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Updated: June 15, 2025
"Would you do it after what has happened, if you were in a condition to do so?" demanded the convict, bending over the man on the ground, regarding him with a menacing look. "Duty often calls one to do that which is disagreeable," answered Dyke Darrel. A deep frown mantled the brows of the convict. "I see that my mercy was misdirected," he said.
The keen eyes of Dyke Darrel fixed themselves on the face of his prisoner, with a penetrating sharpness that fairly made the fellow squirm in his seat. On more than one occasion had the railroad detective brought confession from the lips of guilt, through the magnetism of his terrible glance.
It was evident that the occupants of the vehicle had seen Skidway, and to strike now would but add to the vengeance of pursuit and punishment. With a curse, he dropped the iron bolt and turned to flee. "Dyke Darrel, if you inform on me, I will kill you at another time!" hissed the convict. Then he rushed from the spot and disappeared.
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 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."
"That," said Le Bihan with conviction, "is history." "The devil it is!" said I; "and perhaps, Monsieur the mayor, your faith in giants is unimpaired?" "There were giants everybody knows it," growled Max Fortin. "And you a chemist!" I observed scornfully. "Listen, Monsieur Darrel," squeaked Le Bihan; "you know yourself that the Purple Emperor was a scientific man.
In Hillsborough, where all spoke of him as an odd man of great learning, there were none, saving Trove and two or three others, that knew the tinker well, for he took no part in the roaring gossip of shop and store. "Hath it ever occurred to thee," said Darrel, as they walked along, "that a fool is blind to his folly, a wise man to his wisdom?"
At length she gave way and, in a series of reluctant confessions, told a crude story of her wrong-doings that bore some slight resemblance to the boy's tale, and involved the use of a spirit in the form of a dog. Now it was that John Darrel came upon the ground eager to make a name for himself. Darling had been ill for three months and was not improving.
The reader may imagine that it was extremely indiscreet for the detective to give away his plans to Elliston, but Dyke Darrel had known this man for more than a year, had visited him in New York, and found him to be well thought of there, and he had more than once confided in him, to find him as true as steel. At this time the detective believed Elliston to be the best friend he had in the world.
What the devil is all this fuss about, anyway?" "We were telegraphed for an hour ago," said Durand briskly, "and for a sufficient reason, I think. Look there, Monsieur Darrel!" He pointed to the ground almost under my feet. "Good heavens!" I cried, "where did that puddle of blood come from?" "That's what I want to know, Monsieur Darrel. Max Fortin found it at daybreak.
"He ain't going to take any chances," said the widow, laughing. When at last he came forth, it was with a soft step and new resolutions. And a while later, when Trove heard Darrel say that caution was the only friend of weakness, he understood him perfectly. "Not every brush has a fox on it," said the widow, and the words went from lip to lip until they were a maxim of those country-folk.
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