NELL MISSING.
The reader can imagine the indignation of the railroad detective when
he found himself arrested by the Burlington officer.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Dyke Darrel, "but you are making a
foolish mistake. I am a detective----"
"That won't go down. If you attempt to escape I will blow out your
brains," returned the officer, still holding his cocked weapon to the
head of Dyke Darrel.
The detective was deeply annoyed at this. On board the train were the
remains of the daughter of one of Burlington's most prominent
citizens, and Dyke was extremely anxious to meet the friends and
explain the situation.
"You may take me at once to the chief of police," said Dyke Darrel, at
length. "I can explain to him, since he knows me."
Another officer approached, and the first one requested him to
handcuff his prisoner.
A hot flush of anger shot to the cheek of the detective.
"This is going too far," he said in a vexed tone. "If you attempt to
put the irons on me, I'll make you trouble. I tell you I am acquainted
with your chief, and demand that you take me to him."
"That's fair enough," said the second officer.
"But he's a dangerous character," persisted the first.
"Whom do you take me for," Dyke demanded indignantly.
"Slim Steve, the train robber."
"Where did you get your information?"
"It doesn't matter."
"You'd better go slow, officer. Look at that, and tell me what you
think of it?"
Turning back the lap of his coat Dyke Darrel revealed a glittering
silver star, and below this a flaming eye on a dark background.
"A Pinkerton detective!" exclaimed the second officer.
"I am a detective, and know my business without receiving instructions
from the police of a one-horse town," retorted Dyke Darrel in anger.
"I am willing, however, to visit your chief, who will confirm my
words."
"We had orders from him to arrest you."
"Very good. I demand that you take me before him."
After a short consultation the two officers concluded to gratify their
prisoner, and, without attempting to handcuff him, they conducted him
from the depot to the police station.
As luck would have it, the chief was in, and at once recognized and
greeted Dyke Darrel. Explanations soon followed.
"You must not blame my men," said the chief, "for word was sent from
an interior town in Illinois stating that a notorious crook was on the
train, and would stop at Burlington. A description was given that
tallied with yours, and so the mistake was made."
"Do you know who sent the dispatch?"
"A sheriff, I think."
"Just accommodate me with the name of the town, please."
Dyke Darrel was deeply excited at this last attempt to deprive him of
his liberty.
The officer referred to the dispatch and read the name of the place
from whence it originated.
"Woodburg!"
Dyke Darrel uttered the name in wonder.
"I don't understand it," he said; "that is my own home, and I am too
well known there to merit suspicion. It must have been meant for a
practical joke," and the detective's thoughts were turned to Harper
Elliston.
"It might be, of course," admitted the chief of Burlington police,
"but it is a joke that I shouldn't relish, and you might make it warm
for the perpetrator. I can telegraph and inquire into it if you wish,
Mr. Darrel."
"Not now. I shall be in Woodburg within a few days, and then I will
find out all about it."
Dyke Darrel repaired at once to the home of Captain Osborne, which was
occupied by relatives of the Captain, and informed them of the sad
fate that had overtaken Sibyl Osborne.
An aunt and cousin, the latter a young man of prominence, were the
relatives mentioned. The cousin promised to attend the remains, after
listening to the strange story Dyke Darrel had to tell. Sibyl had left
home ten days before, pretending to go on a visit to friends. When she
left it was not suspected that she was out of her mind, consequently
the news was all the more sad.
From Burlington the railroad detective returned to Black Hollow, and
from there he went to St. Louis to consult with Harry Bernard. Here he
was met with the announcement that his young friend had taken the
train for Chicago some days before.
This was an annoying state of affairs indeed.
Remaining a few days in St. Louis, Dyke Darrel at length left the city
en route for Woodburg. He was anxious to meet Nell, from whom he had
been absent now about a fortnight.
On reaching Woodburg the detective found a telegram awaiting him from
Chicago:
"Come at once. I have made an important discovery.
"H."
Of course this must be from Harry. It was dated some days before,
however, which annoyed Dyke. Harry Bernard might have changed his base
of operations by this time.
"I will call at the house," mused Dyke Darrel. "I have an hour's time
before the next Chicago train."
Aunt Jule was extremely glad to meet "Marse Dyke."
"Why didn't you bring the young missus wid yo?" questioned the
negress.
"What's that? Hope you didn't think I'd committed matrimony?" and the
detective laughed lightly, at the same time chucking Aunt Jule under
her fat chin.
"Lor-a-massy, no, Marse Dyke. I meant Missy Nell," explained the black
woman.
"Miss Nell? Isn't she at home?"
"Wal, now, what a question. In coorse she ain't. Didn' yo' send fur
her yo' very self? How den yo' 'spec she's goin' to be home ef yo'
didn' done brung her, eh?"
All this was Greek to Dyke Darrel.
"What in the name of caution are you driving at, Aunt Jule? I haven't
seen my sister since I left home, and if she's gone to look for me
she's done a very foolish thing, for I'm not long in one place--she
ought to have known better."
Aunt Jule flounced out of the room, to return soon with a yellow
envelope in her hand.
"Dere, look a-dat now. Ef yo' didn' done writ dat, den I'd like to
know who did."
The detective opened the letter his housekeeper placed in his hand,
and read:
"CHICAGO, April 30, 188-.
NELL:--Come on the next train, as I wish to see you in this city. Aunt
Jule will look after the house until your return. Don't disappoint me.
"DYKE."
The detective glanced at the negress after reading this note, the
writing of which very much resembled his hand.
"This came when?"
"Yesterday."
"Through the mail?"
"Yes, Marse."
A frown darkened the brow of the detective. He crumpled the letter in
his hand and began pacing the floor with nervous strides.
"Somefin must be wrong ef yo' didn' write that letter."
Suddenly Dyke Darrel turned on the speaker and touched her huge arm
with a clinging hand.
"Jule, when did my sister answer this letter?" he demanded, fiercely.
"Jest the next train."
"Last night?"
"Yes, Marse Dyke."
Dropping his hand from Aunt Jule's huge arm, the detective rushed from
the room and the house. He was laboring under great excitement, as
well he might be, for Nell was as the apple of his eye, and she had
been enticed to the great city for a fell purpose, he believed.