your hatred rests. It's that infernal, dyke Daryl. I knew it. You would smile and feel happy to see him suffer? It would be his beef-state to a starving man, said the woman, savagely. Then listen. He has a most charming sister living in one of the interior towns of the state. She is the only relative he has in the wide world. You construct the railroad detective through Nell Daryl. Yes, yes, go on. He is away most of his time, as you doubtless know. And the girl is alone? Say for an old negrous, don't interrupt me, please, until I tell you the exact situation. One of my acquaintances, a gentleman of means, and a mean gentleman, for that matter, wishes to get this girl into his possession. What object he may have does not matter, so long as he is willing to pay big for the work. All that is required of you, Mrs. Scarlett, is to furnish a room, and to see that when once inside, Miss Daryl does not escape, nor communicate with the outside world.  I do. And you will consent to act as this girl's keeper for a time? Yes, yes," cried the woman, with eager emphasis, and then a low, half-suppressed sneeze startled them both. Professor Darlington Ruggles sprang up and looked toward the door. It stood ajar, and through the opening peered a masked face, centered with a pair of glittering eyes. Uttering a mad cry, Ruggles drew a concealed revolver, and leveling at the head, fired. CHAPTER XVI NEL MISSING The reader can imagine the indignation of the railroad detective when he found himself arrested by the Burlington officer.  I am a detective. That won't go down. If you attempt to escape, I will blow out your brains,' returned the officer, still holding his cocked weapon to the head of Dyke Daryl. The detective was deeply annoyed at this, on board the train where the remains of the daughter of one of Burlington's most prominent citizens, and Dyke was extremely anxious to meet the friends and explain the situation. "'You may take me at once to the chief of police,' said Dyke Daryl, at length. I can explain to him, since he knows me.' Another officer approached, and the first one requested him to handcuff his prisoner. A hot flush of anger shot to the cheek of the detective. "'This is going too far,' he said in a vexed tone. "'If you attempt to put the irons on me, I'll make you trouble.  That's fair enough,' said the second officer. "'But he is a dangerous character,' persisted the first. "'Whom do you take me for?' Dyke demanded indignantly. "'Slim Steve, the train robber. Where did you get your information?' "'It doesn't matter. You'd better go slow, officer. Look at that and tell me what you think of it.' Turning back the lapel of his coat, Dyke Daryl revealed a glittering silver star, and below this a flaming eye on a dark background. "'A Pinkerton detective,' exclaimed the second officer. "'I am a detective, and I know my business without receiving instructions from the police of a one-horse town,' retorted Dyke Daryl in anger. "'I am willing, however, to visit your chief, who will confirm my words. We had orders from him to arrest you. Very good. I demand that you take me before him.' After a short consultation the two officers concluded to gratify their prisoner, and without attempting to handcuff him they conducted him from the depot to the police station. As luck would have it the chief was in, and at once recognized and greeted Dyke Daryl. Explanations soon followed. "'You must not blame my men,' said the chief, for word was sent from an interior town in Illinois, stating that a notorious crook was on the train, and would stop at Burlington. A description was given that tallied with yours, and so the mistake was made. "'Do you know who sent the dispatch?' "'A sheriff, I think. Just accommodate me with the name of the town, please.' Dyke Daryl was deeply excited at this last attempt to deprive him of his liberty. The officer referred to the dispatch and read the name of the place from whence it originated. "'Woodberg!' Dyke Daryl uttered the name in wonder. "'I don't understand it,' he said. "'That is my own home, and I am too well known there to merit suspicion. It must have been meant for a practical joke.' And the detective's thoughts were turned to Harper Elliston. It might be, of course, admitted the chief of the Burlington police, but it is a joke that I shouldn't relish, and you may make it warm for the perpetrator. I can telegraph and inquire into it if you wish, Mr. Daryl. Not now. I shall be in Woodberg within a few days, and then I will find out all about it.' Dyke Daryl repaired at once to the home of Captain Osborne, which was occupied by relatives of the Captain, and informed them of the sad fate that had overtaken Sibyl Osborne. An aunt and a cousin, the latter a young man of prominence, were the relatives mentioned. The cousin promised to attend the remains after listening to the strange story Dyke Daryl had to tell. Sibyl had left home ten days before, pretending to go on a visit to friends. When she left it was not suspected that she was out of her mind, consequently the news was all the more sad. From Burlington the railroad detective returned to Black Hollow, and from there he went to St. Louis to consult with Harry Bernard. Here he was met with the announcement that his young friend had taken the train for Chicago some days before. This was an annoying state of affairs indeed. Remaining a few days in St. Louis, Dyke Daryl at length left the city and route for Woodberg. He was anxious to meet Nell, from whom he had now been absent about a fortnight. On reaching Woodberg the detective found a telegram awaiting him from Chicago. Come at once! I have made an important discovery—H. Of course this must be from Harry. It was dated some days before, however, which annoyed Dyke. Harry Bernard might have changed his base of operations by this time. I will call at the house, mused Dyke Daryl. I have an hour's time before the next Chicago train. Aunt Jewel was extremely glad to meet Marcia Dyke. Why didn't she bring the young Misses with you? questioned the negroes. What's that? Hope you didn't think I've committed matrimony, and the detective laughed lightly at the same time chuckling Aunt Jewel under her fat chin.  Miss Nell? Isn't she at home? Well, now, what a question! Of course she ain't! Didn't you send for her your very self? How didn't you expect she's going to be home if you didn't done Brunger, eh? All this was Greek to Dyke Daryl. What in the name of caution are you driving, Aunt Jewel? I haven't seen my sister since I left home, and if she's gone to look for me she's done a very foolish thing, for I'm not long in one place she ought to have known better. Aunt Jewel flounced out of the room to return soon with a yellow envelope in her hand. Dare, look at that now! If you didn't done write that, then I'd like to know who did. The detective opened the letter his housekeeper placed in his hand and read, Chicago, April 30, 1880, Nell, come on the next train as I wish to see you in this city. Aunt Jewel will look after the house until you return. Don't disappoint me, Dyke. The detective glanced at the negroes after reading this note, the writing of which very much resembled his hand. This came when? Yesterday. Through the mail? Yes, Marsa. A frown darkened the brow of the detective. He crumpled a letter in his hand and began pacing the floor with nervous strides. Something must be wrong if you didn't write that letter. Suddenly Dyke Darrell turned on the speaker and touched her huge arm with a clinging hand. Jewel, when did my sister answer this letter, he demanded fiercely. Just the next train. Last night? Yes, Marsa Dyke. Dropping his hand from Aunt Jewel's huge arm, the detective rushed from the room and the house. He was laboring under great excitement, as well he might be, for Nell was the apple of his eye, and she had been enticed to the great city for a fell purpose, he believed. CHAPTER 17 Nell in the Toils The instant after Professor Ruggles fired, the masked face in the doorway disappeared, and the sound of swift moving feet was heard. Still clutching his weapon, the Professor strode to the door and flung it open, gazing into the alley which framed no reply to the question that trembled unspoken on his lips. Did you hit him, Professor? I fear I didn't. Professor Ruggles then made an examination of the alley that assured him that his bullet had not been stopped by flesh and bone. Instead it lay on the ground where it had fallen, flattened from the brick wall above.  So much for your condemned carelessness in not locking the door, he retorted, with equal severity. Well, maybe you'd better see that it has fastened now. Professor Darlington Ruggles turned the key in the lock, and then assumed a seat once more. Let me see, where did we leave off? In a mighty important place, answered the woman, if that sneak had been at the door long he must have heard something of our plans. And it makes you feel uneasy? Don't it you? A trifle. I can't imagine who the sneak was. Nor I. It might have been one of the boys playing a joke, said Ruggles. I hope it's nothing more serious. I shall dismiss the sneak from my mind at any rate, returned Mr. Ruggles. Tomorrow night you may look for your guest, Mrs. Scarlett. Remember whatever plans for vengeance you may have formed will be more than gratified in placing this detective sister completely in the power of a man who knows how to use it. The professor's eyes snapped at the last, and he lifted and smoothed to sat rapidly with one long arm. I understand. Nothing can be too harsh and awful for one of the breed, his madge, Scarlett, in a way that made even Professor Ruggles flesh creep. Then he rose to go. I will see you again, Air Long. Mrs. Scarlett locked the door after the retreating form of the tall professor. And then, going to the little table, she sat down, and resting her thin cheeks between her hands, she cried, It is coming, it is coming. At last I am to avenge the insults heaped upon me in mind by that scoundrel, who sends men to prison for money, for pay doled out to him by the minions of the law. Daniel, if you can look down on your old widow tonight, from your home among the stars, you will see her with tears of joy in her old eyes at the thought of how she will avenge herself on your enemies. When once that girl comes into my hands I will execute vengeance to suit myself, without regard to Professor Ruggles or any other man. So it would seem that even the professor did not fully comprehend the depth of Mrs. Scarlett's vindictiveness toward Dyke Darrell. It was Professor Darlington Ruggles who penned the letter to Nell Darrell that sent the unsuspecting girl to Chicago to meet her brother. She was not a little surprised at not finding Dyke at the depot to meet her, and consequently felt a thrill of alarm at seeing so many strange faces. Why had he not come? While standing, meditating on what course to pursue, a gentleman in a rather seedy garments, yet with all not bad-looking, stepped up and touched the girl's arm. Is this Miss Darrell? Yes, sir, answered the girl promptly, at the same time regarding the tall, sunset-haired gentleman who bowed and lifted his hat, with no little curiosity. I am Oscar Sims, a friend to the great detective, and ever ready to serve his handsome sister. Yes, sir, I do not think it will be at all necessary. I expect my brother at any minute now," returned Nell, with cool hauteur meant to be freezing. Nell had heard of the villainous sharks of the great city, who lie in wait for unsuspecting maidens, and she did not mean to be taken in by one of them. Mr. Sims, however, seemed to be a kind gentleman, and when he looked heard at her remarks she hastened to apologize for seeming rudeness. It is not at all necessary, said Mr. Sims, with a bland smile. Mr. Darrell requested me to visit the depot, and looked after a young lady whom he expected on the evening train from Woodburg. I hope you will not distrust one who has the best interest of the great detective at heart. Again the red-haired gentleman bowed and looked smilingly into the face of the young girl. For the time Nell was thrown off her guard. I—I expected to meet my brother, she articulated. He said nothing about you, a stranger meeting me at the depot. No, and good reason why. He did not know when he wrote it that it would be impossible for him to get to the depot. A slight accident—accident—Dyke injured, then let me go to him at once, cried the impulsive girl, before the man could complete his sentence. It is not so very bad, said Mr. Sims, as he led the way to the walk without, and placed his fair charge on the cushions of a hack. Using low instructions to the driver, he vaulted to the side of Nell Darrell, and the hack rattled away. Nell sat flushed and silent for some minutes, her heart throbbing painfully. Tell me about it, she finally said to her companion. How did it happen? I can't give you the particulars since they were not given to me, answered he. I only know that Dyke met with a fall on the stone pavement, and Dr. Bonnasett says that his leg is broken. He is in considerable pain, but cheerful with all, and will be mighty glad to see Nell, as he calls you. Again the man smiled in the face of the girl at his side, and up to this time no suspicion of truth flashed upon her brain. Although the hack moved rapidly, it seemed to the anxious girl a long time in reaching its destination. Mr. Darrell is at my house, said the gentleman, and I live at least two miles from the depot. This was said to silence the growing uneasiness manifested by Miss Darrell. Then at length the hack came to a halt. Mr. Sims quickly alighted and lifted Nell Darrell to the curb. Then the hack sped swiftly into the night. Nell gazed about her with a shudder. The low, dingy buildings and bad smell pervading the place startled her. It cannot be that this is the place, she cried, standing firm, as he attempted to lead her toward a door, over which glimmered a faint light. Oh, yes it is. But I will not go in there. We'll see about that, he growled, suddenly lifting her in his arms and striding forward. End of Chapter 17. CHAPTER XVIII. BEATEN BACK. The moment Nell Darrell felt herself lifted from her feet she uttered a wild cry which was smothered in its inception by the hand of her captor.  Nell was young and vigorous, and she made a desperate struggle for liberty. It was with the utmost difficulty that the man made his way into the room occupied by Mrs. Scarlett. Bring the chloroform, said the villain. We can't do anything with the girl without it. I'll fix her, answered the woman, in a voice that sent a shudder to the heart of poor Nell. Then a subtle fume filled the girl's nostrils, and soon her senses faded out upon a sea of nothingness. Her troubles were over for the time. Then the man, who was none other than Professor Ruggles, bore his insensible burden after the steps of Mrs. Scarlett to a room in a gloomy basement beneath the building. As we have before remarked, it was in a disreputable part of the city, and it was not likely that the friends of the fair Nell would look in such a quarter for her. Now, then, said Professor Ruggles, when the twain were once more in the room above, I shall hold you responsible for the girl's safe keeping, Mrs. Scarlett. I'm ready to do my part, answered the woman. How long will you keep her here? As long as suits my purpose, I'm not sure. I may conclude to wait until Dyke Darrell is put off the trail before I take the girl to Gotham. That city will be my ultimate destination. I must leave you now, my dear, but I shall call to-morrow and see how my girl is getting on. He turned then as if about to depart. See here, Professor. Eh? He faced about once more. Haven't you forgotten something? I think not. The girl must eat. Certainly. And do you imagine I am going to pay the bill? said the woman, tartly. Well, I had forgotten that a little of the root of evil was necessary in your case. A smile deepening into a disagreeable laugh followed as Professor Ruggles laid a greenback in the hand of his tool. A moment later he was gone. As the door closed on his retreating form, the countenance of Madge Scarlett underwent a change. The wrinkled face flushed with wrath, and the skinny hands were raised on high. Professor Ruggles, you may have successfully duped the girl, but you cannot make one of me. I can read you like a book, and it may be that I shall conclude not to permit you to have your way in this matter. Through this girl I shall be able to ring the heart of the man I hate, and I mean to do it. Ah! Dyke Darrell! Venomous scoundrel! The hour of my revenge draws an eye. I shall willingly cast my soul into Hades for this one drop of satisfaction. There was an awful glitter in the woman's eyes at the last, and her fierce emotions caused her frame to tremble visibly. In the meantime Hal fared it with poor Nell Darrell, who had gone thus blindly to her doom. She did not awake from the stupor caused by the chloroform until another day had dawned upon the world, although but little light was permitted to find its way into this underground apartment, whose stone walls were damp with ooze and from once no voice could penetrate to the busy world above. A faint light entered the place from between iron bars that spanned a narrow window far above the head of little Nell Darrell. The only furniture in this cellar was a straw cot on which Nell had been laid and a low stool. The girl felt terribly sick and weak when she came to realize her condition. She could understand now the truth when too late that she had been enticed from home by a villain, and naturally enough her thoughts reverted to Harper Elliston. Yet why should she think of that man? Still he was not wicked enough to stoop to anything of this kind. Nell was not to be left long in suspense, however. The door to her prison creaked on its hinges, and a man entered and stood confronting her in the gray light. It was Harper Elliston. There was a smile on his sinister countenance, and he stroked his beard with the coolest insolence imaginable. How do you find yourself this morning, my dear? questioned Elliston in a low voice. This is your work, villain. Hush! Don't speak in such a harsh tone, Nell, answered Mr. Elliston, with a deprecatory wave of the hand. I cannot permit you to impugn my motive, Miss Darrell. I claim that all is fair in love and war.  Blame me not if I have changed my mind on that score. It is you who have driven me to it. Nevertheless I am constrained to deal justly and kindly with you, my girl, and again offered to share my New York palace with you. Could anything be more generous? The infamy of his proposition roused all the fire in the nature of Nell Darrell. Harper Elliston, how dare you insult me in this way! Do you imagine that I would for one moment countenance anything so base? You have missed your mark, if you imagine you can frighten me into consenting to my own ruin. It may be accomplished without your consent. Such a look has swept his face, startled the girl. The hideous nature of the man was now revealed in all its naked deformity. She shrank from him as she would have shrunk from a venomous serpent. He continued to smile and stroke his glossy beard. You see how it is, my dear, he proceeded. The wisest thing you can do is to submit to the inevitable. He advanced as he spoke. She recoiled with a shudder of wild alarm.  Again the demon laughed. You seem to take my love-making-hard, Miss Darrell. Not another step, warned Nell. Oh, ho, ho, would you try to frighten me? You can't do that. I've tamed more than one such as you. Come, be sensible, and let me have one kiss at least. Again he advanced. Click! Harper Elliston uttered a low yet startled cry and shrank back an alarm. A cocked derringer gleamed in the hand of Nell Darrell, and the open muzzle was pointed at his breast. This was as disagreeable as it was unexpected. A low-muttered oath fell from the lips of the baffled villain. Girl, have a care, that weapon may go off, he cried, in a voice husky with disappointment and rage. It will go off if you do not depart at once, she answered, with all the sternness she was able to muster. Hand that pistol to me. Never! Hence you will get, if you dare advance another step. Harper Elliston realized that he was baffled for the present. He had never suspected the presence of a weapon on the person of Nell Darrell, else he would have disarmed her at the outset. After a moment of hesitancy the villain turned and strode from the place. When Nell attempted to follow she was confronted by a solid oak door that Elliston had quickly closed and locked behind him. With a low moan Nell retreated and sank weak and trembling on the miserable cot, and for the next few minutes gave free reign to her alarm in tears. In the meantime Elliston hurried above and confronted Madge Scarlett with a terrible frown on his brow.   I don't like it much, neither. Eh? I don't understand, said Mrs. Scarlett. I will make you understand, and Elliston advanced angrily upon the woman and raised his hand. Strike, if you dare!  You're just capable of striking a woman, sneered Madge Scarlett. I've seen such critters before. God never meant them for men, however. Mr. Elliston held his hand. He saw that he had come near making a mistake. Forgive me, Miss Scarlett, he said in a subdued voice. I was beside myself, but I had reason to be. Do you know that Nell Darrell is armed? No. She is, nevertheless, with a pistol. She's a perfect tigress, and would as soon shoot me as not. I shall leave it for you to get the weapon from her. I can do it easy enough. I hope so. Tonight I will have more definite plans. I may conclude to take the girl away then. Mr. Elliston passed from the room. He had been gone but a few minutes when another person entered. Nick Brower, the tool and friend of Mrs. Scarlett and the professor. Well, what's the news, Nick? My nephew is still in Durant's vile? Yes, answered the low ruffian, and what's more, Dyke Darrell, the detective, is in Chicago. Dyke Darrell, the railroad detective, or The Crime of the Midnight Express, by Frank Pinkerton. CHAPTER XIX. THE DETECTIVE FOOLED. Two men met unexpectedly in one of the hotel corridors of the great city. Two hands went out, and—how are you, Harry? How are you, Dyke old boy? When did you leave St. Louis? This from the detective. Not long since. I am confident that our game is in this vicinity. I meant to come down to Woodburg soon and consult with you. I sent a telegram, but it brought no answer from you. I wasn't at home. It was placed in my hands yesterday. And that is why you were here? Not wholly. There was a gloomy look on the face of the detective, not natural to it, and young Bernard knew that something had gone decidedly wrong with his detective friend. It is about Nell, said Dyke Darrell, when questioned. She came to the city last evening in answer to a letter purporting to come from me. The letter was a decoy from some villain, and I fear that Nell has met with a terrible fate. A groan came at the last. Harry Bernard's face blanched, and he, too, seemed excited and deeply moved. The caneyes of Dyke Darrell noticed the young man's emotion, and he felt a suspicion growing stronger each movement. Nell, in the city, decoyed, exclaimed Harry at length, Great Heaven, Dyke, this is awful! It is. Then the detective laid his hand on the young man's shoulder, and piercing him with a stern look, said in an awful voice. Harry Bernard, on your honour as a man, what do you know of this enticing of Nell to the city? What do I know? Yes, what do you know? There was a stern ring in the detective's voice, not to be mistaken. I know only what you have just told me, Dyke. This is the truth?  My soul! You do not understand the feeling that animates my heart for Nell Darrell. I hope you will not insult me again with a suspicion so haggard and awful. The hurt look resting on the face of the young amateur detective was sufficient to convince Dyke Darrell that Harry Bernard spoke the truth, and this knowledge only increased his uneasiness. I am fearful some terrible ill has befallen Nell, groaned Dyke. My friend, said Harry, we must let all other matters rest until we find the girl. I have a suspicion that may lead to something definite. Let me tell you now that during the past year you have warmed a serpent in your bosom in the person of Harper Elliston. I have never until now dared make this assertion in your presence, knowing as I did the great respect you had for the oily-tongued fellow. The time for plain speaking has come, however. I shall take no offense. No, I am glad to hear you say that. Come to my room, Dyke, and I will tell you something that may open your eyes a little. The detective complied, and when they were seated Harry poured out his confidence. I am glad you have been thus frank with me, Harry, said the detective when his friend had finished. I have heard enough of late to convince me that Elliston is a wolf in sheep's clothing. And that is one point gained. It is, and I believe that it was Elliston who penned the decoy letter. I am more than half convinced that such is the case, admitted Dyke Darrell. Have you investigated? Thoroughly, since I came into town, I learned that Nell got off at the depot and that she met a red-haired man and entered a hack with him. After that all is blank. That confirms my suspicion, Dyke. What is that? This man with the floored lofts meeting Nell and going away from the depot in her company, Professor Ruggles, is a friend of Elliston's. Indeed! It is true. I believe before another day passes the place of the girl's seclusion can be found. Down on Clark Street is Mother Scarlett's place, a played-out old hag, and she has been hand in glove with this red-haired man for some time. Mother Scarlett, exclaimed the detective, I have met her. She is the aunt of the Martin Skidway who is now serving out the remainder of his term for counterfeiting. The same, I suppose. I move that we visit her den and see what we can find. Agreed. Let us go at once. Dyke Darrell came to his feet. Wait a moment, Dyke. Well, you are too well known by the crooks of this city to move about without disguise. I will fix that. I will meet you again in an hour. And then Dyke Darrell hurried away. It was almost dark when two men, one old and gray, with a bump on his shoulder, called at a dingy old brick on Clark Street and wrapped in a narrow door that opened into an alley. No answer was vouch-saved. Then the old man turned to the knob, but the door refused to yield. Twanted, you fellows. The voice came from behind the two men. Turning they saw a stout, ill-looking fellow with unkempt hair and beard, peering at them from the street. Ain't this the house where Miss Scarlett stops? questioned the elderly man. Maybe it is. Where's the woman now? Bless your soul, old man, I don't know. Better call again. She's always in evenings. Suggested the man at the edge of the street. Maybe we had, grunted the old man at the door. Then he and his companion moved out of the alley. They went but a little way when they came to a full stop and entered into a low confab. A pair of keen eyes was watching them during the time, however, and a little later the man who had addressed the two strangers walked away. He passed the rear of the block and made his way by a back stairs to a room on the first floor. Here he found the one he was seeking, Mrs. Scarlett, who was engaged in discussing a supper of bread and beer. She was alone. Eh? So you're here again, Nick. Did he send you? The Professor? Who else should I mean? Well he didn't, then. I see a couple of blokes in the alley just now and they quiet for you. Why didn't you send him up? And the woman laughed in a way that revealed her ragged teeth and unwholesome gums. They'll be back soon enough, answered the man. I've an ID, thee mean mischief. Better you go below and see them when they do. All right. Not an hour after darkness had settled while Madge Scarlett sat in the lower room, the one in which we have so many times met her, the door was unceremoniously opened and a man crossed the threshold. An old man he was, with bent form and white hair, a hump disfiguring his shoulder, his trembling right hand resting on the top of a cane. Good evening, mistress. The old man, who had closed the door sharply too behind him, sank to a rickety chair as he uttered the greeting. I don't know you, retorted Madge Scarlett, sharply. Haven't you got into the wrong house? Well, I don't know, whined the man in a sharp falsetto voice. I reckon if you're Mr. Scarlett, you're the one I'm to see. I'm not ashamed to own the name, old man. Let's have your business at once. I'm pretty much broke up since I came out of the Bastille, said the old man. Taint just the place for a gentleman, I can tell you that. It's mighty down-setting on one's pride, which I had a heap of before I was sent to abide there. Who are you and what are you driving at? Mrs. Scarlett asked the question with a puzzled stare. She was possessed of a very suspicious nature, and she was not ready to accept a person on outward appearance alone. I'm William Sugg from Missouri, the old man answered promptly. I came all the way to Chicago to see the aunt of a friend. Maybe you'll understand when I tell you that Martin Skidway was one of the best friends an old man like me had in the Bastille. The name of her nephew opened the way to match Scarlett's heart at once. She questioned Mr. Sugg about the young man, and he answered her with the assurance that they had been inmates of the same prison, and that Martin was losing flesh rapidly from melancholy. It's the doings of that devil, Dyke Darrell, cried Mrs. Scarlett, losing her temper at the thought of her troubles. I've kind of thought, being as I was in Chicago, I'd look up a boarding-place and stay a-spell. I've heard that you have rooms to rent. I have, to the right ones. Will you show me some? Certainly. Mrs. Scarlett rose and lifted a lamp from the table. Come this way. As the woman led the way through a back door into another apartment, a pair of strong hands suddenly seized and held her fast, while a voice hissed in her ears.  It was a startling situation. I am here for a purpose, said the old man, a sudden change in his voice. To lead me to the room in which Nell Darrell is confined. The man's hands fell from the woman's shoulders, and when she turned about she found that he had her covered with a revolver. His voice sounded familiar. You're the detective, Dyke Darrell. It matters not. Show me the way to the room where you have Nell Darrell in prison, uttered the man in a stern voice. The menacing revolver decided the woman. The old building had been arranged for emergencies of this kind, as the sequel will show. A strange glitter came to the eyes of Mrs. Scarlett, as she said, who told you that Nell Darrell was in this house? It matters not. Lead the way at once, or it will be the worst for you. You dare not harm me. I'll show you if you attempt to play me false. A dozen policemen have their eyes on this building at this moment. Come on. The woman turned and walked forward. She passed into a hall and, halting at a side door, unlocked it and pushed it open. In there. Go on. You shall keep me company. Mrs. Scarlett advanced, closely followed by the detective. The moment he crossed the threshold the door closed behind him and the lamp was extinguished, leaving everything in total darkness. Then the detective felt the floor give way and he was precipitated to his doom, the last sound reaching his ears being a mocking laugh from Aunt Scarlett. End of CHAPTER XXXI overmatched by a girl. A low chuckle fell from the lips of Madge Scarlett. I reckon you've met your match this time, Dyke Darrell. I will now enjoy the sweetest revenge. It will be like honey to my blistered tongue. You've done your last shadowing of your bedders. Daniel, husband, you shall be avenged before tomorrow's sun rises over Chicago. Lighting her lamp, the woman fiend bent down and peered through a square opening in the floor to the depths below. It was too far down for the rays of light to penetrate, but she could well imagine that a mangled form lay directly below on the stone floor. A faint groan reached her ears. Ha! He's coming to his senses. I must see that he don't outwit Aunt Madge yet. Then, replacing the trap, the woman left the place and a little later descended the narrow stairs and entered the room beneath the trap. There on the stone floor lay the pretended old man, gasping in pain, yet not able to help himself. Quickly Madge Scarlett bent over the prostrate and helpless victim of her cunning, and began binding his limbs with a stout cord that she had brought with her for the purpose. In a little time the work was completed, and Madge Scarlett stood up with her arms akimbo viewing her work, a satisfied smile playing about the toothless lips. I'll peel you, so that there'll be no deception hereafter, murdered the fiend, and, suiting actions to words, she tore the disguise from the detective's head and face and flung it aside. Thought to fool the old woman, eh?  After gloating over the detective for some time, Madge Scarlett picked up her lamp and turned away, a feeling of intense satisfaction in her heart at the knowledge that she had her enemies so completely at her mercy. It was satisfaction for one day at least. The woman passed through two basement rooms, unlocking and locking doors, until she at length stood in the presence of Nell Darrell. I ain't here with supper, madam, sneered the woman, as Nell started up and approached her. You're not to have a mouthful to eat just at present. That's the compliments your husband sends. But Nell did not seem to appreciate the gross wit of her keeper. I am not hungry woman, but I appeal to you to permit me to go from this place. I shall die here in a short time.  Nell had much of the determined spirit of her daring brother in her composition. She was not yet ready to give up all hope and fall crushed in despair. Her right hand grasped the butt of the little derringer she had been thoughtful enough to provide herself with before leaving home. Will nothing move, you woman? Nothing, sneered Mrs. Scarlett. Your brother sent my husband to a dungeon and to his death, and for that and other wicked work of his I mean to be avenged. I shall cause him to suffer through his sister. You imagine the handsome Eliston a monster, I reckon, but I will show you that he is but a child compared to Magist Scarlett. Stop! I do not care to listen to you. Please hand over the keys to this den of demons. A cocked pistol was brought forward to emphasize the fair prisoner's demand. A sneering laugh answered the girl's demand. Magist Scarlett did not seem to look upon the weapon as a dangerous one. Quick! I have no time to parley. Fling down the keys, toss them to the door yonder and then take your place in yonder corner. Do you hear me? So stern was the girl's voice, so full of intense meaning as to amaze the infamous woman who confronted her. This is all a joke. It will prove a dear joke if you don't obey. Stop! One step toward me and I fire. I am in deadly earnest. And the sneering Magist Scarlett realized that she was. It was a most humiliating position. Once the woman thought of making a quick spring, but a pressure of the trigger was all that was necessary to send a bullet on an errand of death. With reluctance the woman drew a bundle of keys from her pocket and flung them to the floor behind her and closed to the door that stood ajar. Don't be so spiteful. Now then go to that corner, move quickly. The girl still threatened her keeper with a cocked derringer, and she crossed the floor with a growl that was not pleasant to hear. There, that is about right. Then Nell Darrell, back to the door, snatched up the bundle of keys and lamp, passed into the next room, securing the door just as the hag from within came against it with tremendous force, at the same time uttering a series of the most ear-splitting yells. The door failed to yield, and Nell now hastened to improve her opportunity for escape that the carelessness of Mrs. Scarlett had given her. about in the cellar. It was a stout tin lamp that the fleeing girl held in her hand, and the blaze filled the subterranean apartment but dimly. She found herself in a square room, larger than the one she had just left. Advancing to a door she tried it to find it locked. This was made to yield, however, by one of the bunch of keys, and she proceeded to another door that stood ajar. Help! It was a smothered cry that reached the girl's ears and quite startled her. The sound came from the next apartment. For a minute Nell Darrell hesitated. She reasoned that she had nothing to fear from the hag who kept the place, and one who was in need of help certainly could not be a friend to Mrs. Scarlett, or those who profited by the old woman's villainy. Help! Again came that cry, and Nell moved forward, pushed open to the door and flashed her light over the scene, a room much smaller than the one she had just quitted. A dark object writhing on the floor startled her vision. Old woman, do you mean to murder me here? The man seemed to imagine that the newcomer was the hag who kept the place. With trembling steps Nell Darrell advanced and flashed her light into the face of a bound and helpless prisoner. Mercy! It is dyke! Stunned at the discovery Nell was completely overcome for the time and stood with arms extended like one petrified. Nell, is it you? cried the stun detective. Where is the old hag who rules this den of iniquity? Black yonder safely locked in a room, said Nell, when she could find voice. And you did it? Yes. Cut these cords, brave girl, and we will soon be out of this. Placing her lamp on a box near, Nell Darrell proceeded to comply with the request of her brother. She had with her a small open knife, and this came into play neatly enough. Soon the detective's limbs were free. He found, when he attempted to rise, that he was unable to do so. I received a bad fall, he said with a groan. Lend me a hand, Nell, and we will get out of this before friends of that woman come to her rescue. Nell assisted her brother to his feet. He groaned with pain, for it seemed him as though every bone in his body was broken.  Can you walk, brother? I can make a desperate try at any rate, uttered the detective, grimly. Then, assisted by Nell's arm, he hobbled across the floor to ward a narrow stairs that promised them passage to rooms above. The beard and wig were left in the cellar. The sound of steps on the floor overhead brought brother and sister to a sudden halt. Hark! Someone is coming, uttered Nell. It seems so. Then the sound of an opening door startled them. It's strange that Madge has left everything in such a careless way, said a masculine voice. Ho! Madge, where are you? Hold up there, uttered another voice. I reckon the old gal knowed what she was doing. There's some skull-duggery going on down here, or my name ain't Nick Brower. I see an old bloke come in, and twixed me and you, professor. It was the man you and me would give more to see out of the world than in it. You mean Dyke Darrell, the detective? I couldn't mean any one else. Come on, then, let's investigate. Extinguish your light, Nell, cried Dyke Darrell in a thrilling whisper. The girl did so at once, but the men above flashed a light into the basement room, and soon steps were heard descending the stairs. Dyke felt over his person to discover that Mother Scarlet had been prudent enough to deprive him of arms.  If we could only get under the stairs, said the detective in a low voice, they made a move to carry out his suggestion, but it was too late. Ha! This exclamation fell from the lips of the foremost man of three who were descending the narrow stairs. The outcry was caused seeing two forms gliding across the stone floor toward the stairs. Quick, hold up there or we fire, cried a sharp voice. Then the three men rapidly descended to the floor and confronted Nell and the detective. Three revolvers were leveled, and death literally stared brother and sister in the face. Caught by the powers sneered the lips above a massive red beard, and Professor Darlington Ruggles' eyes glittered with intense satisfaction as they peered into the face of the famous railroad detective. Had Dyke Darrell been in the full vigor of his manly strength, and Nell not by to unnerve him, his chances for escape would have been tenfold greater. As it was, a terrible weakness oppressed him. His fall into the basement had jarred him terribly, and it was with difficulty that he could stand alone. The walls seemed to whirl about in a mad waltz, and the faces of the three villains seemed one mass of grinning demons. Halt! Nell Darrell, white as death, yet with the fires of resolute purpose blazing in her eyes, thrust forward her pistol. It's pretty Nell on a lark, exclaimed Professor Ruggles. It will be better for you not to make any resistance, for the moment you attempt to do it, that moment death will come to both of you. Be wise in time. The Professor advanced a step. Stop there, sternly ordered the girl. I, stop there, repeated Dyke in a voice husky from very weakness. We will not be taken alive. Do you know on what dangerous grounds you are treading? The block is surrounded by members of the force, and any harm offered to Nell or myself speedily avenged. A jeering laugh answered the detective. It is wrong to tell such a whopper, Mr. Darrell, especially when one is on the verge of eternity, said Ruggles, showing his teeth. The situation was interesting. Will you permit us to depart from here? questioned the detective, suddenly. This speech brought a laugh to the lips of Darlington Ruggles. You do not seem to know me, he said. I know that you pretend to be a professor of some sort, but I believe that you are in disguise. I think if you would cast aside that red hair-suit covering, we should see, Zounds, go for him, boys, cried Professor Ruggles in a loud voice, completely drowning the faint accents of Dyke Darrell. The two men who kept the Professor company made a quick move to seize the twain in front of them. On the instant came a flash and a sharp report. One of the villains staggered and sank with a groan against the stairs. I—I'm shot, he gasped. Then she jade. It was Nick Brower who uttered the hissing cry of rage, and the next instant the villains revolver flashed. My God! You have killed Nell!  Poor Nell! She hung a dead weight in the arms of Dyke Darrell, murdered by the hand of a brutal assassin. No wonder the bruised and almost helpless man-hunter groaned with inward anguish at the sight. He fell no easy prey into the hands of his enemies, however. Staggering backward and easing his bleeding relative to the ground, he turned with a mad cry and dashed at the throat of Professor Darlington Ruggles. Both men staggered across the floor against the stairs. I will strangle you for this, hissed the enraged detective. Help! gasped Ruggles. Grower came to his assistance with a vengeance, and reigned terrific blows upon the head of Dyke Darrell.  Panting and gasping, Professor Ruggles leaned against the stairs and gazed about him in the gloom. The lamp had been overturned in the struggle, and at the last darkness reigned supreme. I fixed him, Professor, growled near Ruggles in a savage undertone. I hope so, the devil. He went for me with the venom of a tiger. Have you a match? Yes. Let's have a light. I'm afraid you have done a miserable job, Nick. Inside a five-minute, the overturned lamp was recovered and burning once more. Its rays revealed a ghastly scene. Two forms lay on the floor, Dyke Darrell and Dnell, both apparently dead.  Mike, where are you hit? I don't know. I felt the bullet going through my brains. A brief examination showed that the man had only been grazed by the shot from the girl's pistol. When this discovery was made, Professor Ruggles became very angry. You made more fuss than a man shot through the neck ought to. The girl has been killed in consequence. Hades, this has been a bad evening's work. I would rather have lost a thousand dollars than had Nell Darrell slain. She won't worth no such money, growled Brower.  I take it that I know more about it than you do. See here, boss, aren't you going on a Ben run for nothing? Where'd you be now if I hadn't gotten Dyke Darrell his quietest? Maybe you'd better thank us instead of curse your friend. There was a deal of homely sense in the words of Burleigh Nick Brower and the Prince of Villains realized it. I wanted the girl unharmed, Nick. If she's dead I don't suppose it can be helped. However she brought her fate upon herself. That she did, Prof. Professor Ruggles then proceeded to make an examination of the wound in Nell Darrell's head. He was gratified to discover that the bullet had merely glanced across the girl's skull without making a necessarily dangerous wound. I will take the girl out of this while you dispose of the detective, said Ruggles. Be sure and fix him so that he will give no trouble in the future. Trust me for that, answered the villain Brower. Then Prof. Ruggles passed up the stairs with Nell Darrell in his arms, just as four men halted at the side door in the alley. CHAPTER XXII of Dyke Darrell. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Like Darrell, the Railroad Detective, or The Crime of the Midnight Express, by Frank Pinkerton. CHAPTER XXII The Empty Seat. A hand shook the door as Prof. Ruggles entered the room. He at once suspected something wrong, but cared only for his own safety, and so did not attempt to warn the inmates of Mrs. Scarlett's den of their danger. He hurried to the rear of the block, down an upper hall, and as he was passing into an alley down the back stairs the four men had burst in the side door and rushed into Madge Scarlett's dingy sitting-room. The beaks are out in force, it seems, muttered Ruggles, as he halted for a moment in the ground to rest from his exertion. I hope Nick and that fool part of his will finish Dyke Darrell before the cops get on to them. As for me I shall turn my back on this accursed town the moment I am assured that Nell is out of danger. I will be quite secure in New York, I imagine. And the red-haired villain made his escape from that building, and, leaving his charge in an out-of-the-way alley, went forth to find a conveyance to take the wounded girl to a more safe retreat. He succeeded in finding a hack that suited his purpose, and with his insensible companion he was driven to another part of the city, on the west side. Ruggles had more than one resort in the great western metropolis, and after he had placed Nell in a cozy room, with an old negroess to watch over her he breathed easy once more. Nell Darrell was badly injured, and for several days she raved in delirium. When she came to her senses she was weak and almost helpless. During all this time the black tulle of Darlington Ruggles cared for her in a most kindly manner. The negroess had been instructed to do all in her power for the girl, who the professor assured her was a near relative who was not wholly sound in mind, and this fact, combined with an accident, had brought on the trouble from which she was now suffering. Her little lily murmured the negroess in a sympathetic tone, when the girl was able to sit up and look about her. Where am I, demanded Nell. Using good hands, child, answered the black woman, your cousin says he'll take you out and dissed as soon as you can travel. My cousin? Nell stared at the black, seemingly honest face in wonder. Of a sudden the memory of the adventure in the basement on Clark Street came to the girl as a light from a clouded sky. She had indeed been under a cloud for a long time, and had no means of judging of the passage of time. What had happened during all this while? What fate had been her brothers? A feeling of deepest anxiety filled the girl's breast. Air she could find voice for more words, however, the door opened and a man entered the room. A low, alarmed cry fell from the lips of Nell Darrell. Before her stood Harper Elliston, smiling and plucking at his beard, which was but a mere stubble now. He having shaved since she had met him last. Ah, Nell, you are looking bright. I trust that you feel better. You have been very sick.  For the first time the girl realized that there was a sore spot under her hair at the side of her head. She touched it with her hand and seemed surprised. You have forgotten, doubtless, he said. You were rescued from a band of villains nearly a fortnight since. It seems that one of them must have fired at you since there was a slight wound where you just put your hand that was doubtless made by a bullet. Nell Darrell was beginning to remember the scene in the cellar. I was rescued, you say? Who were the rescuers? Myself, among others, I think you may safely acknowledge that you owe your life to me, said the New Yorker Cooley. And I, questioned Nell with intense eagerness, was saved also, but he is badly hurt and will be laid up for a month or more. He is in one of the city hospitals. Oh, sir, I am thankful it is no worse. What have they done with the villains, that sleek one with the red hair and beard? They are all in prison and will be brought to court as soon as the witnesses are in a condition to appear against them. The witnesses? Dike Darrell and yourself. Can I go to Dike? Hardly, he answered with a smile. You could not walk, that is certain, and I am sure to attempt to ride would prove a dangerous experiment. I am too deeply interested in your welfare to permit the attempt.  You see, it would not do to attempt leaving your room at present, said the villain, still smiling. Besides, there is no need of it. Your brother is doing as well as could be expected, and he has the assurance that you are out of danger, which has proved a great comfort to him, I assure you. Well, I suppose I ought to be thankful, sighed Nell, with tears in her dark eyes. I cannot understand it all just now. It seems strange that I should be subject to such treatment. Do you know the man's Sims? Sims, the one with the red hair and beard, he met me at the depot. Exactly. I cannot say that I know the fellow, but I suspect he is a scoundrel of the first water.  Try and get rested and strong, so that you can get back from here to your own home as soon as possible. I hope you do not fear to trust me. He eyed her keenly at the last. She was too weak to fully realize the enormity of this man's offence. She knew nothing of his connection with the Ruffians who had made of Mrs. Scarlett's building a rendezvous. She only knew that he had been indiscreet and insulting once, when in liquor, but of this he might have repented long since. At any rate he seemed to be doing her a good turn now, and she could do no other way than trust him. I am still puzzled about one thing, she said, seeming to forget the question he had propounded. What is that, asked Eliston, why was I brought here? Simply because you were not able to be taken home. But the hospital was no place for a lady. I realized that you needed the best of care, and knowing Aunt Venus was a kind, motherly soul, an excellent nurse, even though she had a black skin, I brought you here. And I've been here—how long? About fourteen days. So long? You are surprised? It doesn't seem a day. I suppose not. You haven't been in your right mind any of the time. Have you any word to send to Dyke? Are you going to him soon? Immediately. I call at the hospital every day to inquire after the dear boy, and I haven't been there this morning. His voice was gentle, and there was a moist light in his dark eyes. It was barely possible that she had wronged the New Yorker, and the thought caused a pain. In the time to come she would confess her obligations, but now she was not in a mood for it. If I could write a line it would do him more good than odd else, said Nell. Can you control your hand? Oh, yes, easily. Then you shall write the dear boy. As you say it will be of immense benefit to him. Mr. Eliston drew forth, from an inner pocket, a book. Opening it he tore out a leaf and placed it, with pencil, in the lap of the invalid girl. It was not without difficulty that she controlled her hand sufficiently to write. Along the folded note, Eliston bade her good morning and passed from the room. The moment he gained the street he tore the bit of paper to fragments, a smile glinting over his face, meantime. So much for that, he muttered, Nell is about, in the right trim, for removal, and I must not delay another day. Simple little thing! She believed every word that I told her regarding the outcome of that racket on Clark Street. What an opinion she would have of me if she knew the truth. I must get to Gotham immediately. My funds are running low, and she must replenish them. I haven't seen Aunt Scarlett since the racket. I hope she got her quietest. I believe I have had quite enough of her disinterested assistance, quite enough of it. And yet the scheming gentleman was to receive more of the Clark Street hag's assistance in the future, and in a way that was not just exactly pleasant than he imagined. Night hung its sable mantle over the earth, a silver moon rode in a clear sky, and the lightning express rattled down through the night with a hiss and a screech that rent the silence with an uncanny sound. The train was speeding through the Empire State, and when morning dawned, with no accident happening, it would come thundering into the great city by the sea. Two persons occupying a seat in the car next to the sleeper merit our attention. One is a heavily veiled lady, apparently sleeping, since her head reclines against the back of the seat, and a low breathing is heard, or might be but for the noise made by the train rattling over the steel rails. Who is the woman? No need to ask when we note the fact that the man sitting there possesses red hair and a beard, the irrepressible Professor Darlington Ruggles of Chicago. He has been eminently successful thus far in his plot for the safe abduction of Nell Darrell. Under the influence of a powerful drug he conveyed her to the station, and set out on the previous day for the East. His companion was an invalid sister, who was in a comatose state a portion of the time as a result of her ill health. This was the story told by the Professor to inquisitive people, and the truth did not come to the surface. Travelers who became accustomed to seeing all sorts of people are not often suspicious. The villain was more successful than he could have hoped. Within a few hours he would be in New York, and then he felt that he could bid defiance to pursuit. It was now past midnight. The man from Chicago felt a deep drowsiness stealing over him. He wished to shake it off, and so, rising and seeing only people in an unconscious state about him, he concluded to go into the smoking car and enjoy a cigar. He began to feel nervous, and such a stimulant seemed absolutely necessary. The train drew into a station, paused less than a minute, and then went swiftly on its way. Normally the scheming villain sat and puffed his cigar until it was more than half consumed, and then he tossed the stump through the open window, and once more he passed into the other car. When he gained the seat he had lately occupied, he could not suppress a cry of startled wonder. The seat was empty. He had left Nell Darrell there not more than twenty minutes since, drugged into complete insensibility. She could not have gone from the seat of her own volition. An indefinable thrill of fear stole over the stalwart frame of Professor Darlington-Ruggles. He glanced up and down the car. The girl was not in sight. But one person was awake, an old man who said, looking for the young lady? The professor nodded. She got off the last station. Got off? How? She had help, of course, explained the old passenger quickly. Who helped her? cried Ruggles in a husky voice. An old woman who got on and off at the last station, quick as a wink. CHAPTER XXIII. DIKE DARELL ON THE TRAIL. The men who burst into Aunt Scarlett's room on the night that Professor Ruggles departed from the block with Nell Darrell in his arms were men of determination and friends of the detective, who had gone into the building in the disguise of an old man, for the purpose of investigating. How the investigation came out, the reader has already been informed. The report of pistols had warned Harry Bernard, the boy Paul Ender, and two officers in their company, that something of an interesting nature was going on in the basement of the Scarlett block. Like is in difficulty, that is sure, cried Harry in an excited voice. We must get inside at once. They tried the side door to find it locked. It was through this door that they had seen the bull detective disappear, and it was in the same direction that the four men proposed to go in search of their daring friend. The room was in darkness, but Paul soon had the rays of a dark lantern flashing about the place. Let us move with caution, said Harry, taking the lead, and entering the hall through the doorway which Ruggles in his hasty flight had left open. Soon voices greeted them from the basement, and a light glimmered through the half-open door at the head of the stairs. If we could only put him under down here, said a voice which the reader will recognize as that of Nick Brower, the villainous accomplice of Professor Ruggles from the opening of our story. Well, I reckon we can, said the villainous companion of Brower. As he spoke he went to the side of the fallen manhunter and placed the point of a knife against his throat. Not now, parred. Dead men tell no tales, Nick. True, send it home. Bang! The sharp retort of a revolver woked the echoes once more. The knife dropped from the nervless grasp of the would-be assassin, and with a howl of pain he began dancing an irish jig on the stone floor of the cellar. Nick Brower whirled instantly, snatched a revolver from his hip, to find that four glittering bulldogs confronted him from the stairs. Drop that weapon, or we will drop you, thundered Harry Bernard in a stern voice. Trapped! cried Brower, in a despairing voice. Then the four men moved down into the cellar and secured Brower and his companion. We have made a good haul, said one of the police officers who accompanied Bernard and Paul, who recognized in Brower an old offender. Harry Bernard bent quickly and anxiously over the prostrate detective. My soul uttered the young man. The villains have killed poor Daryl, I do believe. But the young man's belief was unfounded, since some time later Dyke Daryl came to his senses. He was in a bad condition, however, and those who saw him predicted that the detective had followed his last trail. A search of the building brought to light Madge Scarlett, who was fuming angrily over her imprisonment. How did this happen, demanded Bernard, sternly, when he came to question the hag. She was sullen, however, and refused to answer. I imagine there is a way to bring your tongue into working order, said Bernard in a stern voice. I keep a respectable house, sir. You can't harm me. We'll see about that. Did you find any one? questioned the Jezebel in an apparently careless tone. We have two of your friends in Limbo, returned Harry. You will find it no holiday affair to keep a house for the purpose of murder and robbery. Never mind, you need say nothing, for it will not better matters in the least. Come! And Harry Bernard led the old woman from the cellar. A patrol wagon bore the prisoners to the lock-up, and Bernard had Dyke Daryl taken to a private hospital, where he could have the best of care. It was some days, however, before the badly battered detective came to his senses sufficiently to converse on the subject of the racket in the building on Clark Street. My soul! Harry has nothing but discovered of poor Nell. Was she killed? questioned the wounded man in a voice rung with anguish. I don't think Nell was mortally hurt, returned Bernard in a resturing tone, although he hardly felt hopeful himself. If she was, why should the villains have taken her away? Or the villain, rather, since from your account I judged that but one of them escaped, and he the man with the red hair. Yes, he seemed the chief scoundrel among them. I heard him called Professor Ruggles. He is about as much a professor as I am, answered Bernard. He is the man we want for that midnight crime on the express train. I have enough evidence now, Dyke, to prove that this man is the guilty principal, and I also believe that one of his accomplices is now in prison. Indeed! And then the detective groaned in anguish of spirit and body. It was hard to lay here, helpless as a child, while the fate of Nell was uncertain, and there was so much need for a keen detective to be afloat. Harry realized how his friend suffered and soothed him as best he could. Leave no stone unturned to find her, Harry, urged the detective. If you do find and save her, great shall be your reward. If she is dead, then I will see about avenging the deed. And in that you will not be alone, assured Harry Bernard, a moist light glittering in his eye. Even Dyke Darrell did not suspect how deeply his young friend was interested in the fate of Nell. The days dragged into weeks ere Dyke Darrell was able to be on his feet again. He was not very strong when he once more took it upon himself to hunt down the scoundrels who had wrecked his happy home. When the railroad crime was forgotten for the time, so intense was his interest centered in the fate of his sister. If not dead, Dyke Darrell believed she had met with a far worse fate, and it was this thought that nerved him to think of doing desperate work should the cruel abductor ever come before him. Madge Scarlett was dismissed after an examination, but Nick Brower and his companion were held to await the action of a higher court. One morning the pallid man in a brown suit who had haunted the various depots of the city for several days made a discovery. On one of the early morning trains a man and a veiled female had taken passage east. Dyke Darrell trembled with intense excitement when the depot policeman told him of this. Only this morning, he say? It was on one of the earliest trains, I believe, this morning. A New York train? I am not sure. I see so many people, you know. You might inquire at the ticket office. Dyke Darrell did so. No ticket for New York had been sold that morning. Then the policeman said that it was possible he might have been mistaken as to the time. It might have been on the previous day that he saw the man and his invalid sister. Do you know that they took the New York train? Questioned Dyke. No, I am not positive about that, either. You might telegraph ahead and find if such a couple is on the train. This was a wise suggestion. Dyke acted upon it, but failed to derive any satisfaction. There was a good reason for this, since when leaving Chicago a dark man with smooth face and gray-tinged hair accompanied Nell Darrell. Whereas before reaching the borders of New York State, the place of this man had been taken by a man with red beard and hair, blue glasses, and a well-worn silk plug. This change disturbed identities completely. The change had been made at a weigh station without causing remark among the passengers, the most of whom were not through for the great city. Since New York wellmed them, the scheming villain and poor Nell would be lost forever to the man-tracker of the West. There was a suspicion in the brain of Dyke Darrell that he scarcely dared whisper to his own consciousness. It was that Harper Elliston had had a hand in the late villainy. The detective's eyes were open at last, and he realized that his New York friend was not what he seemed. It was this fact that induced Dyke Darrell to believe that the abductor of Nell had turned his face toward the American metropolis. At once he made search for Harry Bernard and Paul Ender. Neither of them he was able to find, and he had not seen them for two days previous. It did not matter, however. Leaving word at the hotel that he had gone to New York, Dyke Darrell once more hastened to the depot, arriving just in time to leap aboard the express headed for the Atlantic Seaboard. The train that had left four hours earlier was almost as fast as the one taken by the detective, so that if no accident happened to the earlier train there could be little hope of running down his prey before New York was reached. Nevertheless Dyke Darrell preserved a hopeful heart in spite of the terrible anxiety that oppressed him. The woman who had, but a few days before, been released from prison was destined to complicate matters and bring about startling in unexpected meetings as the future will reveal. When night fell Dyke Darrell found himself yet hundreds of miles from the goal of his hopes and fears. CHAPTER XXIV A race for life. As may be supposed, Professor Ruggles was deeply stunned at the coup demand that had deprived him of his fair charge. Who had robbed him? This was the question that at once suggested itself to his mind, and he found it not difficult to frame an answer, although until this moment he had supposed that Madge Scarlett was still in prison. It must be her, he muttered, as he gazed madly at the vacant seat. I'm sure it was her, said the man who had first spoken. A queer wrinkled old woman too, she was. Did she say anything? Not a word. Professor Ruggles passed into the next car, hoping to find Nell and the strange old woman there. He went the whole length of the swift moving train, only to learn that his fair captive had been spirited away completely. At first Rage consumed the man's senses, and he scarcely realized the dangers of his position. I will not give up to such a sneak game, he muttered at length. Madge Scarlett has shadowed me for this very purpose, it seems. Can it be possible that the friends of Nell Darrell have employed this hag to rob me of my prize? I will not believe it, for it isn't in the nature of Madge Scarlett to do a good action, not even for pay. No, it is to gratify her own petty scheme of vengeance that she has stolen a march on me, but she will not succeed. I will get on her track and rest the girl from her hands. A minute later Professor Ruggles stood before the conductor. When does the next train pass going west? It passes Gaelian in an hour. Gaelian, do you stop there? Yes. Soon. Within five minutes. When the train slowed in at the station, Professor Ruggles left the car and entered the depot. Here he would have to wait nearly an hour before the New York train west would pass. It was a tedious wait, but he could do no better. With his handsetchel clutched tightly he paced up and down like a ghost of the night. He was glad indeed when the train came at length, thundering up to the station. He had purchased a ticket for the station from which the abductors had boarded the cars and stolen knelt. With feverish blood the scheming villain sat by the window and watched the fleeting landscape by the light of the moon. The score of miles that intervened between the stations seemed like a hundred to the anxious man who sat and glared at the trees and hills without. He was in extreme doubt as to his ability to cope with the cunning hag who had ventured so many miles to thwart him and indulge her own morbid desire for revenge. At length the whistle sounded announcing the station. As the train bolted beside another train, bound in the opposite direction, Ruggles glanced into the car not ten feet distant, to make a startling discovery. He looked squarely into the face of Dyke Darrell, the railroad detective. Turning his head the professor sat quiet. The other train was moving and Ruggles felt paralyzed at his discovery. Perhaps the detective had not noticed him. He could not understand how the detective had escaped death from the beating he had received in the basement of that building of sin on Clark Street. His own train was moving now, and if he would get off he must be quick about it. Springing from his seat he hastened down the aisle. At the open door he met Dyke Darrell face to face. The recognition was mutual. The train was moving rapidly out of the station. Soon it would be going at full speed. Professor Ruggles had two incentives for leaving the train now, one to escape the detective, the other to find Nell and Madge Scarlett. At first he thought of dashing upon Dyke Darrell and risking all in a swift rush. Second thought, induced by the gleam of a six-shooter in the hand of his enemy, concluded the professor to seek another course. Turning he dashed down the length of the car with Darrell in hot pursuit. Halt! or I fire! But the detective's cry had no effect. The half-sleeping passengers were roused by the wonderful movements of the two men. Madmen! What is the trouble? First were the exclamations, as doors slammed and the two men swept into the next car. From coach to coach sped the pursued and the pursuer. It was a flight for life on the part of Professor Ruggles. His plug hat flew off in the chase, and a breakman who confronted him in the aisle was knocked flat with terrific force. Murder! And then both men disappeared from the rear platform. Dyke Darrell believed he had his man in a corner when he saw him dash through the door at the rear of the long train. Not so, however. The desperate Ruggles was ready to do anything rather than come in contact with his relentless foe. He bounded clear of the train, landing in a soft bit of sand, sinking almost to his needs without harming him in the least. The detective did not hesitate to follow, but he made a miscalculation, owing to his bodily weakness, and instead of landing on his feet he came down with stunning force across one of the rails. Dyke Darrell lay insensible like one dead. Had his enemy come upon him that he might have finished the career of the daring manhunter without the least danger to himself. For once Professor Ruggles missed it woefully. As the detective was ten yards behind the Professor, and the car was going at a good speed, there were quite twenty rods difference between the two men when they landed. Dyke Darrell was completely hidden from the side of Ruggles by a clump of trees. Ruggles gazed up the track but saw nothing of his pursuer. He surmised that Dyke Darrell did not leap from the train, but it was likely he would ring the bell and stop the cars at once, so that it would not do for him to remain in the vicinity unless he wished to collide with the detective. Another supposition came into the brain of the villain, preventing his search along the track. If Dyke Darrell had leaped after him, what more natural than his hiding in the clump of timber for the purpose of pouncing upon him when he came up the road. I'll risk it not, muttered Ruggles. I've other fish to fry just now than looking after detectives. I must find that hag, Madge Scarlett, and get my hands once more on Nell Darrell. Then Mr. Ruggles turned his steps in the direction of the station. Already daylight was dawning, and Professor Ruggles was almost beside himself with anxiety. He cursed the woman who had made it necessary for him to leave the train so many miles outside of Gotham. Such a change in program might result fatally to himself. Dyke Darrell was hot on the trail now, and it would require the best efforts of a desperate man to throw him off the scent. The man with the sunset hair was desperate enough. With hurried steps he made his way to the depot. The agent was just setting up. No train save a waif rate will be along till night, he said, in an answer to a question from the gentleman with the red locks. Ruggles had taken the precaution to provide himself with a cap from his satchel before presenting himself to the man on duty of the depot. One question said Ruggles as the man was about to walk away. Well, did any passengers get off here some hours since from the New York train east? No. Are you sure? None came into the depot at any rate, said the man. Any passengers get on? Several. Among them an old woman? I saw no woman. You are sure? Of course I am. Ruggles was disappointed. Could it be possible that he had been led on a fool's errand after all, and that Madge Scarlett with her prize had been concealed on the train and continued on to New York? The thought was intolerable. In the meantime, how fared it with Diedaryl, who lay stunned and bleeding across the railroad track? It was almost sun-up before he opened his eyes and groaned. His bed was a hard one, and it seemed as though every bone in his body was broken. The fact was, he was yet sore from his serious fall through the trap in the basement on Clark Street. Consequently it is little wonder he was badly demoralized, both in mind at body, at his last mishap. Suddenly a strange rumbling jar filled his ears. A bend in the road to the west hid the track, but the dazed brain of Diedaryl took in the situation nevertheless. A train was thundering down upon him. A minute more and he would be doomed. He tried to move to roll from the track. He could not. His limbs seemed paralysed. Another second and the train would be upon him. CHAPTER XXV Professor Ruggles had not been remiss in his judgment. It was Maj. Scarlett, who stole his victim from his arms almost in the hour of his devilish triumph. She did not get on the train from the Little Way Station, however. She was on the train when it drew out of the great city by the lake, but the scheming Ruggles knew it not. She too wore a veil and was otherwise disguised and managed not to show herself to the man she had once called friend. Immediately on her release from jail she began to watch Ruggles, who kept himself out of the way, or walked the streets only in disguise. She haunted the depots of the city and was lucky enough to see him when he took passage. Quietly boarding the same train she bided her time intent on gaining possession of the detective's sister for purposes of her own. The fires of insanity were already burning in the brain of the convict's wife. Revenge for past wrongs seemed the sole object of her life now, and this was the incentive that placed her on the track of a fleeing villain and his intended victim. Revenge saw Ruggles when he left the car. She watched her opportunity, and, lifting the partially insensible girl, bore her swiftly to the outside, as the train halted for a minute. She gave vent to a chuckle as the train went thundering on its course. She had passed from the cars on the opposite side from the depot, and consequently was able to allude the gaze of the depot agent. Along the track she went, pausing at times to rest until she was fully a mile from the station. In the shadow of a clump of trees the hag came to a halt and deposited her burden on the ground. A moan from the drugged and helpless Nell reached her ears. And then Mrs. Scarlett chuckled aloud her. Good! She's coming out of her bad spell. I want her to realize her fate, else there wouldn't be the least bit of pleasure in my revenge. Removing veil and light cloak, Mrs. Scarlett gazed down into the pallid face of poor Nell, with only hatred gleaming from her sunken, beady eyes. Ho! I've outwitted the Master Devil himself, and now I will have you all to myself, to deal with in a way that will cut to the quick when Dyke Darrell hears of it. Nell had on only a light summer robe under the shawl. She looked very innocent and beautiful as she lay there under the gaze of that human hyena. Pretty as a picture, hissed the wicked mage, all the more delight in seeing you suffer. Ah! she is coming out of her stupor. How do you feel, dear? Nell had opened her eyes. She gazed at the wicked face above her in a dazed semi-consciousness. No answer was vouchsafed. Then in looking about, the gleam of steel lines under the moon's rays seemed to attract the notice of Mrs. Scarlett for the first time, the straight lines that marked the course of the eerie road. Their glitters seemed to offer a diabolical suggestion to mage Scarlett. Ha! I have it! Spring to her feet she laid her arms about the slender form of the helpless girl, and lifting her walked swiftly to the railway-track. In the center between the rails she deposited her burden. Revenge! Sweet revenge! cackled the hag in a blood-curdling voice. Again the girl moved and moaned, yet she seemed unable to change her position. Rest yourself comfortably, my girl, you won't be in trouble long, muttered the demon woman, with a grin that was absolutely sickening. Poor Nell! She lay quite still after that, between the fatal rails, only giving a sign of life by a faint moan occasionally. Mrs. Scarlett retired to her leafy covert to await the outcome. She could see far beyond the track of farmhouse, and near her a heap of ties and a rude fence. The moonlight revealed everything plainly. Chuckling with hideous satisfaction, the she-demon waited the coming of the express that could not be far distant. Morning was already brightening the east. Far away was the sound of a moving train. The sullen, distant roar sent a thrill to the heart of the demon woman, who crouched in the bushes to await the completion of her unhallowed revenge. The sudden jar seemed to act like a shock of electricity on the nerves of Nell Darrell. She felt a strange and awful numbness. With a mighty effort the girl roused herself to a consciousness of her awful position. Louder and louder roared the train. It was but a mile distant now, and the road was straight. Nell raised her head and resting on her hands gazed down the track where, in the distance, gleamed the light of the locomotive. God help me, moaned the poor girl. Then she tried to throw herself from the track, but she could not. Her limbs were numb and refused to obey her will. A wild laugh rang out on the moonlit air. Madge Scarlett sprang up and glared through the bushes at her victim with maniacal delight. Ha-ha! You cannot escape. Then pretty limbs will be crushed and torn asunder. A white flesh cut and gashed and that delicate body made a horrid mass of blood and mangled fragments. Then I will present them to you, Dyke Darrell, ho-ho! Her voice was raged to a high pitch now, and even reached the ears of the startled Nell. No help, no hope. On thundered the iron monster. On and on till the eye of the engineer catches sight of something on the track. Something! Quickly the engine is reversed and the air-brakes come into play. Too late. A moan of agonized terror falls from the lips of the half-dead girl, and then she sank helplessly to the ground. At the same instant help came from an unexpected source.  A rumble and a jar and then the train came to a dead stop within three feet of the prostrate girl. It was a narrow escape. The man who had come so unexpectedly out of the shadows dragged Nell from her dangerous position. The engineer and fireman came down and congratulated the young man on his presence of mind. The brakes couldn't quite do it, said the engineer. That tie saved the girl with no damage to the train. It seems to be a lucky accident all around, said the young man, who had laid Nell in a safe spot and now turned his attention to assisting in removing the obstruction from the rails. Yes. Who is she? I can't say. Well, I must be on the way, uttered the engineer. We are behind time now. By this time the conductor was on the ground, but the train was running again and he received a full explanation from the engineer afterward. When the young man made a closer inspection of the girl he had rescued, a cry of surprise fell from his lips. As I live it is Nell Darrell. But she could not speak to thank him for his act, since she had fainted. Lifting her tenderly the young man turned his steps in the direction of the farmhouse, where he had been stopping during the past two days.  But she dared not interfere to prevent the rescue. When Nell Darrell again opened her eyes it was to find herself calmly resting on a couch in a little room, whose cozy appearance was like home indeed. And the face that bent over her was not that of a stranger. Could it be that she was dreaming? Thank heaven, murmured a manly voice, and then a moustache limp bent and pressed a clinging kiss to the cheek of poor Nell. Harry, dear Harry, thus had the lovers met after many long months of separation. A smile rested on the face of the fair girl as she held Harry's hand while he talked of the past. She explained as best she could the strangeness of her situation, but everything was so much like a dream it was a hard matter to reconcile some of the events of the past few weeks. The end draws nigh, assured young Bernard after a time. If the notorious man calling himself Ruggles was on the train, he will, on discovering his loss, turn back, and then I will capture him. CHAPTER XXVI The mysterious ward. We left Dyke-Daryl, the detective, in a critical position on the railroad track, with the roar of a freight engine in his ears. The rays of the sun touched the glittering rails as the long train swept around the bend upon doom to Dyke-Daryl. One more tremendous effort on the part of the detective, and he succeeded in throwing his body squarely across one of the rails. In this position he hung a helpless weight, with a hoarse roar of the engine making anything but sweet music to his fainting soul. Ha! look! a hand is outstretched to save at the last moment, and Dyke-Daryl is jerked from under the smoking wheels, even as their breath fans his fevered cheek. The train swept on. A cheer greeted the man who had come opportunely to the rescue as the engine swept on its course.  Great Caesar! The young man startled as though cut by a knife and bent low over the fallen detective, who was now struggling to a sitting position. When he looked into the face of his rescuer he uttered a great cry. My soul! How came you here, Martin Skidway? I am a fugitive, answered the young convict. It wasn't through your goodwill that I got out of prison, I can tell you that. Had I known who it was on the track, I might not have put out my hand to save. The detective regarded the speaker in no little amazement. This was the second time he had escaped from the Missouri prison, which argued well for the man's keenness and capability, or else ill for the official management of the prison. It was from the St. Louis prison that I escaped, explained Martin Skidway a little later, I never got inside the state institution a second time, I've had a sweet time of it thus far. Tell me how you made your escape, said Dyke Darrell, who sat with his back against a tree, and regarded the young counter fitter in wonder. There isn't much to tell, returned Skidway. I had no assistance, but it seems that a pair of burglars had broken out by filing off the grading to one of the corridor windows, and the opening had not been repaired when I was taken to the jail. I was left in the corridor a minute while the jailer was attending to some other prisoners, and that minute gave me the opportunity. I mounted a chair, climbed through the window, and made my escape by the light of the moon. Of course there was a big search, but I remained hidden in an old cellar under a deserted house in a grove within the city limits for several days, and finally made good my escape from the state. And now? I am going to put the ocean between me and the beaks of American law. Dyke Darrell regarded the speaker with mingled emotions. He saw in this daring young fellow much talent, that had it been rightly directed, might have made an honorable place in the world for Martin Skidway. I am helpless to arrest your steps just at present, grown the detective. Would you do it after what has happened if you were in a condition to do so? Demanded the convict, bending over the man on the ground, regarding him with a menacing look. Duty often calls one to do that which is disagreeable, answered Dyke Darrell. A deep frown mantled the brows of the convict. I see that my mercy was misdirected, he said. It seems that I have saved your life only to give you a chance to dog me to doom.  There was a menace in the man's voice that Dyke Darrell did not like. I am at present helpless, he said. I don't imagine you will harm a man who is in no condition to injure you if he would. But you can talk. The first man who comes along will hear from you that an escaped convict is in the rural districts of New York, and a telegram will set ten thousand officers on the lookout for me. Without such information I would not be recognized in this community. I am a desperate man, Dyke Darrell, and do not propose to sacrifice myself for your benefit. What will you do? One of two things. Well, you must solemnly swear that you will never reveal to another that I am in this region, and swear also to make no effort to capture me under a month, or else I shall have a painful duty to perform. Go on. Will you take the required oath? Certainly not. Then the other alternative is a lone left me, Dyke Darrell, and that, death to you, straightening to his full height after uttering the three terrible words, Martin Skidway snatched a heavy iron bolt from the ground that had lain long beside the track, and raised it above the head of the helpless Dyke Darrell. Martin Skidway, hold! The words of the detective came forth in a thrilling cry. An instant the would-be assassin saved his hand. You agree to my terms? No, but then you must die. It will be considered an accident, and no one will suspect my hand in the affair. Again the young convict poised his weapon for deadly work. On the instant the rumble of wheels met the ears of Martin Skidway. A wagon containing two men was in sight, moving down a road that ran parallel with the railway at this point. It was evident that the occupants of the vehicle had seen Skidway, and to strike now would but add to the vengeance of pursuit and punishment. With a curse he dropped the iron bolt and turned to flee.  Then he rushed from the spot and disappeared. As the wagon came opposite it halted, and the cries of Dyke Darrell brought both men to his side. Hello, is this you? cried a teary voice, and the next instant Dyke Darrell was lifted to his feet by the strong hand of Harry Bernard. It was a happy and unexpected meeting. Harry had good news to tell, and when Dyke Darrell assisted by his friend, reached the farmhouse where Nell had found safety and shelter, the detective was strong enough to stand and assist himself in no small degree. Mutual explanations were entered into, and, as may be supposed, the meeting between brother and sister was a happy one indeed. Harry was the hero of the hour. When Dyke Darrell spoke of Martin Skidway and the part he had acted in saving his life, a word of admiration fell from the lips of Nell. But when Dyke proceeded to the conclusion the girl's face blanched, and she had no word of commendation left for the miserable convict, who after all possessed but little honour. So Aunt Scarlet is in the neighborhood, and also your abductor, mused the detective, the trail is becoming hot indeed. It is, for a fact, admitted Harry, I believe if the truth was known this man Ruggles will prove to be the man we want. Have you had hankerchief with you, Dyke, that we found in the coat of the rascal who attempted your murder in St. Louis? This was several hours after the events of the morning, and Nell was now resting in a large wooden rocker, very weak, yet feeling remarkably well, considering the seeds she had passed through during the past two weeks and more. Dyke Darrell and Harry were the only occupants of the room, the farmer being at his work in the field, and his good wife attending preparations for supper in the kitchen. I have kept the tell-tale hankerchief through it all, through the detective, at the same time producing the article from a receptacle beneath his shirt. It's a wonder that this was not discovered when you were in the hands of the thugs of Chicago. I wasn't closely searched, I suppose. You and the boys were too close after them. You give me too much credit, Dyke, returned Harry Bernard modestly. I have a question to ask. Ask as many as you like.  Did I not so claim at the time? Perhaps, but wasn't there another circumstance that gave you reason to suspect me? There might have been. I thought so. It was the imprint of a large wart, such as this one on the hankerchief, that made you look with suspicion upon me. Is that not so?  Forgive me, Harry, cried the detective quickly. I know now that it was only a remarkable duplicate, the wart belonging to another hand than yours. The print of the wart was also on the bosom of Arnold Nicholson's white shirt bosom, where a bloody hand had fallen. I made this discovery when I examined the body of my dead friend. Circumstantial evidence pointed to you, and yet I doubted—I understand, interrupted Harry—my hand is indeed a duplicate of the assassins. I wonder that I have not been arrested ere this by some of the detectives who are engaged in working up the case. Why so? Because you are not the only one who made the discovery of the wart that adorned the hand of the assassin. A reporter got hold of the story and published it. Don't you remember? I haven't read the papers closely since the murder. But I have, and so is the man who killed Nicholson. Indeed, he soon learned that officers of the law were looking for a man with a large wart on the second joint of the little finger of the right hand. This fact made him nervous, and one night he severed the wart and flung it from him, since which time he has breathed easier. A low exclamation from the lips of knell startled both men. CHAPTER 27 THE STORY OF A WART Nell, what is it? Questioned the surprise detective. Harry regarded the girl with a queer smile. Perhaps he knew what had brought the exclamation to the lips of Miss Darrell. I know a man who has lost a wart, she said, slowly, a deepening pallor coming to her cheeks. His name? questioned Dyke Darrell eagerly. But the girl did not immediately answer. It seemed that something moved her deeply. Was it Professor Ruggles? Questioned Harry, in order to help the young girl out. No, she said, who then? Harper Elliston. A grave look chased the smile from the face of Harry Bernard. The girl's announcement seemed to prove a revelation to him, even as it did to Dyke Darrell. I did not know the man who severed the wart from his hand, said Harry Bernard after a brief silence, but suspected that it was Darlington Ruggles. It seems now that I was correct. How was that? Have you not guessed the truth, queried Harry Bernard? I made the discovery, some time since, that the red-haired man and Harper Elliston were one and the same. This came as a revelation to both the detective and his sister. I had had suspicions, said Dyke Darrell, but never anything definite regarding the villainy of this man Elliston. He has played his cards well, but I became undeceived not long after this great railroad crime. That he was not my friend I discovered, and then I resolved to watch him. I have reason to believe that it was to him I owe my arrest in Burlington, Iowa. I now see the truth that under the assumed name of Hubert Vander, Elliston ruined a young girl of Burlington, and it may be, murdered her father, wealthy Captain Osbourne. It would be strange, indeed, should the trail that ends with the capture of the express robber also bring to punishment the assassin of the Burlington captain. It seems likely to end that way, returned Harry. Let us hear what Nell has to say with regard to the wart, said the detective, turning to his sister. It will require but a few words to do that, said Nell Darrell. I always noticed a peculiarly shaped wart on the finger of Mr. Elliston's shapely right hand, and once he remarked upon it to me, saying that it was a disfigurement, and that he meant to have it removed some time. I think it was the first time I met Mr. Elliston after the terrible news of the Midnight Express tragedy that I noticed the absence of the wart and a bit of surgeon's plaster covering the spot. I laughed over his having undergone such a severe surgical operation, and he seemed to take it in good part, assuring me that he was the surgeon who amputated the ex-crescence with a razor. You said the wart had a peculiar shape. How is that? questioned Harry Bernard. It was large, and was composed of two crowns. I think perhaps two warts had grown together at the roots. Exactly. Would you know the wart if you should see it again? I think I should. So would I, cried the detective. Then Harry Bernard drew a small vial from his pocket and held it up to view. A small object, submerged in alcohol, was visible. When placed in the hand of Nell, the girl at once exclaimed, that is certainly the wart that once disfigured the hand of Harper Elliston. Where did you get it? questioned Dyke Darrell, now deeply interested at the links that were being rapidly forged in the chain of evidence. Dyke, you know that when I left Woodburg some months ago I went from you among the cloud? I will not dispute you. No explanation is necessary on your part, Dyke. I imagine I was as much to blame as anybody. Nell and I quarreled, and I imagined that the handsome, elderly New Yorker had stepped into my shoes, so far as she was concerned. I did not like the man, and so I resolved to investigate for myself. And if I found that he was not worthy of Nell, whom I loved and should always love while life lasted, I determined to expose him and save your sister. During the past few months I have been making this investigation to find that the supposed immaculate Harper Elliston is known in Gotham in certain circles as a gambler and a villain of the deepest dye. He has committed some crimes that are worse than murder. Now, as to the wart, it was soon after I had heard of the murder on the express train that while riding in the smoking car of an immigrant train in Iowa I saw an old man deliberately slice a huge wart from his little finger with a keen-edged knife. The wart fell under the seat and rolled at my feet. The old man made no effort to recover it, but wrapped his bleeding hand in a handkerchief and muttered, That witness will never come up to trouble me. There was something in the man's voice that sounded familiar, and the strange whiteness of his hands aroused my suspicions, for in dress and appearance the man was a laborer of the lower class. Curiosity, if nothing stronger, prompted me to take possession of the severed wart that had rolled at my feet. And after that I read the notice in the newspaper to the effect that the assassin of the express train had left the imprint of a wart on the bosom of the dead man's shirt. Since that time I have regarded hands with no little interest, and have looked for the old man of the immigrant car in vain. An interesting recital said the detective when Harry Bernard came to a pause, knowing all this you kept it from me at St. Louis. My reason for that was that I did not care to arouse any foolish theories. Of course the reporter's story might have been false. The wart on my own hand, somewhat similar to this, led me to keep my own counsel as a matter of personal safety.  My principal hope has been in finding the old man of the immigrant train. You have not found him? Not unless Elliston is the man. Did you suspect this before now? I did. Now I am convinced. Just then Harry Bernard happened to raise his eyes and gaze out of the open window. He came suddenly to his feet with a startled exclamation. Dike Daryl glanced out of the window to notice a bent old man, with white hair and beard moving away from the vicinity of the house. Evidently he had been looking into the room, if not listening to the conversation of the trio. Saints of Rome! There is the old man of the immigrant train now. Dike Daryl staggered to the window while Harry Bernard rushed swiftly from the farmhouse.