_ CHAPTER XIX. THE DETECTIVE FOOLED
Two men met unexpectedly in one of the hotel corridors of the great city; two hands went out, and
"How are you, Harry?"
"How are you, Dyke, old boy?"
"When did you leave St. Louis?"
This from the detective.
"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."
There was a gloomy look on the face of the detective, not natural to it, and young Bernard knew that something had gone decidedly wrong with his detective friend.
"It is about Nell," said Dyke Darrel, when questioned. "She came to the city last evening, in answer to a letter purporting to come from me. The letter was a decoy from some villain, and I fear that Nell has met with a terrible fate."
A groan came at the last.
Harry Bernard's face blanched, and he, too, seemed excited and deeply moved. The keen eyes of Dyke Darrel noticed the young man's emotion, and he felt a suspicion growing stronger each moment.
"Nell in the city--decoyed!" exclaimed Harry at length. "Great heaven! Dyke, this is awful!" "It is."
Then the detective laid his hand on the young man's shoulder, and piercing him with a stern look, said in an awful voice:
"Harry Bernard, on your honor as a man, what do you know of this enticing of Nell to the city?"
"What do I know?"
"Yes; what do you know?"
There was a stern ring in the detective's voice, not to be mistaken.
"I know only what you have just told me, Dyke."
"This is the truth?"
"Good heaven! Dyke Darrel, do you imagine that
I had aught to do with enticing your sister to this wicked city? My soul! You do not understand the feeling that animates my heart for Nell Darrel. I hope you will not insult me again with a suspicion so haggard and awful."
The hurt look resting on the face of the young amateur detective was sufficient to convince Dyke Darrel that Harry Bernard spoke the truth, and this knowledge only increased his uneasiness.
"I am fearful some terrible ill has befallen Nell," groaned Dyke.
"My friend," said Harry, "we must let all other matters rest until we find the girl. I have a suspicion that may lead to something definite. Let me tell you now, that during the past year you have warmed a serpent in your bosom in the person of Harper Elliston. I have never, until now, dared make this assertion in your presence, knowing as I did the great respect you had for the oily-tongued fellow. The time for plain speaking has come, however."
"I shall take no offense."
"No! I am glad to hear you say that. Come to my room, Dyke, and I will tell you something that may open your eyes a little."
The detective complied, and when they were seated Harry poured out his confidence.
"I am glad you have been thus frank with me, Harry," said the detective when his friend had finished. "I have heard enough of late to convince me that Elliston is a wolf in sheep's clothing!"
"And that is one point gained."
"It is."
"And I believe that it was Elliston who penned the decoy letter."
"I am more than half convinced that such is the case," admitted Dyke Darrel.
"Have you investigated?"
"Thoroughly, since I came into town. I learned that Nell got off at the depot, and that she met a red-haired man, and entered a hack with him. After that all is blank."
"That confirms my suspicions, Dyke." "What is that?"
"This man with the florid looks meeting Nell, and going away from the depot in her company, Professor Ruggles, is a friend of Elliston's."
"Indeed!"
"It is true. I believe before another day passes, the place of the girl's seclusion can be found. Down on Clark street is Mother Scarlet's place, a played-out old hag, and she has been hand and glove with this red-haired man for some time."
"Mother Scarlet!" exclaimed the detective. "I have met her; she is the aunt of the Martin Skidway who is now serving out the remainder of his term for counterfeiting."
"The same, I suppose. I move that we visit her den, and see what we can find."
"Agreed. Let us go at once."
Dyke Darrel came to his feet.
"One moment, Dyke."
"Well."
"You are too well known by the crooks of this city to move about without disguise."
"I will fix that. I will meet you again in an hour."
And then Dyke Darrel hurried away.
It was almost dark when two men, one old and gray, with a hump on his shoulder, called at a dingy old brick on Clark street and rapped on a narrow door that opened into an alley.
No answer was vouchsafed.
Then the old man turned the knob, but the door refused to yield.
"What's wanted, you fellers?"
The voice came from behind the two men. Turning, they saw a stout, ill-looking fellow, with unkempt hair and beard, peering in at them from the street.
"Ain't this the house where Mrs. Scarlet stops," questioned the elderly man.
"Mebbe 'tis."
"Where's the woman now?"
"Bless your soul, old man, I don't know. Better call agin; she's allus in evenings," suggested the man at the edge of the street.
"Mebbe we had," grunted the old man at the door. Then he and his companion moved out of the alley. They went but a little way when they came to a full stop, and entered into a low confab.
A pair of keen eyes was watching them during the time, however, and a little later the man who had addressed the two strangers walked away. He passed to the rear of the block, and made his way by a back stairs to a room on the first floor. Here he found the one he was seeking-- Mrs. Scarlet--who was engaged in discussing a supper of bread and beer.
She was alone.
"Eh? so you're here again, Nick? Did he send ye?"
"The Professor?"
"Who else should I mean?"
"Wall, he didn't, then. I seed a couple of blokes in the alley jist now, and they 'quired for you."
"Why didn't you send 'em up?" and the woman laughed in a way that revealed her ragged teeth and unwholesome gums.
"They'll be back soon 'nough," answered the man. "I've an idee they mean mischief. Better you go below and see 'em when they do come."
"All right."
About an hour after darkness had settled, while Madge Scarlet sat in the lower room, the one in which we have so many times met her, the door was unceremoniously opened, and a man crossed the threshold.
An old man he was, with bent form and white hair, a hump disfiguring his shoulder, his trembling right hand resting on the top of a cane.
"Good evening, mistress."
The old man, who had closed the door sharply to behind him, sank to a rickety chair as he uttered the greeting.
"I don't know you," retorted Madge Scarlet sharply. "Haven't you got into the wrong house?"
"Well, I dunno," whined the man in a sharp falsetto voice. "I reckon if you're Mistress Scarlet, you're the one I'm to see."
"I'm not ashamed to own to the name, old man. Let's have your business at once."
"I'm pretty much broke up since I came out of the bastile," said the old man. "'Taint jest the place for a gentleman, I can tell you that. It's mighty down-settin' on one's pride, which I had a heap of afore I was sent to abide there."
"Who are you and what are you driving at?"
Mrs. Scarlet asked the question with a puzzled stare. She was possessed of a very suspicious nature, and she was not ready to accept a person on outward appearance alone.
"I'm William Sugg, from Missoury," the old man answered promptly. "I came all the way to Shecargo to see the aunt of a friend. Mebbe you'll understand when I tell you, that Martin Skidway was one of the best friends an old man like me had in the bastile."
The name of her nephew opened the way to Madge Scarlet's heart at once.
She questioned Mr. Sugg about the young man, and he answered her with the assurance that they had been inmates of the same prison, and that Martin was losing flesh rapidly from melancholy.
"It's the doings of that devil, Dyke Darrel," cried Mrs. Scarlet, losing her temper at thought of her troubles.
"I've kind o' thought, bein' as I was in Shecargy, I'd look up a boardin' place and stay a spell. I've heerd that you have rooms to rent?"
"I have, to the right ones."
"Will you show me some?"
"Certainly."
Mrs. Scarlet rose and lifted a lamp from the table.
"Come this way."
As the woman led the way through a back door, into another apartment, a pair of strong hands suddenly seized and held her fast, while a voice hissed in her ear:
"Not a sound or you die!"
It was a startling situation.
"I am here for a purpose," said the old man, a sudden change in his voice. "I want you to lead me to the room in which Nell Darrel is confined."
The man's hands fell from the woman's shoulders, and when she turned about, she found that he had her covered with a revolver.
His voice sounded familiar.
"You're the detective, Dyke Darrel?"
"It matters not. Show me the way to the room where you have Nell Darrel imprisoned," uttered the man in a stern voice.
The menacing revolver decided the woman. The old building had been arranged for emergencies of this kind, as the sequel will show. A strange glitter came to the eyes of Mrs. Scarlet as she said:
"Who told you that Nell Darrel was in this house?"
"It matters not. Lead the way at once, or it will be the worse for you."
"You dare not harm me."
"I'll show you, if you attempt to play me false. A dozen policemen have their eyes on this building at this moment."
"Come on."
The woman turned and walked forward. She passed into a hall, and halting at a side door, unlocked it and pushed it open.
"In there."
"Go on. You shall keep me company."
Mrs. Scarlet advanced, closely followed by the detective.
The moment he crossed the threshold the door closed behind him, and the lamp was extinguished, leaving everything in total darkness. Then the detective felt the floor give way, and he was precipitated to his doom, the last sound reaching his ears being a mocking laugh from Aunt Scarlet. _