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Updated: June 23, 2025
When the train halted at Black Hollow, the station at which the terrible crime of a few days previous had been discovered, Dyke Darrel arose to go. "When shall I see you again, Dyke?" questioned Mr. Elliston. "I am not sure. I shall be in Woodburg next week." "I will see you there, then." "Very well." The detective left the train, and stood alone on the platform of the little station.
"I cannot remain with you longer," said Dyke Darrel, at length. "I shall leave the case at this end of the route in your hands, Harry, and if at any time you wish to communicate with me, address me at Woodburg." "All right. What shall we do with this?" Harry indicated the coat that still lay on the bed. "You may retain that, but I will keep the handkerchief. Both may be of use in the future."
"It is not at all necessary," said Mr. Sims, with a bland smile. "Mr. Darrel requested me to visit the depot, and look after a young lady whom he expected on the evening train from Woodburg. I hope you will not distrust one who has the best interests of the great detective at heart." Again the red-haired gentleman bowed, and looked smilingly into the face of the young girl.
At this moment another form was seen approaching, and the Professor, deeming it prudent to move away, was soon striding from the spot, his tall form disappearing in the shadows before the third person reached the edge of the dock. On the day following the events last narrated, a man ran up the steps at the Darrel cottage in Woodburg, and rang the bell. Nell answered, and met the gentlemanly Mr.
"Not long since. I am confident that our game is in this vicinity. I meant to come down to Woodburg soon, and consult with you. I sent a telegram, but it brought no answer from you." "I wasn't at home. It was placed in my hands yesterday." "And that is why you are here?" "Not wholly."
He remembered that the young man had left Woodburg suddenly the fall before, and nothing had been seen or heard from him by his friends since, until Dyke's meeting him so strangely in St. Louis. It was barely possible that the assault and the rescue by young Bernard were part of a deep-laid plot.
"He uttered the name of Harry Bernard." "How could you guess that?" "Because I have felt it in my bones," answered the tall New Yorker. "Harry Bernard acted queerly before he left Woodburg the last time, and I have since arrived at the conclusion that he was engaged in some unlawful work." "Well, I never entertained such a suspicion," was all the detective vouchsafed in reply.
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