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, butIwill 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.
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.
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."
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.
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.
With feverish blood the scheming villain sat by the window and watched the fleeting landscape by the light of the moon. The score of miles that intervened between the station seemed like a hundred to the anxious man who sat and glared at the trees and hills without.
He was in extreme doubt as to his ability to cope with the cunning hag who had ventured so many miles to thwart him, and indulge her own morbid desire for revenge.
At length the whistle sounded announcing the station.
As the train bolted beside another train, bound in the opposite direction, Ruggles glanced into the car not ten feet distant, to make a startling discovery.
He looked squarely into the face of Dyke Darrel, the railroad detective!
Turning his head, the Professor sat quiet. The other train was moving, and Ruggles felt paralyzed at his discovery. Perhaps the detective had not noticed him. He could not understand how the detective had escaped death from the beating he had received in the basement of that building of sin on Clark street.
His own train was moving now, and if he would get off he must be quick about it.
Springing from his seat, he hastened down the aisle.
At the open door he met Dyke Darrel face to face! The recognition was mutual.
The train was moving rapidly out of the station. Soon it would be going at full speed.
Professor Ruggles had two incentives for leaving the train now—one to escape the detective, the other to find Nell and Madge Scarlet.
At first he thought of dashing upon Dyke Darrel and risking all in a swift rush. Second thought, induced by the gleam of a six-shooter in the hand of his enemy, concluded the Professor to seek another course. Turning, he dashed down the length of the car, with Darrel in hot pursuit.
"Halt, or I fire!"
But the detective's cry had no effect.
The half-sleeping passengers were roused by the wonderful movements of the two men.
"Madmen!"
"What IS the trouble?"
Such were the exclamations, as doors slammed, and the two men swept into the next car. From coach to coach sped the pursued and the pursuer. It was a flight for life, on the part of Professor Ruggles.
His plug hat flew off in the chase, and a brakeman who confronted him in the aisle was knocked flat with terrific force.
"Murder!"
And then both men disappeared from the rear platform.
Dyke Darrel believed he had his man in a corner, when he saw him dash through the door at the rear of the long train.
Not so, however.
The desperate Ruggles was ready to do anything rather than come in contact with his relentless foe. He bounded clear of the train, landing in a soft bit of sand, sinking almost to his knees, without harming him in the least.
The detective did not hesitate to follow, but he made a miscalculation, owing to his bodily weakness, and instead of landing on his feet, he came down with stunning force across one of the rails.
Dyke Darrel lay insensible, like one dead.
Had his enemy come upon him then he might have finished the career of the daring man-hunter, without the least danger to himself. For once, Professor Ruggles missed it woefully.
As the detective was ten yards behind the Professor, and the car was going at good speed, there was quite twenty rods difference between the two men when they landed. Dyke Darrel was completely hidden from the sight of Ruggles by a clump of trees.
Ruggles gazed up the track, but saw nothing of his pursuer. He surmised that Dyke Darrel did not leap from the train, but it was likely he would ring the bell and stop the cars at once, so that it would not do to for him to remain in the vicinity unless he wished to collide with the detective.
Another supposition also came to the brain of the villain, preventing his search along the track. If Dyke Darrel had leaped after him, what more natural than his hiding in the clump of timber for the purpose of pouncing upon him when he came up the road.
"I'll not risk it," muttered Ruggles. "I've other fish to fry just now than looking after detectives. I must find that hag, Madge Scarlet, and get my hands once more on Nell Darrel."
Then Mr. Ruggles turned his steps in the direction of the station. Already daylight was dawning, and Professor Ruggles was almost beside himself with anxiety. He cursed the woman who had made it necessary for him to leave the train so many miles outside of Gotham. Such a change in the programme might result fatally to himself. Dyke Darrel was hot on the trail now, and it would require the best efforts of a desperate man to throw him off the scent.
The man with the sunset hair was desperate enough. With hurried steps he made his way to the depot. The agent was just shutting up.
"No train, save a way-freight, will be along till night," he said, in answer to a question from the gentleman with the red locks. Ruggles had taken the precaution to provide himself with a cap from his satchel before presenting himself to the man on duty at the depot.
"One question," said Ruggles, as the man was about to walk away.
"Well?"
"Did any passengers get off here some hours since from the New York train east?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"None came into the depot, at any rate," said the man.
"Any passengers get on?"
"Several."
"Among them an old woman?"
"I saw no woman."
"You are sure?"
"Of course I am."
Ruggles was disappointed. Could it be possible that he had been led on a fool's errand after all, and that Madge Scarlet, with her prize, had been concealed on the train, and continued on to New York? The thought was intolerable.
In the meantime, how fared it with Dyke Darrel, who lay stunned and bleeding across the railroad track.
It was almost sun-up before he opened his eyes and groaned. His bed was a hard one, and it seemed as though every bone in his body was broken. The fact was, he was yet sore from his serious fall through the trap into the basement on Clark street, consequently it is little wonder he was badly demoralized, both in mind and body, at his last mishap.
Presently a strange rumbling jar filled his ears. A bend in the road to the west hid the track, but the dazed brain of Dyke Darrel took in the situation nevertheless—a train was thundering down upon him.
A minute more and he would be doomed!
He tried to move—to roll from the track. He could not. His limbs seemed paralyzed. Another second and the train would be upon him!