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"Obey the law, or thou shalt break the bone o' thy neck," said Darrel, quickly. "I do obey the law," said Trent. "Ay the written law," said the clock tinker, "an' small credit to thee. But the law o' thine own discovery, the law that is for thyself an' no other, hast thou ne'er thought of it? Ill luck is the penalty o' law-breaking. Therefore study the law that is for thyself.
Dyke Darrel, the famous detective, will never be heard of more, and that girl well, she will be better dead than living. Come, Nick, let us go!" "You're sure the door's tightly fastened?" "I fixed it so Satan himself could not open it." "Good." "Let us go!" "Wait. I'd like to see the curse roast." "No, no; that won't do. We'll come in the day time and look at the bones.
Joel Darrel looked well satisfied as he coiled up the wash line. "It was a narrow escape," he remarked presently. "You want to be careful how you try to cross the river at this point. What were you doing on the tree?" "I was after a thief," answered Sam, and then he looked at Dick and Tom. "Where is he?" "Gone," returned Dick. "A thief!" ejaculated Joel Darrel. "Whom did he rob?" "He robbed me."
"Is there anything you do not know?" Trove inquired. "Much," said the tinker, "including the depth o' me own folly. A man that displays knowledge hath need o' more." Indeed, Trove rarely came for a talk with Darrel when he failed to discover something new in him a further reach of thought and sympathy or some unsuspected treasure of knowledge.
Somehow, it seemed to the detective that Black Hollow was half a century behind the age. Mrs. Bragg was a shy, ungainly female, and not at all communicative. Darrel occupied the remainder of the day in exploring the country in the vicinity. A creek crossed the railroad and entered a deep gulch, the sides of which were lined with a dense growth of bushes.
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?"
"Bosh!" said I; "the poor wicked devil is where he can't get out. For Heaven's sake, Le Bihan, what is this stuff you are talking in the year of grace 1896?" The mayor gave me a look. "And he says 'Englishman. You are an Englishman, Monsieur Darrel," he announced. "You know better. You know I'm an American." "It's all the same," said the Mayor of St. Gildas, obstinately. "No, it isn't!"
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.
"It is a terrible affair," said Mr. Holden, the officer in question. "I telegraphed our folks in Chicago to employ detectives in that city, and expect to have the best talent in the country look into this." "Of course. Any clew discovered?" "None." "I believe the villains covered their tracks well," said Dyke Darrel. "The express messenger who was murdered was a personal friend." "Your friend?"
Trove inquired. "No." "Is she very sick?" "Very." Darrel came close to Roberts. He looked sternly at the young man. "Boy," said he, with great dignity, his long forefinger raised, "within a day ye shall be clothed with shame." "They were strange words," Trove thought, as they walked away in silence; and when they had come to the little shop it was growing dusk.
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