There was no hesitating after this.

The two men moved swiftly away in the gloom that surrounded the burning cabin.

A choking sensation caused the reclining man in the cabin to stir uneasily.

Presently he opened his eyes.

The room was full of smoke, and red tongues of flame were licking at the logs from every side.

Quickly Dyke Darrel came to his feet. A smell of burning garments filled his nostrils. The bed on which Sibyl Osborne rested was on fire!

"My soul! this is unfortunate," cried the detective. He was equal to the emergency, however. Springing to the side of the still sleeping girl, Dyke lifted her in his arms and strode to the door.

Quickly he slipped the rude bolt and grasped the latch. It refused to yield.

The door was firmly secured on the outside.



CHAPTER XIII.

A SAD FATE.

For one instant, Dyke Darrel was paralyzed.

It was for a moment only, however. He shook the door furiously, blinded by smoke, and almost strangled by hot air.

The door would not yield.

At this moment, the girl awoke and began to scream. Bits of burning wood fell all about them.

Soon the roof would tumble in with a crash. When that moment came, every living thing must perish within the house.

Dyke Darrel moved to the window, leading Sibyl. She staggered and seemed ready to fall.

"Courage!" he cried, "we will soon be out of this."

Reaching the narrow window, the detective dashed out sash and glass with a stool, and the air from outside seemed like a breath from fairy land.

"You must go first?"

Dyke Darrel assisted his fair companion to the opening. An instant later she had passed outside.

Then something occurred that quite startled the detective and filled him with intense alarm.

A burning log fell from the side of the cabin with a thud that was sickening. A horrible fear at once took possession of Darrel. With a quick bound he gained the opening, and leaped clear of the burning logs to the ground without.

Turning about he uttered a cry of horror.

Sibyl Osborne lay crushed beneath a black log that was yet smoking with heat. With a herculean effort the detective lifted and flung the log from the poor girl's breast, and then he lifted and carried her beyond the reach of flame and heat, and laid her on a little mound beneath a giant tree.

One glance into the mad girl's face satisfied him of the mournful truth. The falling log had done fatal work, and with his hand clasping hers, Dyke Darrel watched the gasps that grew fainter each moment, until the silence and quietude of eternity rested on all.

"Dead!"

With that one word Dyke Darrel started to his feet and gazed about him. There was a flinty gleam in his keen eyes and a fierce grating of white teeth.

It had been a long time since the railroad detective was moved as at that hour, with the work of human fiends before him.

From the burning cabin his gaze returned to the upturned white face of the dead girl. Pure and lovely as a lily looked the face of the wronged and dead.

"It is better so, perhaps," muttered the detective.

Had the girl lived she might never have enjoyed an hour of reason. With that dethroned, what could death be but a welcome messenger. And yet the manner of the mad girl's taking off was shocking in the extreme.

Had Dyke Darrel known the way out, he would have taken the corpse in his arms and hurried from the scene at once. As it was, the detective deemed it wise to remain in the vicinity until morning, when it was likely he would have little trouble in making his way out of the woods!

The remaining hours of the night passed slowly. Dyke Darrel dared not sleep, and so he kept his lonely vigil beside the dead, seated in the shadows, with revolver ready to use at a moment's notice.

No interruption came, however, and when the gray streaks of morning dawned the detective breathed easier. He at once went in search of a road that would lead out of the wood.

He met with better success than he had dared hope. He found a path that must have been used by the owner of the cabin, and which it was evident the mad girl had followed in her wanderings.

How long she had been in the cabin the detective had no means of knowing, but it seemed to him evident that she could have been there but a few hours when discovered by him.

The way out of the Black Hollow woods was long and tedious, but Dyke Darrel proved equal to the task, and when he broke cover and entered upon the open ground above, he was glad to see a team approaching, driven by a farmer.

"Hello! What hev' you got there?" cried the man, in open-eyed amazement, when he halted beside the detective and his burden.

"A lady. She was accidentally killed last night."

"It's awful!"

"I quite agree with you," returned Dyke Darrel; "but if you will take the woman aboard and drive to the house of Mr. Bragg, I will pay you for it."

"Of course I will."

The farmer was garrulous on the way, and it required all the detective's ingenuity to answer his questions promptly, so as not to excite the fellow's suspicions.

The body of the beautiful dead girl was laid in one of Agent Bragg's rooms, and the latter telegraphed to the nearest town of importance for a casket, which arrived at Black Hollow shortly after noon.

"I will attend to shipping it," said Mr. Bragg. "This is a sad case. It is a wonder to me that somebody did not see the girl yesterday."

"Possibly she got off at another station."

"Do you think she came to this vicinity on the cars?"

"Most certainly," answered the detective.

"Will you go to Chicago now?"

"I am not fully decided," returned Dyke Darrel. "At what hour does the train pass?"

"Six-fifty to-night."

"But the down train goes earlier?"

"At four."

"And at Bloomington I can take the cars for Burlington?" "If you so desire."

"I will think about it."

Sauntering along in the afternoon, just in the outskirts of the village, Dyke Darrel came suddenly upon a man standing with his back against a telegraph pole.

"Hello!" ejaculated the detective, as the man turned and faced him.

It was Harper Elliston.

"I thought you were in Chicago," pursued the mystified Dyke. And then he remembered the face he had seen at the window of the cabin in Black Hollow the previous night. The memory brought a harsh expression to his countenance.

"Ah, you are still here, Dyke."

Mr. Elliston smiled and held out his hand.

"I don't understand this," said Dyke Darrel. "You have deceived me in some way, Harper. You were in Black Hollow last night."

"There you are mistaken," assured Mr. Elliston; "I stopped off here on the noon train."

"You did not go to Chicago, then?"

"Yes, I did; but only remained an hour. You see the man I was looking for was not there, but had gone to Burlington, Iowa, and so, remembering that you stopped off here yesterday, I thought I would run down and learn if you had made any discovery."

"You came at noon?"

"Yes."

"Why did not you call for me at Bragg's?"

"Are you stopping there?"

"Certainly. If you had inquired for me of the agent here, you would have certainly found me."

"That's exactly what I did do, and I did not find you; so now," and Mr. Elliston laughed at the perplexed look on the detective's face.

The actions and words of this man were indeed a puzzle to Dyke Darrel.

"Harper, I want to ask you a plain question——"

"And you want a categorical answer, Mr. Darrel," interrupted the New Yorker with a laugh.

"I do."

"Go ahead."

"Weren't you in Black Hollow last night?"

"Certainly not. I was with a friend at least sixty miles away, near Chicago."

"Can you prove this?"

"If necessary, of course; but what in the world is the matter, Dyke? I hope you wouldn't accuse me of deception."

"No. Will you come with me to Bragg's?"

"Certainly."

And then the two men walked away together. There was a solemn expression pervading the face of Dyke Darrel. He had experienced many strange things during his detective life, but this latest phase puzzled him the most.

He could swear that he saw the face of Elliston at the window of the house in the gulch on the previous night, yet the assertion from his friend that he was fifty miles away at the time seemed honest enough.

Having been long in the detective work, Dyke Darrel had grown to be suspicious, and so he was fast losing faith in the good intentions of his New York friend. He had suddenly resolved on a test that he believed would prove effectual in setting all doubts at rest.

Arrived at the Bragg dwelling, the detective conducted Harper Elliston at once to the room where the remains of the beautiful, dead girl lay encoffined.



CHAPTER XIV

DYKE DARREL ASTOUNDED.

Dyke Darrel lifted a cloth from the face of the dead, and Harper Elliston stood gazing down upon the features of wronged and murdered Sibyl Osborne.

The detective watched the expression of his companion's countenance closely.

With bated breath the man-hunter glued his gaze upon the face of the man bending over the casket.

"What a sad face, and yet most wonderful in its beauty. Who is she? A daughter of the house?"

Harper turned and regarded Dyke Darrel questioningly, a sympathetic look in his black eyes.

"Do you not know her?"

"I know her? You forget that I am a stranger in this part of the West, Dyke."

"She, too, was a stranger here, Elliston. Her home was in Burlington, and she has been brought to this by a villain who ought to pass the remainder of his days behind prison bars, if not conclude them at a rope's end. Do you know Hubert Vander?"

There was a stern ring in the detective's voice, and a look of deep, indignant feeling pervading his face. All the time he kept his gaze riveted on Elliston.

That gentleman stood the ordeal without flinching, however.

"Hubert Vander? The name is a new one to me, Dyke."

"Indeed!"

A sneer curled the lip of the detective.

"What do you mean by that?" questioned Mr. Elliston. "Am I to understand that you connect ME in any way with this girl's death, or that I am a friend to this Hubert Vander of whom you speak?"

"Your pretended indignation will not deceive, Harper Elliston. Look at THIS, and tell me what you think of it," said Dyke Darrel, with the sternness of steel.

The detective laid the photograph he had obtained in the Black Hollow cabin in the hand of Mr. Elliston.

The New Yorker did start then.

He gazed long and constantly at the pictured face.

"What have you to say now, Harper Elliston?" demanded Dyke Darrel, in an awful voice.

"It is a mighty close resemblance," returned the gentleman. "Where did you obtain this, Dyke?"

"From Sibyl Osborne."

"Sibyl Osborne?"

"She who lies before you. If that is not YOUR portrait, and if you are not the man who murdered Captain Osborne and ruined his daughter, then I am out of my senses."

With the words Dyke Darrel presented a cocked revolver at the heart of the cool, smiling villain before him.

The smile left the New Yorker's face, and a serious expression followed it.

"What? You draw a pistol on me, Dyke Darrel? I am surprised," cried Mr. Elliston in an injured tone. "I did not imagine that you could lose confidence in me, let what would happen. Can it be that our friendship was but a brittle cord, after all?"

"I cannot remain friendly when my confidence has been betrayed."

"And you deem me a most hardened scoundrel? Of course you will give me a hearing. You are an upholder of law, and do not approve of lynching. Here, put on the handcuffs, Dyke, and take me to prison. You will be sorry for this some time, but now that circumstances are against me your friendship falls to the ground. I did not expect such treatment. However, I can live through it; but I shall never feel toward you as I have in times past. Put on the irons, Dyke. Why do you hesitate?"

"There is a chance for a mistake, of course," said the detective,

"I am glad you admit that much."

"Is that your photograph?"

"You said it belonged to a young lady!"

"But is it a photograph of your face?"

"It is not."

"You swear it?"

"I do."

"And you were not in Black Hollow, last night?"

"I was not."

"Swear it?

"I swear it."

"You did not know this dead girl?"

Dyke Darrel pointed toward the face in the coffin.

"I did not."

"Will you swear to this also?"

"With my hand on my heart I swear."

The white hand of Mr. Elliston was laid impressively against his bosom.

There was such a look of honest earnestness on the man's face it was impossible to doubt, and Dyke Darrel was forced to forego arresting the New Yorker then and there.

If he was not fully satisfied, he did not permit Elliston to note the fact.

"I did but try you, Harper," Dyke Darrel said with a smile, extending his hand. "You are true as steel and I am glad to find it so. I have endured misery since last night, because I feared, and came to believe otherwise."

"You will trust me as of old?"

"Yes."

"Thanks. Now tell me all about the facts regarding this poor girl."

Dyke Darrel did as requested, although he kept back some things that he did not deem it necessary for Mr. Elliston to know.

"And you saw this Hubert Vander peering into the cabin window—the man who looks like me!"

"I did."

"Well, it's pretty tough, and no mistake, to have a fellow of such villainous character circulating about in this region. I hope I won't be hung for his crime by indignant citizens. I agree with you that this Hubert Vander is a sleek villain, and that hanging is too good for him. It does seem that you made an important discovery last night, however."

"Explain."

"This man Vander no doubt murdered Captain Osborne."

"I am led to think so myself," said Dyke Darrel.

"He also jilted the Captain's daughter, if no worse, and the two sorrows turned the poor girl's brain. It is a sad and terrible case. I feel deeply interested, and hope to see the scoundrel who looks like me brought to justice."

"I am glad to hear you say so."

"Furthermore I have another idea."

"Proceed."

"It is undoubtedly this Vander who planned the robbery of the midnight express. A man who could deceive one so beautiful as this girl, would not hesitate to do anything to feather his own nest."

"Again I agree with you."

"Evidently it was either this man, or friends of his, who fastened the door of the cabin, and fired it with the hope of destroying the detective who was dogging them so closely."

"True, I had thought of that."

"And here's another thing."

"Well?"

"May not this Vander and his friends conclude that the man-hunter perished in the flames, if they fail to see him again? A disguise would fix that easily, you know."

"No, that will not go down."

"Why not?"

"My enemies will visit the ruins of the cabin, and failing to discover skeletons, will learn the truth."

"That does not necessarily follow."

"I think it does. I may act on your suggestion, however," returned Dyke Darrel.

"And put on a disguise?"

"Yes."

"What will it be?"

The detective laughed.

"Don't ask me, Harper," he said. "Of what use a disguise that my friends all understood?"

"Is this because you fear to trust me, after what has happened, Dyke?"

"No; but I prefer to keep my own counsel!"

"And you are right."

"I am glad you admit it."

The friends then left the room.

At the last moment, Dyke Darrel decided on accompanying the remains of Captain Osborne's daughter to Burlington. He realized that it was the proper thing to do. Elliston parted with the detective, telling him that he meant to return to Woodburg for the present, and would meet him there on his return from the Iowa city.

It was a sad duty that led the railroad detective to revisit Burlington, which he had last looked upon in the fall, shortly after Captain Osborne's disappearance.

Arrived in the bustling Western city, Dyke Darrel was met at the depot by a surprise. An officer laid his hand on the detective's shoulder, and said:

"You are my prisoner, young man."

"Eh? Well, now, what is this for?" demanded Dyke Darrel angrily.

"FOR THE MURDER OF CAPTAIN OSBORNE AND HIS DAUGHTER!"

Dyke Darrel felt the cold muzzle of a revolver touch his temple at the last.



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 Darrel Cottage.

"I suppose Nell Darrel will be delighted to see me," chuckled Elliston, as he walked up the steps and rang the bell.

Aunt Jule opened the door. "Marse Dyke ain't home."

"But Miss Nell is, I suppose."

"Yes, and deed, sir; she's got company, and can't see no one fur de present," cried the grinning negress, quickly.

"Company? A lot of chattering girls, I suppose?"

"No; a young gemmen——"

"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 negress, and entering the front room.

He seated himself in an armchair, and proceeded to coolly await the coming of the mistress of the house.

Soon Nell Darrel came in. Her face was suffused with smiles, which evidenced 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 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 draughts of brandy, and the fumes yet affected him, thus rendering him extremely imprudent, to say the least.

"Nell, Jule tells me you had company when I came. Who was it?"

"A gentleman."

"Aye, 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 could smell his breath, too, and the fact that he had been drinking made her a little nervous.

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 imprinting 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!"

"Villain, 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," grated the man, in a meaning voice, that sent a shudder of horror to the heart of pure Nell Darrel.

Lucky was it 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 new-comer 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.

The stalwart Elliston soon regained his equilibrium, and faced the one who had dealt him such a furious blow—a slender youth not yet out of his teens, yet in whose blue eyes flashed a determined spirit.

"Scoundrel!" ejaculated Elliston.

He stood glaring at the boy with the venom of a mad serpent in his black eyes.

"Get from this house, or I will call the police and have you put in the cooler," said the boy, quickly, standing with clenched hands in front of Nell, and returning the tall man's scowls with interest.

"I'll smash every bone in your body, you insignificant little snipe," roared Elliston. 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."

"It isn't, I admit," returned 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," proceeded the boy, noticing the man 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 honorable 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 Darrel cut short the words that trembled on the lips of the youth.

"I bid you good afternoon, Miss Darrel," 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 crime, 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 Darrel."

"And everybody (that is my friends), all call me Nell," returned the girl, with a pleasant little laugh.

"Let it be Nell and Paul then," and the boy joined 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 discomfited 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. Scarlet, in her den on Clark street, was roused from a nap she was indulging in, with her head against the wall, by a sharp rap 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 visitor's use.

"I'll tell you why. Because I am the best friend you've got in Chicago."

"That wouldn't be saying much," and Mrs. Scarlet laughed harshly.

"Wouldn't it?"

"Didn't I say so? Nobody 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 emitted 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 Darrel."

"I knew it. You would smile and feel happy to see him suffer?"

"It would be as beefsteak 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 can strike the railroad detective through Nell Darrel."

"Yes, yes—go on."

"He is away most of his time, as you doubtless know——"

"And the girl is alone?"

"Save for an old negress. 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. Scarlet, is to furnish a room, and see that when once inside, Miss Darrel does not escape nor communicate with the outside world. Do you understand?"

"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.

NELL MISSING.

The reader can imagine the indignation of the railroad detective when he found himself arrested by the Burlington officer.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said Dyke Darrel, "but you are making a foolish mistake. 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 Darrel.

The detective was deeply annoyed at this. On board the train were 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 Darrel, 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. I tell you I am acquainted with your chief, and demand that you take me to him."

"That's fair enough," said the second officer.

"But he's 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 lap of his coat Dyke Darrel 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 know my business without receiving instructions from the police of a one-horse town," retorted Dyke Darrel 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 Darrel. 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 Darrel 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.

"Woodburg!"

Dyke Darrel 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 Burlington police, "but it is a joke that I shouldn't relish, and you might make it warm for the perpetrator. I can telegraph and inquire into it if you wish, Mr. Darrel."

"Not now. I shall be in Woodburg within a few days, and then I will find out all about it."

Dyke Darrel 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 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 Darrel 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 Darrel at length left the city en route for Woodburg. He was anxious to meet Nell, from whom he had been absent now about a fortnight.

On reaching Woodburg 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 Darrel. "I have an hour's time before the next Chicago train."

Aunt Jule was extremely glad to meet "Marse Dyke."

"Why didn't you bring the young missus wid yo?" questioned the negress.

"What's that? Hope you didn't think I'd committed matrimony?" and the detective laughed lightly, at the same time chucking Aunt Jule under her fat chin.

"Lor-a-massy, no, Marse Dyke. I meant Missy Nell," explained the black woman.

"Miss Nell? Isn't she at home?"

"Wal, now, what a question. In coorse she ain't. Didn' yo' send fur her yo' very self? How den yo' 'spec she's goin' to be home ef yo' didn' done brung her, eh?"

All this was Greek to Dyke Darrel.

"What in the name of caution are you driving at, Aunt Jule? 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 Jule flounced out of the room, to return soon with a yellow envelope in her hand.

"Dere, look a-dat now. Ef yo' didn' done writ dat, den I'd like to know who did."

The detective opened the letter his housekeeper placed in his hand, and read:

"CHICAGO, April 30, 188-.

NELL:—Come on the next train, as I wish to see you in this city. Aunt Jule will look after the house until your return. Don't disappoint me. "DYKE."

The detective glanced at the negress after reading this note, the writing of which very much resembled his hand.

"This came when?"

"Yesterday."

"Through the mail?"

"Yes, Marse."

A frown darkened the brow of the detective. He crumpled the letter in his hand and began pacing the floor with nervous strides.

"Somefin must be wrong ef yo' didn' write that letter."

Suddenly Dyke Darrel turned on the speaker and touched her huge arm with a clinging hand.

"Jule, when did my sister answer this letter?" he demanded, fiercely.

"Jest the next train."

"Last night?"

"Yes, Marse Dyke."

Dropping his hand from Aunt Jule'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 as the apple of his eye, and she had been enticed to the great city for a fell purpose, he believed.



CHAPTER XVII.

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 being a poor shot," sneered the woman.

"So much for your condemned carelessness in not locking the door," he retorted with equal severity.

"Well, maybe you'd better see that it is 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. "To-morrow night you may look for your guest, Mrs. Scarlet. Remember, whatever plans for vengeance you may have formed will be more than gratified in placing this detective's 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 his hat rapidly with one long arm.

"I understand. Nothing can be too harsh and awful for one of the breed," hissed Madge Scarlet, in a way that made even Professor Ruggles' flesh creep.

Then he rose to go.

"I will see you again ere long."

Mrs. Scarlet 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 and mine by that scoundrel, who sends men to prison for money, for pay doled out to him by the minions of the law. Dan'l, if you can look down on your old widow to-night, from your home among the stars, you will see her with tears of joy in her old eyes at 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. Scarlet's vindictiveness toward Dyke Darrel.

It was Professor Darlington Ruggles who penned the letter to Nell Darrel 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 rather seedy garments, yet withal not bad looking, stepped up and touched the girl's arm.

"Is this Miss Darrel?"

"Yes, sir," answered the girl, promptly, at the same time regarding the tall, sunset-haired gentleman, who bowed and lifted his tall hat, with no little curiosity.

"I am Oscar Sims, a friend to the great detective, and ever ready to serve his handsome sister."

"But, sir, I do not think that it will be at all necessary. I expect my brother at any minute, now," returned Nell, with a 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 hurt at her remark she hastened to apologize for seeming rudeness.

"It is not at all necessary," said Mr. Sims, with a bland smile. "Mr. Darrel requested me to visit the depot, and look after a young lady whom he expected on the evening train from Woodburg. I hope you will not distrust one who has the best interests 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 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. Giving low instructions to the driver, he vaulted to the side of Nell Darrel, 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. Boneset says that his leg is broken. He is in considerable pain, but cheerful withal, 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 the truth flashed upon her brain.

Although the hack moved rapidly, it seemed to the anxious girl a long time in reaching its destination.

"Mr. Darrel 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 Darrel.

When at length the hack came to a halt, Mr. Sims quickly alighted and lifted Nell Darrel 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.



CHAPTER XVIII.

BEATEN BACK.

The moment Nell Darrel felt herself lifted from her feet she uttered a wild cry, which was smothered in its inception by the hand of her captor.

"Quiet, child; nobody's going to hurt you if you behave yourself."

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 to the room occupied by Mrs. Scarlet.

"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. Scarlet, 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. Scarlet."

"I'm ready to do my part," answered the woman. "How long will you keep her here?"

"As long as suits my purpose. I am not sure. I may conclude to wait until Dyke Darrel 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?" demanded 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 Scarlet 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 maybe that I shall conclude not to permit you to have your way in this matter. Through this girl I shall be able to wring the heart of the man I hate, and I mean to do it. Ah! Dyke Darrel, venomous scoundrel! The hour of my revenge draws nigh! 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, how fared it with poor Nell Darrel, 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 whence 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 Darrel.

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? Surely 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 Darrel. I claim that all is fair in love and war. You know from repeated assurances on my part that I love you; once I wished to make you my wife. 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 offer 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 Darrel.

"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 as 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 lie spoke.

She recoiled with a shudder of wild alarm.

"Back, scoundrel! Do not touch me!" she cried, warningly, an indignant, perhaps dangerous, fire blazing in her eye.

Again the demon laughed.

"You seem to take my love-making hard, Miss Darrel."

"Not another step," warned Nell.

"Ho! 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 in alarm.

A cocked derringer gleamed in the hand of Nell Darrel, 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! Its contents 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 Darrel, 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 rein to her alarm in tears.

In the meantime Elliston hurried above, and confronted Madge Scarlet with a terrible frown on his brow.

"You and that red-headed Professor have played a smart trick on me, old woman, a mighty smart trick; but let me tell you it won't go down for a cent. I don't like it much, neither."

"Eh? I don't understand," said Mrs. Scarlet.

"I'll make you understand," and Elliston advanced angrily upon the woman, and raised his hand.

"Strike if you dare!"

She looked ugly at that moment.

"You're just capable of strikin' a woman," sneered Madge Scarlet. "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, Mrs. Scarlet," he said in a subdued voice. "I was beside myself, but I had reason to be. Do you know that Nell Darrel 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. To-night 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. Scarlet and the Professor.

"Well, what's the news, Nick. My nephew is still in durance vile?"

"Yes," answered the low ruffian, "and what's more, Dyke Darrel, the detective, is in Chicago!"



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 are 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 Darrel, 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 keen eyes of Dyke Darrel noticed the young man's emotion, and he felt a suspicion growing stronger each moment.

"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 honor 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?"

"Good heaven! Dyke Darrel, do you imagine that I had aught to do with enticing your sister to this wicked city? My soul! You do not understand the feeling that animates my heart for Nell Darrel. 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 Darrel 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 Darrel.

"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 suspicions, Dyke." "What is that?"

"This man with the florid looks 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 Scarlet's place, a played-out old hag, and she has been hand and glove with this red-haired man for some time."

"Mother Scarlet!" 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 Darrel came to his feet.

"One 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 Darrel hurried away.

It was almost dark when two men, one old and gray, with a hump on his shoulder, called at a dingy old brick on Clark street and rapped on a narrow door that opened into an alley.

No answer was vouchsafed.

Then the old man turned the knob, but the door refused to yield.

"What's wanted, you fellers?"

The voice came from behind the two men. Turning, they saw a stout, ill-looking fellow, with unkempt hair and beard, peering in at them from the street.

"Ain't this the house where Mrs. Scarlet stops," questioned the elderly man.

"Mebbe 'tis."

"Where's the woman now?"

"Bless your soul, old man, I don't know. Better call agin; she's allus in evenings," suggested the man at the edge of the street.

"Mebbe 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 to 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. Scarlet—who was engaged in discussing a supper of bread and beer.

She was alone.

"Eh? so you're here again, Nick? Did he send ye?"

"The Professor?"

"Who else should I mean?"

"Wall, he didn't, then. I seed a couple of blokes in the alley jist now, and they 'quired for you."

"Why didn't you send 'em up?" and the woman laughed in a way that revealed her ragged teeth and unwholesome gums.

"They'll be back soon 'nough," answered the man. "I've an idee they mean mischief. Better you go below and see 'em when they do come."

"All right."

About an hour after darkness had settled, while Madge Scarlet 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 to behind him, sank to a rickety chair as he uttered the greeting.

"I don't know you," retorted Madge Scarlet sharply. "Haven't you got into the wrong house?"

"Well, I dunno," whined the man in a sharp falsetto voice. "I reckon if you're Mistress Scarlet, you're the one I'm to see."

"I'm not ashamed to own to the name, old man. Let's have your business at once."

"I'm pretty much broke up since I came out of the bastile," said the old man. "'Taint jest the place for a gentleman, I can tell you that. It's mighty down-settin' on one's pride, which I had a heap of afore I was sent to abide there."

"Who are you and what are you driving at?"

Mrs. Scarlet 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 Missoury," the old man answered promptly. "I came all the way to Shecargo to see the aunt of a friend. Mebbe you'll understand when I tell you, that Martin Skidway was one of the best friends an old man like me had in the bastile."

The name of her nephew opened the way to Madge Scarlet'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 Darrel," cried Mrs. Scarlet, losing her temper at thought of her troubles.

"I've kind o' thought, bein' as I was in Shecargy, I'd look up a boardin' place and stay a spell. I've heerd that you have rooms to rent?"

"I have, to the right ones."

"Will you show me some?"

"Certainly."

Mrs. Scarlet 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 ear:

"Not a sound or you die!"

It was a startling situation.

"I am here for a purpose," said the old man, a sudden change in his voice. "I want you to lead me to the room in which Nell Darrel 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 Darrel?"

"It matters not. Show me the way to the room where you have Nell Darrel imprisoned," 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. Scarlet as she said:

"Who told you that Nell Darrel was in this house?"

"It matters not. Lead the way at once, or it will be the worse 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. Scarlet 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 Scarlet.



CHAPTER XX.

OVERMATCHED BY A GIRL.

A low chuckle fell from the lips of Madge Scarlet.

"I reckon you've met your match this time, Dyke Darrel. I will now enjoy the sweetest revenge; it will be like honey to my blistered tongue. You've done your last shadowing of your betters. Dan'l, husband, you shall be avenged before to-morrow'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 a 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 Scarlet 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 Mrs. Scarlet stood up with her arms akimbo viewing her work, a satisfied smile playing about the toothless lips.

"I'll peel you, so't there'll be no deception hereafter," muttered the she 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?"

A curdling laugh followed.

After gloating over the detective for some time, Madge Scarlet 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 Darrel. "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 jest 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."

"Die then! Nothing would please me better than to witness your last struggles," and Mrs. Scarlet emitted a laugh that was horrible to hear.

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. Scarlet. "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 Elliston a monster, I reckon, but I will show you that he is but a child compared to Madge Scarlet."

"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. Madge Scarlet 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, 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 to you if you don't obey. Stop. One step toward me and I fire! I am in deadly earnest."

And the sneering Madge Scarlet 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 close 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 the cocked derringer, and she crossed the floor with a growl that was not pleasant to hear.

"There, that is about right."

Then Nell Darrel backed to the door, snatched up the bunch 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. Scarlet had given her.



CHAPTER XXI.

A BOUT 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 Darrel 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. Scarlet, or those who profited by the old woman's villainy.

"Help!"

Again came that cry, and Nell moved forward, pushed open 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 new comer was the hag who kept the place. With trembling step Nell Darrel 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 yet stunned detective. "Where is the old hag who rules this den of iniquity?"

"Back 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 Darrel 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 to him as though every bone in his body was broken.

"I was a fool to run into such a trap," he muttered.

"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 toward 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!"

"Some one 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 thar," uttered another voice. "I reckin the old gal know'd what she was doin'. Thar's some skulduggery goin' on down here, or my name ain't Nick Brower. I seed an old bloke come in, and 'twixt me an you, Professor, it was the man you'n me would give more to see out of the world than in it."

"You mean Dyke Darrel, the detective?"

"I couldn't mean anybody else."

"Come on, then, let's investigate."

"Extinguish your light, Nell," cried Dyke Darrel, 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.

Nell, white as death, yet with a determined look in her eyes, clinched her derringer firmly, and with close-shut teeth waited the denouement.

"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 at 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 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 Darrel 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 Darrel, white as death, yet with the fires of a 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 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.

"Aye! 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? This 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. Darrel, 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 hirsute covering, we should see——"

"Zounds! Go for him, boys," cried Professor Ruggles in a loud voice, completely drowning the faint accents of Dyke Darrel.

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 sharp report.

One of the villains staggered and sank with a groan against the stairs.

"I—I'm shot!" he gasped.

"The she jade!"

It was Nick Brower who uttered the hissing cry of rage, and the next instant the villain's revolver flashed.

"My God! You have killed Nell!"

It was a cry expressive of the deepest agony, as the weak and reeling detective caught the form of his sister in his arms, as she fell backward, with the blood streaming down her face.

Poor Nell!

She hung a dead weight in the arms of Dyke Darrel—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.

Brower came to his assistance with a vengeance, and rained terrific blows upon the head of Dyke Darrel with the butt of his revolver. Soon the mad grip relaxed from the throat of Ruggles, and Dyke Darrel sank a bleeding and insensible mass to the floor.

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've fixed him, Professor," growled Nick Brower, 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 of five minutes the overturned lamp was recovered and burning once more. Its rays revealed a ghastly scene. Two forms lay on the floor, Dyke Darrel and Nell, both apparently dead.

Nick's companion, who had screamed so lustily at the fire from Nell Darrel's derringer, still leaned against the stairs seeming little the worse for wear.

"Mike, where are you hit?"

"Don't know. I FELT the bullet goin' 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 Darrel slain."

"She wan't wuth no sich money," growled Brower.

"How do you know what she was worth, you miserable brute?" snarled the Professor, in an angry voice. "I take it, that I know more about it than you do."

"See here, boss, aren't you goin' on a bin run for nothin'? Whar'd you be now if I hadn't gin Dyke Darrel his quietus? Mebbe you'd better thank instead of curse your friend."

There was a deal of homely sense in the words of burly 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 Darrel'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 fur thet," answered the villain Brower.

Then Professor Ruggles passed up the stairs with Nell Darrel in his arms, just as four men halted at the side door in the alley.



CHAPTER XXII.

THE EMPTY SEAT.

A hand shook the door as Professor 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. Scarlet'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 Scarlet's dingy sitting-room.

"The beaks are out in force, it seems," muttered Ruggles, as he halted for a moment on the ground to rest from his exertion. "I hope Nick and that fool pard of his will finish Dyke Darrel before the cops get onto 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 negress to watch over her, he breathed easy once more.

Nell Darrel 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 tool of Darlington Ruggles cared for her in a most kindly manner.

The negress 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.

"Poor little lily," murmured the negress, in a sympathetic tone, when the girl was able to sit up and look about her.

"Where am I?" demanded Nell.

"Youse in good hands, chile," answered the black woman. "Your cousin says he'll take you outen dis soon's you can trabbel."

"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 brother's? A feeling of deepest anxiety filled the girl's breast. Ere 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 Darrel.

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. How does your head feel?"

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 Darrel 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 coolly.

"And Dyke?" 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?"

"Dyke Darrel and yourself."

"Can I go to Dyke?"

"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."

"But I am quite strong, I assure you," returned Nell, rising to her feet only to sink back again with a cry of piteous weakness.

"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 Sims?"

"Sims?"

"The one with the red beard and hair. 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. Don't bother your head about these things now, Nell. Try and get rested and strong, so that you can get from here and back 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 offense. She knew nothing of his connection with, the ruffians who made of Mrs. Scarlet'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 Elliston.

"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 here I've been—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 pang. 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 aught 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. Elliston 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.

Taking the folded note Elliston 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 exact truth. I must get me to Gotham immediately. My funds are running low, and SHE must replenish them. I haven't seen Aunt Scarlet since the racket. I hope she got her quietus. 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 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 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 beard—the irrepressible Professor Darlington Ruggles, of Chicago. He has been eminently successful thus far in his plot for the safe abduction of Nell Darrel. 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 the 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 become 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.

Calmly the scheming villain sat and puffed at his cigar until it was more than half consumed, 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 Darrel 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:

"Lookin' fur the young lady?"

The Professor nodded.

"She got off't 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's wink."



CHAPTER XXIII.

DYKE DARREL ON THE TRAIL.

The men who burst into Aunt Scarlet's room on the night that Professor Ruggles departed from the block with Nell Darrel 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 been already 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 Scarlet block.

"Dyke 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 bold 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 a 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.

"Wal, I reckin we kin," said the villainous companion of Brower. As he spoke, he went to the side of the fallen man-hunter, and placed the point of a knife against his throat.

"What now, pard?

"Dead men tell no tales, Nick."

"True. Send it home—-"

SPANG!

The sharp report of a revolver wake the echoes once more. The knife dropped from the nerveless 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 Darrel, I do believe."

But the young man's belief was unfounded, since some time later Dyke Darrel 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 Scarlet, 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 jezabel 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 Darrel 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 been discovered of poor Nell?—was she killed?" questioned the wounded man in a voice wrung with anguish.

"I don't think Nell was mortally hurt," returned Bernard in a reassuring 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 judge 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 evidence enough 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 of 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 Darrel did not suspect how deeply his young friend was interested in the fate of Nell.

The days dragged into weeks ere Dyke Darrel 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. Even the railroad crime was forgotten for the time, so intense was his interest centered in the fate of his sister. If not dead, Dyke Darrel 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 Scarlet 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 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 veiled female had taken passage East.

Dyke Darrel trembled with intense excitement when the depot policeman told him of this.

"Only this morning, you 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 Darrel 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 he saw the man and his invalid sister.

"Do you know that they took the New York train?" questioned Dyke.

"No; I'm 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.

And there was good reason for this, since when leaving Chicago a dark man, with smooth face and gray-tinged hair, accompanied Nell Darrel; 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 way station, without causing remark among the passengers, the most of whom were not through for the great city. Once New York whelmed 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 Darrel that he scarcely dared whisper to his own consciousness. It was that Harper Elliston 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 Darrel 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 was he 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 Darrel 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 Darrel 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 and unexpected meetings, as the future will reveal.

When night fell Dyke Darrel 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 de main 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 Scarlet 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 old man who had first spoken. "A queer, wrinkled old woman, too, she was."

"Did she say anything?"

"Not a word."

Mr. 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 Scarlet has shadowed me for this very purpose, it seems. Can it be possible that the friends of Nell Darrel have employed this hag to rob me of my prize? I will not believe it, for it isn't in the nature of Madge Scarlet 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 wrest the girl from her hands."

A minute later Professor Ruggles stood before the conductor.

"When does the next train pass going west?"

"It passes Galien in an hour."

"Galien? 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 hand satchel 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 abductress had boarded the cars and stolen Nell.