Dyke Darrel the Railroad Detective | Page 5

might be that the detective would delight in turning him over to the Chicago police, a consummation that the fellow dreaded more than aught else.
"Come with me, and make no trouble. You will do so, if you know when you are well off," said Dyke Darrel significantly.
And Wilks walked along peacefully, allowing the sleeves of his coat to hide the handcuffs. After going a few blocks, the detective hailed a hack, and pushing his prisoner before him, entered and ordered the driver to make all speed for the Union depot.
"What does this mean?" demanded the prisoner, with assumed indignation.
"It means that you will take a trip South for your health, my friend."
"To St. Louis?"
"You have guessed it, Skidway."
A troubled look touched the face of the escaped prisoner.
"Why do you call me by that name, Dyke Darrel?"
"Because that IS your name. You have five years unexpired term yet to serve in the Missouri penitentiary, and I conceive it my duty to see that you keep the contract."
"A contract necessarily requires two parties. I never agreed to serve the State."
"Well, we won't argue the point."
"But I am in the employ of the railroad company, and will lose my place---"
"You gain another one, so it doesn't matter," retorted the detective. "No use making a fuss, Mr. Skidway; you cannot evade the punishment which awaits you. Any confession you choose to make I am willing to hear. The late tragedy, for instance?"
"You'll get nothing out of me."
"I am sorry,"
"Of course you are. Did you recognize me when we first met?"
"No. It was an afterthought."
"I thought so. You shall suffer for this. You've got the wrong man, Mr. Darrel."
"You seem to know me."
"Everybody does."
"You flatter me."
"My name isn't Skidway, but Wilks, and I can prove it."
"Do so."
"Release me and I will."
"I'm not that green."
The prisoner muttered angrily. He realized that he was fairly caught, and that it was too late now to think of deceiving the famous detective.
Dyke Darrel had recognized in the young man calling himself Watson Wilks an old offender, who had made his escape from the Missouri State prison three months before, and he at once surmised that the young counterfeiter, who was a hard case, might have had a hand in the murder and robbery of the express messenger. Reasoning thus, the detective decided upon promptly arresting the fellow before proceeding to search further. It would be safer to have Skidway in prison than at large in any event.
More than one pair of eyes had watched the departure of Dyke Darrel and his prisoner from Chicago, and a little later a bearded man, with deep-set, twinkling eyes, and the general look of a hard pet, thrust his head into Madge Scarlet's little room, and said:
"It are all up with the kid, Mrs. Scarlet."
"What's that you say?"
The woman came to her feet and confronted the new-comer with an interested look.
"It's all up with the kid."
"Come in, Nick Brower, and let me have a look at your face. I want no lies now," cried the woman sharply; and the man drew himself into a little room, and stood regarding the female with a grin.
"Now let me hear what you've got to tell," demanded Mrs. Scarlet.
"It's ther kid--"
"Watson?"
"Yesum."
"Well, what has happened to him, man? Can't you speak?"
"He's took."
"Took?"
"Nabbed. Got the darbies on and gone South a wisitin'."
"Do you mean to say that Watson has been arrested?"
"I do, mam," grunted Brower. "He's well out of town, goin' South, and I reckin he'll be in Jeffe'son City before we hear from him agin. I seed him a-goin' with my own eyes."
"How did it happen?"
The man explained how young Skidway had been seized and taken on board the train by Dyke Darrel.
"You are sure his captor was Dyke Darrel?"
"I ain't blind, I reckon," growled the man. "I heard sufficient to tell me that the detective was takin' the kid back to Missoury, and that was enough for me."
"Why did you permit it?"
A laugh answered the woman.
"You might have saved the boy," pursued Mrs. Scarlet, angrily. "Now he will spend another five years in the dungeon where my poor man died of a broken heart. Watson told me that the infamous Dyke Darrel was in Chicago; but I had no thought of his recognizing the boy. Can you lend me some money, Nick?"
"A purty question, Madge. Don't you know I'm always dead-broke?" growled Brower. "What in the nation do you want with money any how?"
"I'm going to St. Louis."
"No?"
"I am. If Dyke Darrel puts my boy behind prison bars again, I will have no mercy. It's life for life. I am tired of living, and am willing to die to revenge myself on that miserable detective."
Mrs. Scarlet began pacing the room. She was deeply moved, and tears of anger and sorrow glittered in her eyes. She was about