Dyke Darrel the Railroad Detective | Page 4

in a long time. Of course you heard of the robbery of the midnight express down in the central part of the State last night? Some of the morning papers have an account of it."
"I hadn't heard."
"Well, then, I will tell you about it;" and Mr. Wilks gave a brief account of the terrible tragedy that had shocked the land. "It's a regular Jesse James affair, and there's a big reward offered for the outlaws."
The woman seemed interested then, and looked hard at her nephew.
"Watson, I hope you know nothing of this work?"
"Of course I know something of it," he answered quickly. "I returned in charge of the dead body of the messenger. I was in the next car when he was killed, and one of the robbers put his pistol to my head and threatened to blow my brains out if I said or did anything. You can just bet I kept mighty still."
"I should think so. This'll make a tremendous stir," returned the woman. "The country'll be full of man-trackers and it'll go hard with the outlaws if they're captured."
"You bet; but they won't be captured." "You are confident?"
"I've a right to be. I---"
Then the young man ceased to speak suddenly, and his face became deeply suffused.
The woman sprang up then and went to the young man's side, laying her hand on his shoulder.
"Watson, tell me truly that you don't know who committed this crime."
"Bother!" and he flung her hand from his shoulder with an impatient movement. "I hope you ain't going to turn good all to once, Madge Scarlet. I tell you, thirty thousand dollars ain't to be sneezed at, and I do need money--but of course I don't know a thing about who did it, of course not; but I can tell you one thing, old lady, Dyke Barrel is on the trail, and he is even now in Chicago."
"Dyke Darrel!"
"That's who, Madam."
For some moments a silence fell over the two that was absolutely painful. At length the woman found her voice.
"Dyke Barrel! Ah! fiend of Missouri, I have good cause to remember you and your work. Do you know, Watson, the fate of your poor uncle?"
"Well, I should smile if I didn't," answered the young man. "He died in a Missouri dungeon, sent there by this same Dyke Darrel, the railroad man-tracker. Hate him? Of course you do, but not as I do. I have sworn to have revenge for the five years I laid in a dungeon for shoving the queer."
"And Dyke Darrel is now in Chicago?"
"Yes. I parted from him not an hour since."
"What is he here for?"
"The crime on the midnight express brings him here."
"And you saw and talked with him?"
"I did."
"He recognized you of course?"
"No, he did not; that is the best of it. I am to meet him again to- night. It won't be long before the man who sent Uncle Dan to a Missouri dungeon is in your presence, and you shall do with him as you like, Madge Scarlet."
"As I like?"
"I have said it."
"Then Dyke Darrel shall die!"
"That's the talk," Madge. "THAT sounds like your old self; I am glad you have come to your senses. If Nick and Sam come in, tell them to be in readiness to receive a visitor."
Then the young man turned on his heel and abruptly left the room. Just as the shades of night were falling Watson Wilks peered into the saloon and restaurant where he had parted from Dyke Darrel earlier in the day.
He saw nothing of the detective.
"It is time he was here," muttered the young man. "Dyke Darrel is generally prompt in filling engagements."
"Always prompt, MARTIN SKIDWAY!"
The young villain staggered back against the iron railing near, as though stricken a blow in the face.
Unconsciously he had uttered his thoughts aloud, and the voice that uttered the reply was hissed almost in his ear.
Dyke Darrel stood before him.
The detective's face wore a stern look, which was suddenly discarded for a smile.
"I am prompt in filling engagements," said Darrel, after a moment. "You see I have at last recognized you, and the walls of the prison from which you escaped shall again envelop you."
And then a sharp click was heard. The fraudulent brakeman held up his arms helplessly--they were safely secured with handcuffs!


CHAPTER III
.
PROFESSOR DARLINGTON RUGGLES.
It would be hard to find a more completely astounded person than the one calling himself Watson Wilks at that moment.
The noted detective had outwitted him completely.
It was humiliating, to say the least.
"This is an outrage!" at length the young villain found voice to utter. "I will call on the police for assistance if you do not at once remove these bracelets."
"Do so if you like," answered Dyke Darrel, coolly; so icily in fact as to deter the young man from carrying out his threat. It