Dyke Darrel the Railroad Detective | Page 2

a different case. 'Tis said that four men were engaged in the foul work, and that they belong to a league of desperate ruffians, as hard to deal with as ever the James and Younger brothers. Better leave it to the Chicago and St. Louis force, Dyke. I should hate to see you made the victim of these scoundrels."
Mr. Elliston laid his hand on the detective's arm in a friendly way, and seemed deeply anxious.
"Harper, are you aware that the murdered messenger was my friend?"
"Was he?"
"Certainly. I would be less than human did I refuse to take the trail of his vile assassins. You make me blush when you insinuate that danger should deter me from doing my duty."
"I am not aware that I said such a thing," answered Elliston. "I did not mean it if I did. It would please me to have you remain off this trail, however, Dyke. I will see to it that the best Chicago detectives are set to work; that ought to satisfy you."
"And I sit with my hands folded meantime?"
A look of questioning surprise filled the eyes of Dyke Darrel, as he regarded Mr. Elliston.
"No. But you promised Nell to take her East this spring, to New York-"
"He did, but I forego that pleasure," cried the girl, quickly. "I realize that Dyke has a duty to perform in Illinois."
"And so you, too, side with your brother," cried Mr. Elliston, forcing a laugh. "In that case, I surrender at discretion."
Dyke picked up and examined the paper once more. "DIED FOR DUTY. BOLD AND BLOODY CRIME AT NIGHT ON THE CENTRAL RAILROAD."
That was the heading to the article announcing the assassination of the express messenger. The train on which the deed had been committed, had left Chicago at ten in the evening, and at one o'clock, when the train was halted at a station, the deed was discovered. Arnold Nicholson was found with his skull crushed and his body terribly beaten, while, in the bloody hands of the dead, was clutched a tuft of red hair. This went to show that one of the messenger's assailants was a man with florid locks.
Leaving Nell and Mr. Elliston together, Dyke Darrel hastened to the station. He was aware that a train would pass in ten minutes, and he wished to enter Chicago and make an examination for himself. The detective's home was on one of the many roads crossing Illinois, and entering the Garden City--about an hour's ride from the Gotham of the West.
In less than two hours after reading the notice of the crime on the midnight express. Dyke Darrel was in Chicago. He visited the body of the murdered messenger, and made a brief examination. It was at once evident to Darrel, that Nicholson had made a desperate fight for life, but that he had been overpowered by a superior force.
A reward of ten thousand dollars was already offered for the detection and punishment of the outlaws.
"Poor Arnold!" murmured Dyke Darrel, as he gazed at the bruised and battered corpse. "I will not rest until the wicked demons who compassed this foul work meet with punishment!"
There were still several shreds of hair between the fingers of the dead, when Dyke Darrel made his examination, since the body had just arrived from the scene of the murder.
The detective secured several of the hairs, believing they might help him in his future movements. Darrel made one discovery that he did not care to communicate to others; it was a secret that he hoped might lead to results in the future. What the discovery was, will be disclosed in the progress of our story.
Soon after the body of the murdered a messenger was removed to his home, from which the funeral was to take place.
As Dyke Darrel was passing from the rooms of the undertaker, a hand fell on his shoulder.
"You are a detective?"
Dyke Darrel looked into a smooth, boyish face, from which a pair of brown eyes glowed.
"What is it you wish?" Darrel demanded, bluntly.
"I wish to make a confidant of somebody."
"Well, go on."
"First tell me if you are a detective."
"You may call me one."
"It's about that poor fellow you've just been interviewing," said the young stranger. "I am Watson Wilkes, and I was on the train, in the next car, when poor Nicholson was murdered. I was acting as brakeman at the time. Do you wish to hear what I can tell?"


CHAPTER II
.
DYKE DARREL'S TRICK.
"Certainly I do," cried the detective. "Come with me, and we will find a place where we can talk without danger of interruption."
The two men moved swiftly down the street. At length Dyke Darrel entered a well-known restaurant on Randolph street, secured a private stall, and then bade Mr. Wilks proceed. Both men were seated at a small table.
"Shan't I order the