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Updated: June 15, 2025
"Am I to understand that you connect ME in any way with this girl's death, or that I am a friend to this Hubert Vander of whom you speak?" "Your pretended indignation will not deceive, Harper Elliston. Look at THIS, and tell me what you think of it," said Dyke Darrel, with the sternness of steel. The detective laid the photograph he had obtained in the Black Hollow cabin in the hand of Mr.
God love thee, child!" said the tinker, in a tone of great admiration. "'Tis beautiful." "And, you came through the woods?" said Polly. "Through wood and field," was Trove's answer. "I wonder you knew the way." "The little god o' love he shot his arrows, an' we followed them as the hunter follows the bee," said Darrel. "It was nice of you to bring the flowers," said Polly. "They are beautiful."
Trove had a book in his hand. He rose calmly and flung it on the table. "It's an outrage," said he, with a sigh. "Nay, an honour," said Darrel, quickly. "Hold up thy head, boy. The laurel shall take the place o' the frown." He turned to the bearer of these evil tidings. "Have ye more knowledge o' the matter?"
And there was another curious thing about Darrel, these people and many more loved him, gathering about his chair as he tinkered, hearing with delight the lore and wisdom of his tongue, but, after all, there were none that knew him now any better than the first day he came. A certain wall of dignity was ever between him and them. Half an hour before dark, the yard was thronged with people.
"Tell me how you made your escape," said Dyke Darrel, who sat with his back against a tree, and regarded the young counterfeiter in wonder. "There isn't much to tell," returned Skidway. "I had no assistance, but it seems that a pair of burglars had broken out by filing off the grating to one of the corridor windows, and the opening had not been repaired when I was taken to the jail.
"Caught, by the powers," sneered lips above a massive red beard, and Professor Darlington Ruggles' eyes glittered with intense satisfaction as they peered into the face of the famous railroad detective. Had Dyke Darrel been in the full vigor of his manly strength, and Nell not by to unnerve him, his chances for escape would have been tenfold greater. As it was, a terrible weakness oppressed him.
She hung a dead weight in the arms of Dyke Darrel murdered by the hand of a brutal assassin. No wonder the bruised and almost helpless man-hunter groaned with inward anguish at the sight. He fell no easy prey into the hands of his enemies, however.
It must be that there is a mistake somewhere, and it seems to me that the mad girl is more apt to be deceived than I." Once more Dyke Darrel returned to the house. Sibyl Osborne lay in a dead faint on the floor. The detective began chafing her hands at once, and loosened her corsage. A morocco case fell to the floor. It was the one containing the alleged picture of Hubert Vander.
Had that face at the window been an optical delusion, after all? Dyke Darrel was not superstitious, yet in the present case a queer feeling oppressed him, and an awful misgiving entered his mind. "I cannot believe that the face at the window was other than that of Elliston's; and yet she called him Hubert.
With bated breath the man-hunter glued his gaze upon the face of the man bending over the casket. "What a sad face, and yet most wonderful in its beauty. Who is she? A daughter of the house?" Harper turned and regarded Dyke Darrel questioningly, a sympathetic look in his black eyes. "Do you not know her?" "I know her? You forget that I am a stranger in this part of the West, Dyke."
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