Dyke Darrel the Railroad Detective | Page 3

wine?"
"No," answered Dyke, with a frown. "We need clear brains for the work in hand. If you know aught of this monstrous crime, tell it at once."
"I do know a considerable," said Mr. Wilks. "I was the first man who discovered Arnold Nicholson after he'd been shot. The safe was in the very car that I occupied. I saw the men get the swag. There were three of them."
"Go on."
"They all wore mask, so of course I could not tell who they were; but I've an idea that they were from Chicago."
"Why have you such an idea?"
"Because I saw three suspicious chaps get on at Twenty-second street. I think they are the chaps who killed poor Arnold, and got away with the money in the safe."
"Did you recognize them?"
"No--that is, I'm not positive; but I think one of 'm was a chap that is called Skinny Joe, a hard pet, who used to work in a saloon on Clark street."
"Indeed."
"Yes. It might be well to keep your eye out in that quarter."
"It might," admitted Dyke Darrel. "This is all you know regarding the midnight tragedy?"
"Oh, no; I can give you more particulars."
"Let's have them, then."
"But see here, how am I to know that you are a detective? I might get sold, you know," replied Mr. Wilks in a suspicious tone.
Dyke Darrel lifted the lapel of his coat, exposing a silver star.
"All right," returned Mr. Wilks, with a nod. "I'm of the opinion that Skinny Joe's about the customer you need to look after, captain. I'll go down with you to the fellow's old haunts, and we'll see what we can find."
Mr. Wilks seemed tremendously interested. Dyke Darrel was naturally suspicious, and he was not ready to swallow everything his companion said as law and gospel. Of course the large reward was a stimulant for men to be on the lookout for the midnight train robbers; and Mr. Wilks' interest must be attributable to this.
"You see, I was Arnold Nicholson's friend, and I'd go a long ways to see the scoundrels get their deserts who killed him, even if there was no reward in the case," explained the brakeman suddenly.
"Certainly," answered Dyke Darrel. "I can understand how one employed on the same train could take the deepest interest in such a sad affair."
"Will you go down on Clark street with me?"
"Not just now."
"When?"
"I will meet you here this evening, and consult on that point."
"Very well. Better take something."
"No; not now."
Dyke Barrel rose to his feet and turned to leave the stall.
"Don't fail me now, sir."
"I will not."
The detective walked out. The moment he was gone a change came over the countenance of the young brakeman. The pleasant look vanished, and one dark and wicked took its place.
"Go, Dyke Darrel; I am sharp enough to understand you. You distrust me; but you're fooled all the same. It's strange you've forgotten the boy you sent to prison from St. Louis five years ago for passing counterfeit coin. I haven't forgotten it; and, what is more, I mean to get even."
Then, with a grating of even white teeth, Watson Wilks passed out. At the bar he paused long enough to toss off a glass of brandy, and then he went out upon the street.
It was a raw April day, and the air cut like a knife. After glancing up and down the street Mr. Wilks moved away. On reaching Clark street he hurried along that thoroughfare toward the south. Arriving in a disreputable neighborhood, he entered the side door of a dingy brick building, and stood in the presence of a woman, who sat mending a pair of old slippers by the light afforded by a narrow window.
"Madge Scarlet, I've found you alone, it seems."
"I'm generally alone," said the female, not offering to move.
She was past the prime of life, and there were many crow's feet on a face that had once been beautiful. Her dress was plain, and not the neatest. The room was small, and there were few articles of furniture on the uncarpeted floor.
"Madge, where are Nick and Sam?"
"I can't tell you."
"Haven't they been here to-day?"
"No, not in three days." "That seems strange."
"It doesn't to me. They are out working the tramp dodge, in the country, or into some worse iniquity, Watson. I do wish you would quit such company, and try and behave yourself."
At this the young man gave vent to a sarcastic laugh.
"Now, Aunt Madge, what an idea! Do you suppose your dear nephew could do anything wrong? Aren't I a pattern of perfection?"
Watson Wilks drew himself up and looked as solemn as an owl. This did not serve to bring a pleased expression to the woman's face, however. As she said nothing, the young man proceeded:
"I'm working on the railroad now, Madge, and haven't turned a dishonest penny